Grief.

A travelling circus had arrived at a small village, and the vicar paid a visit to the encampment to see if he could be of service. He came across three circus hands sitting silent and very dejected.

“What's wrong?” asked the vicar.

“The elephant's dead,” volunteered one of the men.

“Dear, dear,” said the parson, “I am sorry. But at the same time I am glad to think that you three men cared so much for a dumb animal.”

“Oh, ‘taint that,” explained one of the three. “You see, us chaps has got to dig the hole to bury him.”

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