As the supper progressed, Mrs. Wiggs became communicative. She still
wore her black cotton gloves, and gesticulated with a chicken
croquette as she talked.

"Yes," she was saying, "Jim was one of these handy childern; when he
was eight years old he could peddle as good as you could! I guess
you heard 'bout our roof; ever'body was talkin' 'bout it. Billy is
takin' right after him; do you know what that boy has gone an' done?
He's built his pa a monumint!"

"A monument!" exclaimed Redding.

"Yes, sir, a tombstun monumint! I was allers a-wishin' that Mr.
Wiggs could have a monumint, and Billy never said a word, but he set
his head to it. One day he come home with a lot of these here tiles
what they had throwed out from the tile fact'ry; some of 'em was
jes' a little nicked, an' the others was jes' as good as new. Well,
he kep' on gittin' 'em ever' day or two, till he had a consider'ble
pile. Ever' night he used to set on the floor an' fool with them
things, a-fittin' 'em here an' crackin' 'em off there, but I never
paid no 'tention to him. One night, when I come in from Mrs.
Eichorn's, what did I see on the floor but a sure-'nough
tombstun-slab, an' spelt out in little blue tiles down the middle
was:

"'Pa. Gone, but not forgotten.'

"I was jes' that pleased I set down an' bust out cryin'. We made a
sorter box to hold it, an' chinked it up with cement, an' las'
Sunday me an' the childern took it out an' fixed it up on Mr.