ns, and he
thought, "I shall see something on it to know it by."

In search of the Corporal's grave he went softly on, up this walk and
down that, peering in, among the crosses and hearts and columns and
obelisks and tombstones, for a recently disturbed spot. It troubled him
now to think how many dead there were in the cemetery,--he had not
thought them a tenth part so numerous before,--and after he had walked
and sought for some time, he said to himself, as he struck down a new
vista of tombs, "I might suppose that every one was dead but I."

Not every one. A live child was lying on the ground asleep. Truly he
had found something on the Corporal's grave to know it by, and the
something was Bebelle.

With such a loving will had the dead soldier's comrades worked at his
resting-place, that it was already a neat garden. On the green turf of
the garden Bebelle lay sleeping, with her cheek touching it. A plain,
unpainted little wooden Cross was planted in the turf, and her short arm
embraced this little Cross, as it had many a time embraced the Corporal's
neck. They had put a tiny flag (the flag of France) at his head, and a
laurel garland.

Mr. The Englishman took off his hat, and stood for a while silent. Then,
covering his head again, he bent down on one knee, and softly roused the
child.

"Bebelle! My little one!"

Opening her eyes, on which the tears were still wet, Bebelle was at first
frightened; but seeing who it was, she suffered him to take her in his
arms, looking steadfastly at him.

"You must not lie here, my little one. You must come with me."

"No, no. I can't leave Theophile. I want the good dear Theophile."

"We will go and seek him, Bebelle. We will go and look for him in
England. We will go and look for him at my daughter's, Bebelle."

"Shall we find him there?"

"We shall find the best part of him there. Come with me, poor forlorn
little one. Heaven is my witness," said the Englishman, in a low voice,
as, before he rose, he touched the turf above the gentle Corporal's
breast, "that I thankfully accept this trust!"

It was a long way for the child to have come unaided. She was soon
asleep again, with her embrace transferred to the Englishman's neck. He
looked at her worn shoes, and her galled feet, and her tired face, and
believed that she had come there every day.

He was leaving the grave with the slumbering Bebelle in his arms, when he
stopped, looked wistfully down at