, where a few
scattered slabs stood erect as sentinels over the river banks. For a
moment I stood among them, watching the blue haze of the opposite shore;
then turning away I rolled over on my back and lay at full length in the
periwinkle that covered the ground. From beyond the church I could hear
Uncle Methusalah, the negro caretaker, raking the dead leaves from the
graves, and here and there among the dark boles of the trees there
appeared presently thin bluish spirals of smoke. The old negro's figure
was still hidden, but as his rake stirred the smouldering piles, I could
smell the sharp sweet odour of the burning leaves. Sometimes a wren or a
sparrow fluttered in and out of the periwinkle, and once a small green
lizard glided like the shadow of a moving leaf over a tombstone. One
sleeper among them I came to regard, as I grew somewhat older, almost
with affection--not only because he was young and a soldier, but because
the tall marble slab implored me to "tread lightly upon his ashes." Not
once during the many hours when I played in the churchyard, did I forget
myself and run over the sunken grave where he lay.

The sound of the moving rake passed the church door and drew nearer, and
the grey head of Uncle Methusalah appeared suddenly from behind an ivied
tree trunk. Sitting up in the periwinkle, I watched him heap the
coloured leaves around me into a brilliant pile, and then bending over
hold a small flame close to the curling ends. The leaves, still moist
from the rain, caught slowly, and smouldered in a scented cloud under
the trees.

"Dis yer trash ain' gwine ter bu'n twel hit's smoked out," he remarked
in a querulous voice.

"Uncle Methusalah," I asked, springing up, "how old are you?"

With a leisurely movement, he dragged his rake over the walk, and then
bringing it to rest at his feet, leaned his clasped hands on the end of
it, and looked at me over the burning leaves. He wore an old, tightly
fitting army coat of Union blue, bearing tarnished gold epaulets upon
the shoulders, and around his throat a red bandanna handkerchief was
wrapped closely to keep out the "chills."

"Gaud-a-moughty, honey!" he replied, "I'se so ole dat I'se done clean
furgit ter count."

"I reckon you knew almost everybody that's buried here, didn't you?"

"Mos' un um, chile, but I ain't knowed near ez many ez my ole Marster.
He done shuck hans w'en he wuz live wid um great en small. I'se done
hyern 'im tell in my time how he