And a little girl at play among the tombstones crept near to listen; but the boy was so intent upon his garland, that he did not hear the gentle footsteps, as they trod softly over the fresh green grass. When his work was finished, and all the flowers that were in his lap were woven together in one long wreath, he started up to measure its length upon the ground, and then he saw the little girl, as she stood with her eyes fixed upon him. He did not move or speak, but thought to himself that she looked very beautiful as she stood there with her flaxen ringlets hanging down upon her neck. The little girl was so startled by his sudden movement, that she let fall all the flowers she had collected in her apron, and ran away as fast as she could. But the boy was older and taller than she, and soon caught her, and coaxed her to come back and play with him, and help him to make more garlands; and from that time they saw each other nearly every day, and became great friends. Twenty years passed away. Again, he was seated beneath the old yew tree in the churchyard. It was summer now; bright, beautiful summer, with the birds singing, and the flowers covering the ground, and scenting the air with their perfume. But he was not alone now, nor did the little girl steal near on tiptoe, fearful of being heard. She was seated by his side, and his arm was round her, and she looked up into his face, and smiled as she whispered: “The first evening of our lives we were ever together was passed here: we will spend the first evening of our wedded life in the same quiet, happy place.” And he drew her closer to him as she spoke. The summer is gone; and the autumn; and twenty more summers and autumns have passed away since that evening, in the old churchyard. A young man, on a bright moonlight night, comes reeling through the little white gate, and stumbling over the graves. He shouts and he sings, and is presently followed by others like unto himself, or worse. So, they all laugh at the dark solemn head of the yew tree, and throw stones up at the place where the moon has silvered the boughs. Those same boughs are again silvered by the moon, and they droop over his mother’s grave. There is a little stone which bears this inscription:- “HER HEART BRAKE IN SILENCE.” But the silence of the churchyard is now broken by a voice—not of the youth—nor a voice of laughter and ribaldry. “My son!—dost thou see this grave? and dost thou read the record in anguish, whereof may come repentance?” “Of what should I repent?” answers the son; “and why should my young ambition for fame relax in its strength because my mother was old and weak?” “Is this indeed our son?” says the father, bending in agony over the grave of his beloved. “I can well believe I am not;” exclaimeth the youth. “It is well that you have brought me here to say so. Our natures are unlike; our courses must be opposite. Your way lieth here—mine yonder!”