THE TOMBSTONE-MAKER
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e primmed his loose red mouth, and leaned his headAgainst a sorrowing angel's breast, and said:"You'd think so much bereavement would have madeUnusual big demands upon my trade.The War comes cruel hard on some poor folk--Unless the fighting, stops I'll soon be broke." He eyed the Cemetery across the road--"There's scores of bodies out abroad, this while,That should be here by rights; they little know'dHow they'd get buried in such wretched style." I told him, with a sympathetic grin,That Germans boil dead soldiers down for fat;And he was horrified. "What shameful sin!O sir, that Christian men should come to that!"
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