names of, and bordered round with gaudy feathergrass. They found round there, too, at the road end of the walk, an entrance gate standing quite alone, with a scrap of paling, all old, moss and lichen covered. It had a small red-brick roof with two wooden posts, and must have been quite a haven of shelter in wet weather.

There were plenty of trees about, but not thickly placed, except near the field where the cows were, there was quite a thicket of them. How charming it all was, and how delighted the children were! Over Great-heart seemed to steal a quiet resignation, if not happiness, as he sat upon a tomb and pondered.

Then they turned round and looked at the vicarage across the road. What a dear old home! how old, how plain! Close to the church (as it should be), almost in its shadow at times, indeed, it seemed to have taken a pride in imitating the sacred edifice, for to it had been added on a piece as well, and on its roof also were red tiles, and to it, as there, fondly clung many a bush of creeper, honeysuckle, clematis, or rose. An ordinary dwelling truly, with nothing grand, attracting only by its homely beauty and its peace.

To the left ran a thick-set hedge, in which was an opening leading to the kitchen garden beyond. A

lawn, as closely shaved and as green as the one opposite, ran to the road, from which it was separated by an iron rail. All about the lawn were studded bushes and flower-beds. Except for the absence of the graves in the one, the church and Vicarage shared their gardens. Six gigantic poplars stood solemnly there, not in front, but at the side, seemingly keeping watch and ward over the church and house, as their slender summits towered heavenwards. One of the windows on the ground floor stood more open than the rest. This, they were sure, must be the vicar's study. For, through the casement, beyond the red curtain, they saw rows of books piled up. On the table, too, lay some open sheets, with pens and ink, suggestive of the Sunday's homily. A cage stood on the window-sill, with a parrot in it, and into the room at times, fanned by the gentle breeze, bobbed impertinently some twig or shoot from off the creeper on the wall. All these things spoke of goodness, content, and happiness. How easy to have gone across and stolen that good man's books or sermon ! Yet who would dare, in that most sacred spot?

"Now, little pets," said Great-heart, after they had all feasted their eyes on the scene for a long while, we can either go back partly by the way we have come, or join the railway further on; which shall it be?"

"Do let us go back by the way we came," cried Dot.

Trixie seemed a little doubtful, but when she thought of the marigolds she was of the same opinion as her sister.

"You do not think you will get tired?"

They were both certain they would not. So the flowers were all gathered together in two great bundles, each child embracing one of them, and they rose to retrace their steps.

Just one more look they had before they turned the corner. It was a long look, too. Then off they went, back along the road they had already traversed.

"Will you pass through the first churchyard we visited, or go round by the other way?" inquired Great-heart, as they stopped at the foot of the lane.

It was unanimously agreed, although it might take a little longer, to go through the garden again. So they paid the spot a second visit, entering this time by the wicket-gate they had before gone out at.

There was someone in there this time, no other than the vicar himself, hoe in hand, busy with the self-imposed labour of love to his flowers and his graves. He seemed to look upon all who entered as his guests for the time being, as he advanced at once to the group, and raised his broad-brimmed

wideawake in welcome. Some general conversation took place between this good man and Great-heart, chiefly on local topics, during which time the children stood still and gazed at him. He was quite worth the studying, a tall, angular figure, which might be called uncouth indeed, clad in sombre black, without relief, excepting from the high white collar round his neck; an untidy clergyman, for his coat and waistcoat were old and frayed, his collar stained and crumpled, and such shoes!-patched all over, and one laced up with string. As he leant upon his hoe and talked, he might have been a common labourer of the field-had you not looked into his face; for there you read beyond a doubt the honest, good, and Christian gentleman; a scholar, too, well versed in all the mysteries of the classics. Whatever trouble might have been his lot, whatever sorrow had placed that softness in his grey eyes, now a quiet, resigned, and peaceful man, up there in his house hard by the church and grounds he loved so well. Dress him as you might, maybe in common corduroy or fustian, the nameless air of cultured gentleman peeps forth, as it only can from where the heart is pure and good. In him it was so. Although his face was browned with much exposure to the air, the tint thereon was hardly that of health, it was so soft, so delicate. Every now and then

there came a nasty hacking cough, that shook his frame. Great-heart, experienced in such signs, feared the time was not far distant when that good Vicar would have to lay down his rake and hoe up there for ever; when some other kindly hand would have to tend that pretty garden, and, planting the bright flower over another grave, raise one more cross “in loving memory."

How gently this old clergyman talked to the children! He asked them their ages, habits, temperaments, and was much delighted with their naïve replies. He begged the party would come with him into his house, where he, too, had children, but no wife. She lay "there." He pointed where the three had noted the grave in the morning. But they could not stop. Already the sun showed signs of taking leave of the earth for a while. So reluctantly they had to say good-bye at the other wicket-gate. He hoped they might "meet again some day" he said, as he placed his hands upon the children's heads and blessed them. They hoped. so too, but feared, nay knew, they never would. They turned as they got to the field below, and could just see the gaunt figure standing there looking tenderly after them. They waved their hands to it, and the old hat was held aloft, the white head bared, to own the greeting. When they