"No, not dat; dat's modern trash," went on Scipio, affably, following his gaze. "Good man, all same, Massa Hymen; lef plenty money. One hundred fifty pound. Lef Cai Tamblyn fifty. Every person say remarkable difference. But doan' you look at _him_; he's modern trash. Massa Hymen lef' me _one_ hundred fifty pound. Dat all go to board up yonder, you see; 'Scipio Johnson, Esquire, of this Parish' in red letters an' gilt twirls. I doan' mind tellin' you. De hull parish an' Lawyer Chinn has it drafted--Vicar he promises me it shall go in--'Scipio Johnson, Esquire, _of_ this Parish,' an' twiddles round de capital letters. Man, I served Mas' Hymen han' an' foot, wet an' dry, an' look like he las' anudder twenty year." "You mean to say that I--that you, I mean--" "Dat's so," put in Scipio, nodding cheerfully, while the stained-glass windows flung flecks of red and blue on his honest ebony features. "An' Cai Tamblyn all de while no better'n a fool. '_Him_,' he'd sneer, not playin' up, but pullin' his cross face. Dat's a lesson if ebber dere was one. Cai Tamblyn left with fifty, an' me with three time fifty. 'To my faithful servant, Scipio Johnson. . . .' And so Miss Marty, when it came to choose, took me on--Scipio Johnson, Esquire, of this Parish--and Cai Tamblyn no more than 'Mister,' nor ebber a hope of it." The Major found himself in the churchyard, staring at a headstone. He did not remember the stone, yet it seemed by no means a new one. Weather-stains ran down the lettering and lichen spotted it. He read the name. It was the name of a man whom he had left hale and young--a promising corporal. He made his way back slowly to the hospital, leaning heavily on his stick. Strange shrill noises brought him to a halt on the threshold. They came from the back of the house. At the sound of his wooden leg in the brick passage, Cai Tamblyn thrust his head out from the kitchen doorway. "You come in," said he. "Please the Lord, the worst is over; but I had to tell her." "Her?" echoed the Major in bewilderment. "Who?" "Why, you see, fixed up as we were here--the woman with six empty beds to nurse, and me on 'tother side with a roomful o' momentoes, an' no end to it but the grave--there seemed no way out but matterimony. What with my fifty an' her little savin's we might ha' managed it, too, comfertable enough. But when along comes you an' upsets the apple-cart, w'y, in justice, the woman had to be told. Which it took her like a slap in the wind, an' I'm surprised the way she'd set her heart on it. But never you mind; she's sensible enough when she comes round." "Cai," said the Major, solemnly, "I thought we had agreed that no one was to be told?" "So we did, sir," answered Mr. Tamblyn, setting his jaw. "But, come to think it over, 'twasn't fair to the woman. Not bein' a married man yourself, sir, or as good as such--"