That night he was with his sisters, saying to them:  “Twelve soferens will put him in the earth.  Four soferens per each.”

“None can I afford,” Jane fach vowed.  “Not paid my pew rent in Capel Charing Cross have I.”

“Easier for me to fly than bring the cash,” said Annie.  “Larger is your screw than me.”

Simon smote the ground with his umbrella and stayed further words.  “Give the soferens, bullocks of Hell fire.”

Annie and Jane fach were distressed.  The first said:  “The flesh of the swine shall smell before I do.”  The second said:  “Hard you are on a bent-back wench.”

Notwithstanding their murmurs, Simon hurled at them the spite of his wrath, reviling them foully and filthily; and the women got afraid that out of his anger would come mischief, and each gave as she was commanded.

The third day Simon and Annie and Jane fach stood at Jacob’s grave; and Annie and Jane were put to shame that Simon bragged noisily how that he had caused a name-plate to be made for Jacob’s coffin and a wreath of glass flowers for the mound of Jacob’s grave.

THE END