The forgotten graves weighed heavily on Stephen's mind after this talk with the old woman. When Audrey was at school, he used to wander up and down amongst them, pitying them with all the pity of his loving little heart. And he would try to put aside some of the branches that kept blowing against the stones, and which were so fast wearing them away, and he would pull up some of the long grass, which in some places hid the stones completely from sight. "Audrey—" he said one afternoon when Aunt Cordelia had given her leave to have a long play with him, "Audrey, couldn't we make these poor old graves look nice?" "We couldn't do them all," said Audrey. "Why, Stephen, there must be a hundred or more!" "No, we couldn't do them all; we might begin with two—one for you and one for me, Audrey." "Well, let's choose," said the little girl. "We'll walk round and have a look at them all." "We'll have one with some reading on," said Stephen, "and then we shall know what to call it." "Here's a poor old stone against the wall," said Audrey; "I'll read you what it says." "'SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF CHARLES HOLDEN, WHOSE REMAINS LIE HERE INTERRED. HE WAS OF HUMANE DISPOSITION, A SOCIAL COMPANION, A FAITHFUL SERVANT, AND A SINCERE FRIEND. HE DEPARTED THIS LIFE THE 23RD OF DECEMBER, 1781. AGED 38.'" "I don't like that one bit," said Stephen; "it has got too many hard words in it." "Well, here's another." "'IN MEMORY OF JOHN POWELL. DIED IN 1781. ALSO MARY, RELICT OF THE ABOVE, WHO DIED JANUARY 20, 1827, AGED 87. ALSO TWO GRANDCHILDREN, WHO DIED YOUNG.'" "That's much nicer," said Stephen. "I like those two grandchildren who died young. I wonder how old they were; do you think they were as old as you and me, Audrey?" "I don't know," said Audrey; "it doesn't say, and it doesn't tell if they were girls or boys." "Never mind," said Stephen, "we can guess. I think one was a girl and one was a boy. And are their bodies really down under here, Audrey?" "Yes, what there is of them," said Audrey; "Aunt Cordelia says they turn to dust." "Oh," said little Stephen, in an awestruck voice, "I wish we could see the dust of the two grandchildren who died young! I'll have this grave, Audrey, and take care of them. Is there any one else inside it?" "Yes, there's John Powell, died in 1781; also Mary, relict of the above," read Audrey. "What does relict mean?" asked Stephen. "Aunt Cordelia has a relict," said Audrey, "and she keeps it in a box." "Is it a woman?" asked Stephen. "No, it's a bit of grey hair; she cut it off her mother's head when she was dead, and she says it's a relict. I don't know what she means, but she keeps it locked up ever so safe."