would
delight in detailing, in his rambling and disconnected manner, the
past glories of the French family. It was always a new story to Phil,
and never grew stale to the old man. If Peter could be believed, there
were never white folks so brave, so learned, so wise, so handsome, so
kind to their servants, so just to all with whom they had dealings.
Phil developed a very great fondness for these dead ancestors, whose
graves and histories he soon knew as well as Peter himself. With his
lively imagination he found pleasure, as children often do, in looking
into the future. The unoccupied space in the large cemetery lot
furnished him food for much speculation.

"Papa," he said, upon one of these peaceful afternoons, "there's room
enough here for all of us, isn't there--you, and me and Uncle Peter?"

"Yes, Phil," said his father, "there's room for several generations of
Frenches yet to sleep with their fathers."

Little Phil then proceeded to greater detail. "Here," he said, "next
to grandfather, will be your place, and here next to that, will be
mine, and here, next to me will be--but no," he said, pausing
reflectively, "that ought to be saved for my little boy when he grows
up and dies, that is, when I grow up and have a little boy and he
grows up and grows old and dies and leaves a little boy and--but where
will Uncle Peter be?"

"Nem mine me, honey," said the old man, "dey can put me somewhar e'se.
Hit doan' mattuh 'bout me."

"No, Uncle Peter, you must be here with the rest of us. For you know,
Uncle Peter, I'm so used to you now, that I should want you to be near
me then."

Old Peter thought to humour the lad. "Put me down hyuh at de foot er
de lot, little Mars' Phil, unner dis ellum tree."

"Oh, papa," exclaimed Phil, demanding the colonel's attention, "Uncle
Peter and I have arranged everything. You know Uncle Peter is to stay
with me as long as I live, and when he dies, he is to be buried here
at the foot of the lot, under the elm tree, where he'll be near me all
the time, and near the folks that he knows and that know him."

"All right, Phil. You see to it; you'll live longer."

"But, papa, if I should die first, and then Uncle Peter, and you last
of all, you'll put Uncle Peter near me, won't you, papa?"

"Why, bless your little heart, Phil, of course your daddy will do
whatever you want, if he's here to do it. But you'll live, Phil,
please God, until I am old and bent and white-haired, and you are a