"Ain't! But I guess it's different from Phildelphy. I was there once, in the Centennial, and it was so full everywheres. I like the country best. Can't anything beat this now, can it?" They reached the summit of the hill and paused. "No," said Miss Lee, "this is hard to beat. I love the view from this hill." "Ain't now"--Aunt Maria smiled in approval--"this here is about the nicest spot around Greenwald. There's the town so plain you could almost count the houses, only the trees get in the road. And there's the reservoir with the white fence around, and the farms and the pretty country around them--it's a pretty place." "I like this hill," said Phœbe. "When I grow up I'm goin' to have a farm on this hill, when I'm married, I mean." "That's too far off yet, Phœbe," said her aunt. "You must eat bread and butter yet a while before you think of such things." "Anyhow, I changed my mind. I'm not goin' to live in the country when I grow up; I'm going to be a fine lady and live in the city." "Phœbe, stop that dumb talk, now!" reproved her aunt sternly. "You turn round and walk up the hill. We'll go on now, Miss Lee. Mebbe you'd like to go on the graveyard a little?" "I don't mind." "Then come." Aunt Maria led the way, past the low brick meeting-house, through the gateway into the old burial ground. They wandered among the marble slabs and read the inscriptions, some half obliterated by years of mountain storms, others freshly carved. "The epitaphs are interesting," said Miss Lee. "What's them?" asked Phœbe. "The verses on the tombstones. Here is one"--she read the inscription on the base of a narrow gray stone--"'After life's fitful fever she sleeps well.'" "Ach," Aunt Maria said tartly, "I guess her man knowed why he put that on. That poor woman had three husbands and eleven children, so I guess she had fitful fever enough." Phœbe laughed loud as she saw the smile on the face of her teacher, but next moment she sobered under the chiding of Aunt Maria. "Phœbe, now you keep quiet! Abody don't laugh and act so on a graveyard!" "Ugh," the child said a moment later, "Miss Lee, just read this one. It always gives me shivers when I read it still. "'Remember, man, as you pass by, What you are now that once was I. What I am now that you will be; Prepare for death and follow me.'" "That is rather startling," said Miss Lee. Phœbe smiled and asked, "Don't you think this is a pretty graveyard?" "Yes. How well cared for the graves are. Not a weed on most of them." "Well," Aunt Maria explained, "the people who have dead here mostly take care of the graves. We come up every two weeks or so and sometimes we bring a hoe and fix our graves up nice and even. But some people are too lazy to keep the graves clean. I hoed some pig-ears out a few graves last week; I was ashamed of 'em, even if the graves didn't belong to us." In the corner near the road the aunt stopped before a plain gray boulder.