tionate undersigned': then the names,
with maybe a motto or a verse o' poetry if space permits."

"What sort of poetry?"

"Eh? . . . 'Tell ye the truth, I didn' know till this moment that there
_were_ different sorts. Well, we'll have the best."

"Why not go to Benny, and get him to fix you up something appropriate?"
suggested John Peter. "Old Benny, I mean, that writes the letters for
seamen. He's a dab at verses. People go to him regular for the
In-Memoriams they put in the newspaper."

"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, af