"That's an idea, too," said Captain Cai. "I'll consult him to-morrow. But that won't hinder your getting ahead wi' the plate?" he added; for John Peter's ways were notorious. "How would you like it?" John Peter looked purblindly about him, rubbing his spectacles with a thread-bare coat-tail. "Well, I don't mind," said Cai with promptitude--"Though 'tis rather early in the morning." "Old English?" "Perhaps I don't know it by that name." "Or there's Plain." "Not for me, thank ye." "--Or again, there's Italic; to my mind the best of all. It lends itself to little twiddles and flourishes, according to your taste." Old John Peter led him to the wall and pointed with a dirty finger; and Cai gasped, finding his attention directed to a line of engraved coffin-plates. "That's Italic," said John Peter, selecting an inscription and tracing over the flourishes with his thumb-nail. "'_William Penwarne, b. 1837--_' that's the year the Queen came to the throne. It's easier to read, you see, than old English, and far easier than what we call Gothic, or Ecclesiastical--which is another variety--though, of course, not so easy as Plain. Here you have Plain--" He indicated an inscription--'_Samuel Bosenna, of Rilla, b. 1830, d. 1895_." "Would that be th' old fellow up the valley, as was?--Mrs Bosenna's husband?" asked Cai, somewhat awed. "That's the man." "But what's it doing here?" "'Tis my unfortunate propensity," confessed John Peter with simple frankness. "You see, by the nature of things these plates must be engraved in a hurry--I _quite_ see it from the undertaker's point of view. But, on the other hand, if you're an artist, it isn't always you feel in the mood; you wait for what they call inspiration, and then the undertaker gets annoyed and throws the thing back on your hands." With a pathetic, patient smile John Peter rubbed his spectacles again, and again adjusted them. "Perhaps you'd like Plain, after all?" he suggested. "It usually doesn't take me so long." "No," decided Cai somewhat hurriedly; "it might remind--I mean, there isn't the same kind of hurry with a musical box." "It would be much the better for a bath of paraffin," muttered John Peter, prying into the works. But Cai continued to stare at the plate on the wall, and was staring at it when a voice at the door called "Good mornin'!" and Mr Philp entered. "Ho!" said Mr Philp, "I didn' know as you two were acquainted. And what might _you_ be doin' here, cap'n?" "A triflin' matter of business, that's all," answered Cai, who chafed under Mr Philp's inquisitiveness; but chafed, like everybody else, in vain. "Orderin' your breastplate? . . . It's well to be in good time when you're dealin' with John Peter," said Mr Philp with dreadful jocularity. "As I came along the head o' the town," he explained, "I heard that Snell's wife had passed away in the night. A happy release. I dropped in to see if they'd given you the job." John Peter shook his head.