Cut deeply in the upright slab of red Island sandstone, the epitaph ran as follows:-- SWEET DEPARTED SPIRIT Do receive the vows a grateful widow pays, Each future day and night shall hear her speak her Isaac's praise.
Though thy beloved form must in the grave decay Yet from her heart thy memory no time, no change shall steal away.
Do thou from mansions of eternal bliss Remember thy distressed relict.
Look on her with an angel's love-- Soothe her sad life and cheer her end Through this world's dangers and its griefs.
Then meet her with thy well-known smiles and welcome At the last great day.
"Well, I can't make out what the old lady was driving at," said Dan.
"That's a nice way to speak of your great-grandmother," said Felicity severely.
"How does The Family Guide say you ought to speak of your great-grandma, sweet one ?" asked Dan.
"There is one thing about it that puzzles me," remarked Cecily.

"She calls herself a GRATEFUL widow.

Now, what was she grateful for ?" "Because she was rid of him at last," said graceless Dan.
"Oh, it couldn't have been that," protested Cecily seriously.

"I've always heard that Great-Grandfather and Great-Grandmother were very much attached to each other." "Maybe, then, it means she was grateful that she'd had him as long as she did," suggested Peter.
"She was grateful to him because he had been so kind to her in life, I think," said Felicity.
"What is a 'distressed relict' ?" asked Felix.
"'Relict' is a word I hate," said the Story Girl.

"It sounds so much like relic.