deciding upon a tombstone. The man at the marble-yard, however, at
last sold him a beautiful one with an angel weeping over a kind of a
flower-pot, with the legend, "Not lost, but gone before."

Then he got the village newspaper to put a good obituary notice of him
in type, and he told his wife that he would be gratified if she would
come out in the spring and plant violets upon his grave. He said it
was hard to leave her and the children, but she must try and bear up
under it. These afflictions are for our good, and when he was an angel
he would come and watch over her and keep his eye on her. He said she
might marry again if she wanted to; for although the mere thought of
it nearly broke his heart, he wished her, above all, to be happy, and
to have some one to love her and protect her from the storms of the
rude world. Then he and Mrs. Keyser and the children cried, and
Keyser, as a closing word of counsel, advised her not to plough for
corn earlier than the middle of March.

On the night of the 13th of September there was a flood in the creek,
and Keyser got up at four o'clock in the morning of the 14th and
worked until night, trying to save his buildings and his woodpile. He
was so busy that he forgot all about its being the day of his death;
and as he was very tired, he went to bed early and slept soundly all
night.

About six o'clock on the morning of the 15th there was a ring at the
door-bell. Keyser jumped out of bed, threw up the front window and
exclaimed,

"Who's there?"