“That wouldn’t help it much. A railroad has a right to locate its route through any man’s land.” “But suppose they drove their stakes in his graveyard?” The man stopped short and looked his questioner in the eyes. But a cloud had come up and covered the face of the moon, and the shadow of it made the boy’s features indistinct. Yet these were strange questions for a lad of his size to be asking. “I don’t think,” replied the man, as he started on, “I don’t think that a railroad company would have a right to locate its route through a graveyard, and if it did--well, if it was my graveyard, I believe I would pull up the stakes set in it and throw them into the brook.” “Thank you! Oh, thank you! That’s just what--what a fellow did once that I knew.” “Yes?” “Yes, he--he--” But in the midst of his stammering a new thought came to him. “You ran your line through a graveyard, didn’t you?” “Do you mean Abner Pickett’s graveyard?” “Yes.” “No; I went around it. I followed my tangent to the south side of the brook opposite the graveyard,--there’s a bit of shelving beach there which gave room for the location,--and then I put in a reverse curve and came down on this side again, just at the entrance to the gap. Here, I’ll show you how I did it. Come on!” The rest of the party, walking more rapidly, were far ahead. The engineer quickened his pace, and Dannie hurried along by his side. The subject had become one of absorbing interest to both of them. “My knowledge of the locality,” continued the man, “served me handsomely for a night survey. I used to know every foot of the ground here when I was a boy. I knew where the trout hid in this stream. I knew where the squirrels ran over that hill. I knew where the blackberries were most luscious, and where the nuts fell thickest in the first frost. Why, I could have walked, barefooted, from end to end of this gap, on the darkest night you ever saw, and never stubbed my foot against a stone, I was so familiar with the road. Oh, those were happy days!” By this time they had reached the western opening into the glen. “Here,” said the man, pointing to a stake at the roadside, “here is where we come in, and there,” indicating the curve with a sweep of his arm, “is where we cross the brook, crowd the foot of the ledge opposite the graveyard, and strike a tangent that carries us in a straight line for more than fifteen hundred feet.” “I’m so glad you didn’t touch the graveyard!” said Dannie. “My boy, if this railroad is not built until I run a line for it through that burial-place, you will never live to see the first tie laid. Abner Pickett himself holds this sacred plot in no greater reverence than do I.” They were moving on up the road now toward the graveyard wall. “I’m so glad,” repeated Dannie, softly; “I’m so glad for Gran’pap’s sake.” The next moment the man had a strong hand on each of the boy’s shoulders, and was looking down into his face with a fierce eagerness that frightened him.