We have put up a tombstone to your brave son.
And we signed our names.

Alice took the letter.
The soldier's mother read it, and said something about our oughting to know better than to make fun of people's troubles with our tombstones and tomfoolery.
Alice told me she could not help crying.
She said-- 'It's not! it's NOT! Dear, DEAR Mrs Simpkins, do come with me and see! You don't know how sorry we are about Bill.

Do come and see.
We can go through the churchyard, and the others have all gone in, so as to leave it quiet for you.

Do come.' And Mrs Simpkins did.

And when she read what we had put up, and Alice told her the verse we had not had room for, she leant against the wall by the grave--I mean the tombstone--and Alice hugged her, and they both cried bitterly.