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On the stone was cut simply the names, Ferdinand Lefroy of Kilbrack, Louisiana; and to these were added the dates of the days on which the man had been born and on which he died.
"Certainly not, any more than I should expect a pound of meat out of a dog's jaw." Mr. Peacocke, as he said this, was waxing angry. "I don't suppose you do; but you expected that I was to earn it by doing your bidding; didn't you?" "And you have." "Yes, I have; but how? You never heard of my cousin, did you; Ferdinand Lefroy of Kilbrack, Louisiana?" "Heard of whom?" "My cousin; Ferdinand Lefroy.
You'll learn there all about Ferdinand Lefroy as was our cousin, him as never got married up to the day he died of drink and was buried at San Francisco. They'll be very glad, I shouldn't wonder, to see that pretty little picter of yours, because they was always uncommon fond of cousin Ferdy at Kilbrack.
Kilbrack was the name of our plantation, where we should be living now as gentlemen ought, with three hundred niggers of our own, but for these accursed Northern hypocrites." "How can I find the stone?" "There's a chap there who knows, I guess, where all them graves are to be found.
You're a chap that's fond of travelling, and have got plenty of money. You'd better go down to Louisiana and make your way straight from New Orleans to Kilbrack. It ain't above forty miles to the south-west, and there's a rail goes within fifteen miles of it.
I could make him understand how that photograph ain't worth nothing, and how I explained to you myself as the lady's righteous husband is all alive, keeping house on his own property down in Louisiana. Do you think we Lefroys hadn't any place beside Kilbrack among us?" "Certainly you are a liar," said Peacocke. "Very well. Prove it."
But we did get him on to San Francisco; and when he was able to walk into the city on his own legs, I thought that, might be, he would rally and come round. However, in two days he died; and we buried him in the big cemetery just out of the town." "Did you put a stone over him?" "Yes; there is a stone as large as life. You'll find the name on it, Ferdinand Lefroy of Kilbrack, Louisiana.
Peacocke shuddered as he heard this, but he said nothing. "You may as well give us the picter; it'll do to hang up somewhere if ever I have a room of my own. How plain it is. Ferdinand Lefroy, of Kilbrack! Kilbrack indeed! It's little either of us was the better for Kilbrack. Some of them psalm-singing rogues from New England has it now; or perhaps a right-down nigger. I shouldn't wonder.
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