ts the graveyard I saw a stranger in the act of opening the gate
and entering. At the same moment, apparently, he caught sight of me,
and we scrutinised each other with interest as the distance between us
lessened.

He was a well-dressed young fellow of about thirty, with a stern
expression on an otherwise rather pleasing face. His mouth was hidden
by a heavy moustache, but I liked his eyes, which had a frank look in
them. His rather long raincoat was dripping wet, and he had no other
protection from the rain, for he carried in his hand a stout stick of
peculiar shape. His hands and face were brown from exposure, and I
took him to be a prosperous, intelligent farmer.

He raised his hat at my approach. "I am sorry to detain you, even for
a moment, in this rain," he said, "but I wondered if you could tell me
whether anyone of the name of Brown--Greenwood Brown--is buried here."

Oh! thought I, you have come back, have you? But I merely replied:

"Yes, Mr. Brown's grave is near the top of the hill. I will show you
which it is."

"Please do not put yourself to that trouble," he protested; "if you
will be good enough to direct me I shall be able to find it."

"You could not identify it," I said, "for there is no stone, but just a
grassy mound, like many of the rest. Let me point it out to you, and
then I will go on my way."

He made no further objection, but held the gate open for me to enter.
There are no paths, and he protested again when he saw me plunge into
the long, wet grass, but I laughed at his fears and led the way to the
spot where all that was mortal of poor Farmer Brown lay beneath the sod.

"This is his grave," I said, and he thanked me with another courteous
inclination of the head. As I turned to leave he asked a further
question.

"Can you tell me if any of his people still live in this neighbourhood?
I--I have a message for them."

"If you will call at my cottage," I replied, indicating the little
house a stone's-throw away, "I will tell you all I know. Pray do not
stay too long in the rain. You have no umbrella."

"Thank you," he said, "I shall take no harm, and I will call at your
house shortly, as you are so very kind."

I left him, but I could not forbear looking from the window in Mother
Hubbard's bedroom, and I could distinctly see him standing with head
bent and uncovered in an attitude of deep dejection over his father's
grave. I had no misgiving on that point. In spite of