"Such a Town Council as that is a sort of many-headed tyrant, resolved to persecute the unhappy townspeople into their very graves!" "Right y' are!" said Twitt.

"But there's a many on 'em! An' ye may thank yer stars ye're not anywheres under 'em.

Now when _you_ goes the way o' all flesh----" He paused, suddenly embarrassed, and conscious that he had perhaps touched on a sore subject.

But Helmsley reassured him.
"Yes, Twitt?
Don't stop!--what then ?" "Why, then," said Twitt, almost tenderly, "ye'll 'ave our good old parzon to see ye properly tucked under a daisy quilt, an' wotever ye wants put on yer tomb, or wotever's writ on it, can be yer own desire, if ye'll think about it afore ye goes.

An' there'll be no expense at all--for I tell ye just the truth--I've grown to like ye that well that I'll carve ye the pruttiest little tombstone ye ever seed for nothin'!" Helmsley smiled.
"Well, I shan't be able to thank you then, Mr.Twitt, so I thank you now," he said.