'I think he's getting foolish.' The child rather wondered what had led him to this belief, as, to say the truth, the old man seemed quite as sharp as he, and was infinitely more robust.

As the sexton said nothing more just then, however, she forgot it for the time, and spoke again.
'You were telling me,' she said, 'about your gardening.

Do you ever plant things here ?' 'In the churchyard ?' returned the sexton, 'Not I.' 'I have seen some flowers and little shrubs about,' the child rejoined; 'there are some over there, you see.

I thought they were of your rearing, though indeed they grow but poorly.' 'They grow as Heaven wills,' said the old man; 'and it kindly ordains that they shall never flourish here.' 'I do not understand you.' 'Why, this it is,' said the sexton.

'They mark the graves of those who had very tender, loving friends.' 'I was sure they did!' the child exclaimed.