His former wives are buried in our
churchyard. Over the first he had raised an obelisk of marble, so costly
and affectionate that it had won the hearts of his neighbours in
general, and of his second wife in particular. When she died the gossips
wondered whether the Major would add her name to that of her
predecessor, or "go to the expense" of a new monument. He erected a
second obelisk, and it was taller than the first (height had a curious
fascination for him), and the inscription was more touching than the
other. This time the material was Aberdeen granite, and as that is most
difficult to cut, hard to polish, and heavy to transport, the expense
was enormous. These two monstrosities of mortuary pomp were the pride of
the parish, and they were familiarly known to us children (and to many
other people) as "the Major's wives."
When we called the cock "the Major," we naturally called the hens "the
Major's wives."
"My dears, I don't like that name at all," said my mother. "I never like
jokes about people who are dead. And for that matter, it really sounds
as if they were both alive, which is worse.
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