The child answered that that was not its name; it was a garden--his brother's.
It was greener, he said, than all the other gardens, and the birds loved it better because he had been used to feed them.

When he had done speaking, he looked at her with a smile, and kneeling down and nestling for a moment with his cheek against the turf, bounded merrily away.
She passed the church, gazing upward at its old tower, went through the wicket gate, and so into the village.

The old sexton, leaning on a crutch, was taking the air at his cottage door, and gave her good morrow.
'You are better ?' said the child, stopping to speak with him.
'Ay surely,' returned the old man.

'I'm thankful to say, much better.' 'YOU will be quite well soon.' 'With Heaven's leave, and a little patience.

But come in, come in!' The old man limped on before, and warning her of the downward step, which he achieved himself with no small difficulty, led the way into his little cottage.
'It is but one room you see.