‘How would you buy a tombstone, now?’ her mind chattered within itself. ‘Would you go to the store and say… But it would have to be some other kind of store beside Kelly’s at the road corners. Say it’s a tombstone store somewheres, and say he has a sign out, “Tombstones cheap today”. You go inside the store and there the tombstones are all up and down the big counters, counters made big on purpose, and on the big shelves. You say to the man, “I want to buy a tombstone” and he says, “Would you like one that says ‘To the memory of’ or would you rather have ‘Erected to’? Here’s one that you can have cheap if you taken it offen my hands today. It’s nicked a little at the corner and it says ‘Pray for the soul of’ and that’s not the latest style. But if you don’t care so much about style and if you want something that’ll wear you long, you’ll never be sorry for a-buyen this-here one.”’

She laughed a little at the thought and walked about in the swaying grass and felt the hot waves of air as they rolled back off the large marbles. She came to a tall stone marked Gowan. It glittered in the sun where the small flecks like fine silver lay under the surface that shone in some places like glass. She read the legend slowly:

JAMES BARTHOLOMEW GOWAN

Born August 3, 1839

Departed this life May 17, 1906

An honoured citizen, a faithful husband, a loving father, a true Christian… Five times elected judge of the County Court… Fulfilling all trusts with…

‘That’s Judge Gowan,’ she whispered, awed by the personality erected by the legend against the tall stone. ‘He owned the Gowan farm and the Gowan horses and the Gowan peacocks… across the road from Mr Al’s place… and he left Miss Anne, his wife, all he had when he died, and people a-goen to law about it big in court. And when he died there was marchen and white plumes on hats and a band a-playen, and his picture is a-hangen up in the courthouse, life-size, they say… And when he was a-liven he used to ride up to town in a high buggy with a big shiny horse, a-steppen up the road and him a-sitten big, and always had a plenty to eat and a suit of clothes to wear and a nigger to shine his shoes for him of a weekday even. Ben told me. And he was a-willen money big to his wife when he died and always a-sitten judge in court. A big man, he was. That’s you.’ Her voice was whispering the words. And then after a long pause she added. ‘He’s Judge Gowan in court, a-sitten big, but I’m better’n he is. I’m a-liven and he’s dead. I’m better. I’m Ellen Chesser and I’m a-liven and you’re Judge James Bartholomew Gowan, but all the same I’m better. I’m a-liven.’