The children, patronized by a few mothers, gathered around to learn what the Forge boy had brought his dainty little hostess which should leave all present speechless by its cleverness and elegance. Nathan, badly scared, unwound copious quantities of newspaper and cast them aside. Then, using all his thirteen-year strength, up onto the table amid the lesser gifts, its weight causing that table to rock rather groggily for a moment, Nathan added—a life-sized bust of Julius Cæsar. Cæsar. In chalk! The Duchess raised her lorgnette. She and Cæsar exchanged mutual glances of stupefaction for an instant. “But who is it?” she demanded. “It must be a new kind of a big doll!” exclaimed a little girl with violent pigtails. “Why—why—it’s a—it’s a——” Nathan wanted all present to understand that it was sculpture of most poetic motif having to do with the literary ramifications of one W. Shakespeare. But he could not recall the words “sculpture”, “statue” or “bust.” “It’s a monument!” he choked. “For Julius Cæsar—I mean _of_ Julius Cæsar. He divided Gaul into three parts and they stabbed him!” “A monument!” cried the Duchess. “Stabbed him! And do you think he’s buried hereabouts, that Bernice-Theresa should be edified with his tombstone for a plaything?” “You told Ma that Bernie was goin’ to read the best poets. I thought o’ this mon-mon-monument I s-s-seen in Weatherbee’s store. He’s got an ear gone and his nose is bunged and maybe he needs washin’. But as far’s the missin’ ear goes, you could stand it in a corner somewheres so’s his head would be against the wall——” “My God!” choked the Duchess. “William! William! Where’s William?” William Chew, the elderly person of color, came forward. “William,” cried the Duchess, “remove this nightmare. God love us! It looks as if this unspeakable boy had brought Bernice-Theresa the upper half of somebody’s whitewashed corpse!” “Yes, ma’am!” assented William. “What yo’ want ah should do with it, ma’am?” “Do with it?” gasped the Duchess. “Take it home to your family! Set it up on your front lawn! Hand it down to your children! Only get the hideous thing off these premises and never bring it back!” William obediently toted off the bust. Then the Duchess looked about for the giver of this good and perfect gift. But Nathan had reached the gate and was fleeing down the walk. For him there was no party. William took the “monument” home. The last seen of it was atop a post in the center of the Chew cornfield. The colored man had draped a coat around the classic bust, hung trousers beneath it, put an old straw hat on the brow that produced the Commentaries, and relegated it to the job of scaring off the crows. Its end came when old Webster Nelson wandered into the field one night under the influence of liquor, beheld the chalky features beneath the hat, and reduced it to fragments under the crazed obsession that he was being confronted by the supernatural. III