I stand by the side of a narrow grave, dug in a corner of the churchyard, and shaded from the sun's glare by a triangular wall, the top of which is covered with pieces of broken bottles, arranged with cruel nicety and precision, so that their sharp and jagged ends are uppermost. Standing also within the shadow of the triangular wall are a number of tombstones, some fair and white, others yellow and crumbling from age, which I regard with the air of one who has acquired a vested interest in the property. I do not understand the words the clergyman utters, for he has an impediment in his speech. But as the coffin is lowered, I am impelled gently towards the grave, from which I shrink, however, apprehensive lest I shall be thrust into it, and buried beneath the earth which is scattered on the coffin with a leaden miserable sound. When the service is ended, I hear Snaggletooth mutter, 'Think of him lying there, and look at me! And we were schoolfellows, and played snowball together!' Snaggletooth shows me my grandmother's grave, and the grave of my baby-brother. I dare not look upon the latter, knowing what I know. Then Snaggletooth, still with head uncovered, stands before a little gave over which is a small marble tombstone, with the inscription, 'Here Lieth our Beloved Daughter.' Seeing that his tears are falling on the grave, I creep closer to him, and he presses me gently to his side. I read the inscription slowly, spelling the words, 'Here Lieth our Beloved Daughter,' and I look at him inquiringly. 'My daughter,' he says; 'the sweetest angel that ever breathed. She was three years and one day old when she died, nearly five years ago. Poor darling! Five years ago! Ah, time! time!' As we pass out of the churchyard I notice again the broken glass on the top of the wall, and I say, 'Isn't that cruel?' 'Why cruel?' asks Snaggletooth. 'No one can get in without hurting himself.' Snaggletooth regards me with an eye of curiosity. 'And who do you think wants to get into such a place, my little fellow?' I do not answer, and Snaggletooth adds, 'The angels, perhaps. Good--good. But they come in another way.' 'No one can get out without hurting himself,' I suggest. 'That is a better thought; but if they lived good lives----' 'Yes, sir.' 'Walls covered with broken glass won't hurt them.' Snaggletooth looks upwards contemplatively. I look up also, and a sudden dizziness comes upon me and overpowers me. Snaggletooth catches me as I am falling. 'You are not well, my little fellow.' 'No, sir; I feel very weak, but the doctor says I shall get over it.' Snaggletooth lifts me in his arms, and I fall asleep on his shoulder as he carries me tenderly home.