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own coin, she did it and she did it well. Just look at
that miserable chunk of old sandstone all covered with a lot of da-I
mean a lot of untruthful stuff that will keep me at it I don't know how
many years yet. If she had known she could not have revenged herself on
me worse. She gave all my clothes and a puncheon of good rum to the fool
sculptor, and I am just waiting for him to come down here. If he ever
does, I won't do a thing to him but make him think he mistook his
vocation and ought to have been a boiler maker and stayed safely in one
of his iron-clad boilers."

As the angry ghost delivered himself of this speech, he somehow took on
such a fierce expression, shown more in attitude than feature-since he
had no features-that the young man was sincerely glad that he had not
been guilty of carving the objectionable stuff on the fast crumbling
stone. As they walked along the ghost continued:

"Now, take notice that this stone has all the epitaph rubbed out. The
name only remains, and that proves that he was a pretty good sort. Here
is another where the epitaph is all gone except the date. Now that is a
good start, isn't it?"

The young man murmured something about it seeming so, though he was
entirely in the dark about it. Still he knew enough to keep still and
let the ghost tell his story in his own way and in his own time. Many a
time he had managed to secure a fine story for his paper from someone
who had declared that he had nothing to say by judiciously keeping
silence, curbing his curiosity and inquisitiveness, and speaking only
when absolutely necessary. He began to feel that he was going to get
something tonight not often given to mortals, and he mentally arranged
the headlines of the story, for of course he would sell it. Every other
experience save one had been made to yield him so many dollars, and it
was natural that this strange meeting should appeal to him only as a
scoop beyond the power of any mortal to equal. So he discreetly awaited
the pleasure of his ghostly companion.

He wondered if the pebbles hurt the ghost's feet. He felt a little
delicate about mentioning it, particularly as he could have proposed no
remedy even if the pebbles did hurt. Soon the ghost stopped by a rather
small headstone, and in a reminiscent manner said, between the delicious
whiffs of smoke:

"I well remember when the fashion for these cherubs went out and fancy
monuments with weeping willows on them came in. I had not been dead then
very long, and I was wondering which I would get and thinking what a
luminous old gump I was not to have made some provision for just such a
contingency. By dying suddenly my widow had things her own way, and a
pretty mess she has made of it as you see. Well; cherubs went out and
weeping women in weeds standing over funeral urns took their places. I
had thought that the new ones looked more dignified and were superior,
but since then I have come to see these cherubs as they are. Where there
are cherubs there is not much epitaph. Have you ever seen these cherubs?
No? Well come then, and take a good look at them for they are worth the
trouble. Some of them will fill you with envy to think you cannot have
one right away to watch over your slumber-I don't think,"

This last was said with an indescribably waggish leer, and the reporter
began to think he was on the right road to a new experience and that
this man who had been so long dead still could see the humorous side of
it all, and that would certainly be from a new viewpoint.

They walked along until they came to one part of the cemetery where
there seemed to have been an epidemic of headstones with cherubs on
them. The ghost stopped before one of them and said:

"Just take a look at this cherub and see the mouth-or rather where the
mouth once was-and notice how it is all worn away, that is if the
sculptor did not die before he had finished his work. Here is another
where the mouth is half gone, and the expression is half a mocking smile
on one side and nothing at all on the other. Some have faces round and
others have long ones; some smile and others have the lips drawn down
almost to the chin in a lugubrious line each side of the face. Just
notice this one! The shape of the face is like that of a Bartlett pear
with the big end down, and around the head is what the artist fondly
believed to be a halo of glory; but it looks more like a bunch of oakum
tied to a ruffled nightcap. The oakum is supposed to represent the
living flame of sacred fire. And just catch onto the wings! And note the
general expression! These things were much admired in those days, and
were considered the highest form of expression of poetic thought. I
think I even complained just now that none had been put on my headstone,
but after all I'm blamed-no blessed glad of it for they are silly and
they do grate on my sense of the fitness of things, and they might after
all interfere with my passport. Oh, yes; I will tell you about that
later. Just now I want to show you around a little, for probably you
will never again have an opportunity like this."

Here the reporter caused a slight interruption in the conversation by
handing the ghost the flask with a quiet grace which completely
captivated his heart, that is, the ghost of a heart. The ghost took a
few swallows and with a Chesterfieldian bow returned it to the young man
and then continued his running commentaries on the headstones.

"Now we come to a new departure in cherubs. You see this one is not very
well supplied with flesh, and is cut to represent a skeleton's head. I
have noticed in many churchyards that it is considered quite the thing
to preach sermons to the living on the mutability of human affairs, and
therefore these things are put on the stones. I think the most of them
are put there out of spite because the person down below had to die. I
know quite a number of ghosts who have told me that they left
instructions for their own epitaphs. So you see the ghosts get some
comfort out of the gruesome warnings, but I doubt that anyone living was
ever scared into repentance by them. I know one old fellow who gets so
mad every time he hears people up above read his epitaph and laugh at
the time-honored words of 'As I am now, so you must be; prepare for
death and follow me-'"

Here the reporter could not restrain his tongue and he asked if it were
possible for the dead lying in their graves to really hear, and know
what was passing. The ghost replied:

"Oh, yes; we know all that goes on above ground, that is if it interests
us enough to make us care to take the trouble to learn. We each find out
what we most care about, much as you who are not dead do, and we talk it
over at our hour of release."

"And that I suppose is between the hours of twelve and one?"

"My young friend, you are behind the age. There was a time when people
believed that ghosts could walk only at the hour you mention, but there
is one night when we can walk from sunset to one o'clock, which you see

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