money he left?"

"Oh, no!" sez he. "He had insured his life for a large amount, and it
all goes to his wife and children. He deserves a monument if a man ever
did."

"But," sez I, "don't you believe that Wellington would ruther have S.
Annie and the children settled down in a good little home with sumthin'
left to take care of 'em, than to have all this money spent in perfectly
useless things?"

"_Useless!_" sez Cephas, turnin' red. "Why," sez he, "if you wuzn't a
near relation I should resent that speech bitterly."

"Wall," sez I, "what do all these flowers, and empty carriages, and
silver-plated nails, and crape, and so forth--what does it all amount
to?"

"Respect and honor to his memory," sez Cephas, proudly.

Sez I, "Such a life as Wellington's had them; no body could take 'em
away nor deminish 'em. Such a brave, honest life is crowned with honor
and respect any way. It don't need no crape, nor flowers, nor monuments
to win 'em. And, at the same time," sez I dreamily, "if a man is mean,
no amount of crape, or flower-pieces, or flowery sermons, or obituries,
is a-goin' to cover up that meanness. A life has to be lived out-doors
as it were; it can't be hid. A string of mournin' carriages, no matter
how long, hain't a-goin' to carry a dishonorable life into honor, and
no grave, no matter how low and humble it is, is a-goin' to cover up a
honorable life.