to the
back. This also she read.

AN ARTISTIC MONUMENT

Mr. Stephen Brown yesterday received from Austin the monument which he
had made for the grave of his mother, Mrs. Stephen P. Brown, who died
last November. It is a most beautiful work of art and was much admired
by those who saw it. It is a massive block of imported gray granite
skillfully carved with clusters of grapes in high relief. Mr. Brown
ordered it from the leading marble-cutters in Austin. The reverse side
of the stone was cut after his own design, and consists simply of a
Lone Star. On the base is the word Mother. Many of our citizens were
enabled to inspect it as it went up Main Street, Mr. Jonas Hicks
stopping his three yoke of oxen to accommodate those who wished to look
it over. It will be by far the most beautiful work of art in our local
cemetery.

Janet folded up the clipping carefully, according to the creases in it,
and passed it back. When he had returned it to its compartment in the
wallet,--an operation which was somewhat delayed by his difficulties
with the tissue paper around the picture,--she questioned him further
about the Comanche Indians and his father's adventures in the war with
Mexico. Now the conversational situation was turned about, Janet
becoming the interlocutor; and as she had the advantage of so copious a
source of information, there was no end to her questioning. And as the
stream of talk broadened, it began to include his own experiences and
adventures, most interesting of which, to Janet, was a short account of
the fight of a sheriff's posse with the train-robbers intrenched near
the Post Oaks, a most determined encounter in which the sheriff was
among those killed while Steve Brown received only a blunted thumb, for
the clumsy appearance of which his story was rather an apology.

"That's all I got," he said. "And it works as good as ever."

To demonstrate which fact, he held it up and made it work.

Now that she had material by which to lead the conversation, she found
him not nearly so taciturn as she had at first thought him. Indeed, he
talked on without remembering to fix the fire. And when it had nearly
faded out he continued on, unconscious of the fact that the real Janet
was no longer in sight except as she was partially lit by the moon
which now hove upon the scene.

"But I am keeping you up too late," she said, suddenly rising.

Steve gathered himself together and stood up, hat in hand.