Chapter I: Visit to the Graveyard

DID you ever go into a graveyard, and walk around among the graves? Did you ever measure whether any of the little mounds were shorter than you?

I am going to tell you a true story about a grave I once saw. It was on a lovely June day, that, in company with some friends, I took the cars to visit a large cemetery in the State of New York. As we were all strangers, we paid a man, whom we found near the gate, to show us the way through the winding paths, to the handsomest parts of the place. As we walked along, on every side of us were splendid monuments marking the spot where some dear father or mother or child had been buried.

Presently I heard the voices of children, and then a sweet, musical laugh. I hurried on to the edge of a lovely lake, and there saw a dear little girl throwing crumbs from her basket to some beautiful white swans that were springing from the water to catch them. Her brother, a year or two older than she, was standing by her side, looking pleased to see her so happy.

"What is your name, little girl?" I asked.

She gave me a quick glance from under her long lashes, and then softly answered, "Lily."

I smiled as I took her hand in mine; and then her brother said, "Her name is Lily Oliver. We come here almost every day to feed the swans, and bring flowers for mother's grave."

He glanced toward a handsome monument, close by, and Lily explained, "Mamma's in there. She's waiting for Berty and me, 'cause we're going up to God with her."

"She told us she'd wait," urged the boy, fixing his earnest eyes on mine. "Every night we pray to God to let us go quick, because we want to see her so."

There was a quiver in his voice, which brought tears to my eyes. For a moment I could not speak, my heart ached so much for these dear little ones whose mother was in heaven.

I held a hand of each as I said, "I'm sure if you are good children, and try to please the Saviour, that he will send his angels to watch over you, and at last take you, with your mother, to the happy world where he lives."

Lily smiled and nodded her head as I walked away; and presently I heard her sweet voice laughing merrily as the pretty birds sprang up to catch a crumb from her hand.

We passed one small yard almost hidden among the trees, where by the side of a low, green mound, was a flat piece of white marble, with a dog carved on the top of it.

This, our guide told us, was where a little boy was buried who had been drowned. The dog was carved like one who had tried to save his young master's life. He held the clothes of the drowning boy in his teeth, until help came, but they were so exhausted that they both died.

Then we came to a short grave, only as long as your baby brother. There was a piece of wood at the head of it, and painted on it were the simple words, "OUR JAMIE."

Lying on the grass which grew over it, was a tiny red shoe—the toe all sucked just as little babies love to suck their shoes; and tied to the end of the string were four large buttons. I wanted to stop there, and think about the dear babe who had so early been called to its home in the skies; but a young woman came up, and snatching the little shoe began to kiss it and weep over it.

"That is the mother," said our guide; and so we turned away that we might not intrude on her grief.

We walked slowly on, for our hearts ached for the weeping mother, and presently the guide led us up quite a steep path, to a family tomb built in the side of the hill. The door leading down the steps was in front; but it did not look at all like a place for the dead. It looked far more like a child's play-house. There were posts at the four corners of the yard, and an iron chain running from one to another. Opposite the door to the tomb was a gate from which a walk led into the yard. It was not covered with gravel like the others, but with little round pebbles from the seashore, mingled with sparkling shells. On one side was a large rocking-horse, which had been out so long in the rain and storm, that the saddle was damp with mildew, and the paint was quite washed off the rockers.

On the other side of the walk was a small wheelbarrow, half full of little pebbles.

"Do you know who is buried here?" I asked the guide.

"We must walk along," he said hurriedly, without answering my question. "There's a funeral coming up this path."

I was sorry to go away, for I wanted to hear about the little boy or girl who had been called away from its toys. I wanted to ask whether the child had loved God, and had gone to live with the Saviour; but there was no time, now. We turned off into a side path, and then after the procession of mourners had passed on, we followed to an open grave where a child was to be buried.

We all stood back while the men lowered the small coffin into the ground, and then I ventured near and looked down the narrow vault. I thought of the time when my little babe was buried from my sight, and the tears flowed down my cheeks.

"Did you ever lose a child?" sobbed a woman near me, catching hold of my arm.

"Yes," I said; "it was my first, and then, my only one."

"Did it die suddenly?"

I bowed my head.

"Then you can pity me. Yesterday, my darling Amy was as well as ever. Her father brought in some cherries, and she begged for some. I gave her three. Oh, how she jumped and screamed with joy!"

Hero the poor mother began to cry and sob so violently that she could not speak. A young woman near tried to soothe her, and presently said, turning to me, "Poor little Amy got a cherry-stone down her windpipe, and it killed her."

"Oh, dear!" sobbed the weeping mother. "Only yesterday she was alive, and so happy; I can't go home without her! Oh, what shall I do?"

"Can't you trust her with her Savior?" I asked. "You know how he loved little children. It was very hard for me, at first; but now it comforts me to think that my baby boy is happy in heaven. He wears—"

"'A crown upon his forehead
A harp within his hand.'"

"He is clothed with spotless robes and with the choir of infant worshippers is singing praise to the Lamb forever. Doesn't it comfort you to think of Amy there?"

She wiped away her tears and said, softly, "I should love to think of her in heaven; but, oh, I shall be dreadfully lonesome without her."

I put out my hand and she shook it as if she could not bear to part. When we were almost out of sight, I looked back, and she was weeping bitterly, while the sexton began to throw the earth upon the coffin.