The little house under the rock has now but two occupants. Edwin, first mentioned in the history as a youth of twenty, now takes up the task alone. A small, delicate man, with clear light blue eyes, light brown hair and a face white and fair as a woman’s; honest, credulous and hopeful, he has the will but not the strength to cope long with that hard unyielding stone, yet the thought of abandoning the work is not tolerated for a single moment, and every year the pile of stone outside is heaped higher, and the route of the excavation becomes longer, deeper and more circuitous; and, alas! each year the excavator grows weaker and more feeble and less able to carry on the work. More rooms have been added to the house, but the octagon foundation is now only a ruin. The interest is still kept up and many visitors come every year and all go away well pleased that they have spent an hour in this quiet spot, around which there hangs a mystery. Early in the winter of 1879 Mr. Marble contemplated visiting his relatives and friends in the West, but instead thereof, he started on that journey from whence no traveler returns,--in the body--and one bright day, in the middle of January 1880, the last good byes were spoken and his grave was made by the side of the rock, just above the house where he spent more than half of his earthly existence. There is little change in the place since then; the faces of strangers are seen in the places where the visitors of long ago saw, perhaps, those described in these pages; but they will give you a welcome, kind as ever, and try always to make your visit pleasant. The old platform, where there has been much merry-making, has been replaced by a larger and better one. The old flag-staff has long since blown down.