ond. The flowers planted before William had left M----
had long ago vanished, and the spot, left to neglect, was overgrown
with weeds; but now some kind hand had rescued it from wildness and
planted it anew with rare flowers, which were beginning now to bloom
in place of those dead. The sexton's wife with her watering-pot now
came near. Many graves adorned in a similar way required the care of
some one, and she received a regular salary for her attention to the
flowers. The young man waited until she came quite close to where he
stood, and then inquired, "Who has had these graves so carefully done
up?"

"Who do you think would do so but the son of the good couple that are
buried here?" answered the sexton's wife. "Little Bill Raymond, that
went to New York to be a shoemaker, came back last spring and had this
all done. Folks say he is well to do in the world, and better than
all, he is as good a man as his father was."

A deep blush passing over the young man's face rendered its sun-burned
hue yet deeper, but his eyes lightened with a joyful expression as he
inquired with some anxiety, "Is he still in M----?"

"Yes, indeed," replied the woman; "he is staying with our old baker,
Nicholas Herman; there, that is the house with the slate roof. Old
Nicholas was very kind to his mother in her sickness and poverty, and
when she died he took the poor child home. He used always to say if he
lived to be a man he would remember him for it; and he has done so.
There was a dreadful fire in the village last year, and old Nicholas
Herman's house was nearly burned down. The roof was clear gone, but
that was little in comparison to the damage done inside. Besides this,
the old man had met with many losses; his son was away nobody knew
where, and the baker lost heart, so that he could not get up spirit
enough to set things to rights; and when he did he could not sell his
bread as he used to, for other bakers had set up, and people always
like to run to new places. Will Raymond, it seems, is a painter; and
when he came here last summer, and found the old man in such trouble,
he set to and painted him such a sign that there ain't the like of it
far nor near. Why, the people stand in front of the house to admire
it; and folks sometimes say that signs are of no use, but I know the
sign brought the customers back. About two weeks ago the young painter
returned, for old Nicholas expects his son George, who went west four
or five years ago,