asure
was not spoiled, for all that.

"How pleasant it is!" said Christie, as the absence of street-noises and
the fresher breeze upon her cheek told her that they were leaving the
city behind them. Her short-sighted eyes could not take in the view
that charmed John so much. But she did not know how it could be more
pleasant than the fresh air and the gentle motion of the carriage made
it to her; and so she said, when at last she started up and looked about
her:

"Is not this the way to the cemetery? Oh, let us go there a little
while."

And so they did. The carriage was dismissed. They were to stay a long
time--as long as they liked; and then they could walk home, or perhaps
they might get the chance of a returning carriage. At any rate, they
would not be hurried.

How lovely the place looked to Christie's unaccustomed eyes! They were
not alone. There were groups here and there among the graves--some of
them mourners, as their dress showed, others enjoying the loveliness of
the place, untroubled by any painful remembrance of the loved and lost.
Slowly they wandered up and down, making long pauses in shady places,
lingering over the graves of little children which loving hands had
adorned. Christie wandered over the little nameless graves, longing to
find where her dear ones lay.

"How beautiful it is! It is a very sweet resting-place," she said to
herself, many times.

Yes, it was a very lovely spot. A strange feeling of awe stole over
Christie's spirit as she gazed around on the silent city. As far as the
eye could reach it extended. Among the trees and on the sunny
hill-sides rose many a stately monument of granite and marble, with, oh,
so many a nameless grave between! Close at their feet lay a large
unenclosed space, where the graves lay close together, in long,
irregular lines--men and women and little children--with not a mark to
tell who slumbered beneath. It was probably the burial-place of
strangers, or of those who died in the hospitals. To Christie it had a
very dreary and forsaken look. She shuddered as she gazed on the place.

"A friend's grave could never be found among so many," said she. "See!
there are a few with a bit of board, and a name written on it; but most
of them have no mark. I would far rather be laid in our own kirk-yard
at home--though that is a dreary place, too, when the sun doesna shine."

They moved on together; and in a place which was half in the sunshine