"We cannot linger here much longer," said Mrs. Redmond; "if we take this lower road, it will probably bring us into the business section, and then we can walk back home, along the main street." When they had done their errands and were perhaps half-way home, Mrs. Redmond, who was ahead, looked back for a moment. "Here, Amy, is something especially for you." Amy hurried on and found herself at the entrance of a little graveyard. "Oh, mamma, you are laughing at me." There was a suspicious smile on Mrs. Redmond's lips as she said: "Every one, my dear child, knows your _penchant_ for old graveyards, and this one is so bright and cheerful that you might have missed it had I not called your attention to it." Following Mrs. Redmond and Amy, the others entered the enclosure. It was, as Mrs. Redmond had said, "bright and cheerful," with neatly kept walks, and a little fountain playing in the centre. Evidently it was no longer a place of burial. Many of the stones were more than a hundred years old, and marked the resting-place of the first Connecticut settlers. "How far away they were," said Amy, "from their real home. After all, in spite of the rich dyke-lands given them here, I wonder if many of them did not regret the homes they had left." "That reminds me," said Priscilla, "of some lines I copied from a poem the other day; Eunice had the book," and she turned over the leaves of her note-book. "Read them, please," said Mrs. Redmond. So Priscilla began rather timidly, "The poem is 'The Resettlement of Acadia,' but I copied only parts of it," and then she read with expression: "'But the simple Norman peasant-folk shall till the land no more, For the vessels from Connecticut have anchored by the shore, And many a sturdy Puritan, his mind with Scripture stored, Rejoices he has found at last "the garden of the Lord." * * * * * They come as Puritans, but who shall say their hearts are blind To the subtle charms of nature, and the love of humankind? * * * * * And tears fall fast from many an eye, long time unused to weep, For o'er the fields lay whitening the bones of cow and sheep.'" "I know that you'll think me frightfully stupid," was Martine's comment, as Priscilla finished reading. "That is delightful poetry, but it isn't clear in my mind who the Connecticut Puritans were. Were they exiles, too, like the Acadians and the Loyalists?"