"What's that thing?" asked Teddy.
"That is my grave, Master Teddy," answered Mrs. Waite in a
low tone.
"Your grave?"
"Yes."
"Pshaw! That's a funny kind of grave. What's buried there--your
pet poodle?"
"Teddy! Teddy!" whispered Phil reprovingly.
"Go 'way. This is some kind of a joke," growled Teddy.
"It is not a joke, though I do not understand the meaning of it
just yet. You say this is your grave, Mrs. Waite?" asked Phil.
"Yes, Phil. You know my husband was a soldier?"
"No, I did not know that, Mrs. Waite. Will you tell me all
about it?"
Phil was deeply interested now.
"My husband was killed at the battle of Gettysburg. He lies in
Woodlawn Cemetery. I am never at home on Decoration Day. I am
always on the road with the circus, so I cannot decorate the
real grave."
"I understand," breathed the Circus Boy.
"Being unable to decorate my husband's real grave, I carry my
grave with me. Each Memorial Day morning I prepare my grave
here in the dressing tent, and decorate it as you see here,
and all my friends of the circus are very good and thoughtful
on that occasion.
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