"I think it's Mrs. Axtell's grave that is to be made," I said. Sophie came to the window. "It's a wonder he don't make it himself." "Who make it?" "Why, Abraham Axtell. Look now,--see him look at it. It would be very like him. He's fond of such doleful things. He has a way of haunting the Church-yard. Aaron sees him there sometimes on moonlight nights." Even while she spoke, Mr. Axtell did take the spade from the man; and striking down deeper, stronger than he, he rolled out stones, and the yellow, hard earth, crusty with the frost not yet out of it. "There! I thought he would. Just watch now, and see of how much use that man is; he might as well be away," exclaimed Sophie. We two watched the other two in yonder church-yard, until the pile of earth grew so high that it half-concealed them. Two or three times the man seemed to offer to take the spade from Mr. Axtell, but he kept it and worked away. At last the excavation grew so deep that one must needs go down into it to make it deeper. Would Mr. Axtell go? We watched to see. Sophie said "Yes" to the question; I thought "No." There grew a pause. Mr. Axtell stopped in his work, looked at the man, and must have spoken; for he picked up his coat and walked away. "I wonder what is coming now," said Sophie. "Nothing," answered I; "for Mr. Axtell evidently is going." "Time enough to finish to-morrow," she said.--"Where are you going, Anna?" "To ask after his sister," I answered, and hastened out, for I had seen Mr. Axtell pick up the spade as if to go. But he did not go; he stood leaning upon the spade, looking into the open grave, forgetful of everything above the earth. I thought to approach him unheard and unseen; but it was willed otherwise, for I stepped upon some of the crispy earth thrown out, and set the stones to rattling in a very rude sort of way. He turned quickly upon me. "You have chosen a very sad place to meditate over," I said. "Does it trouble you, if I have?" he asked, not changing his position. "No, not in the least, Sir. I came to ask after Miss Axtell." "Lettie is much worse, very ill indeed, to-day." "I am very sorry to hear it. I ought not to have thought myself wise enough to take care of her last night." "Yes, you ought; you pleased her; she has asked for you several times to-day,--only she calls you another name. I wish you wouldn't mind it, or seem to notice it either." "What is the name?" "Never mind it now; perhaps you will not see her until she is sane, and then she will give you only your own." "I wish you would tell me." The spade upon which Mr. Axtell leaned seemed suddenly to have failed to do its duty, for it slid along the distance to the very edge of the grave. Mr. Axtell regained his position and his strength, that had failed only for the moment. "No, you do not wish it," he said.