'Why not?'
'He's exceedingly deaf,' muttered the sexton to himself. 'I think
he's getting foolish.'
The child rather wondered what had led him to this belief, as, to
say the truth, the old man seemed quite as sharp as he, and was
infinitely more robust. As the sexton said nothing more just then,
however, she forgot it for the time, and spoke again.
'You were telling me,' she said, 'about your gardening. Do you
ever plant things here?'
'In the churchyard?' returned the sexton, 'Not I.'
'I have seen some flowers and little shrubs about,' the child
rejoined; 'there are some over there, you see. I thought they were
of your rearing, though indeed they grow but poorly.'
'They grow as Heaven wills,' said the old man; 'and it kindly
ordains that they shall never flourish here.'
'I do not understand you.'
'Why, this it is,' said the sexton. 'They mark the graves of those
who had very tender, loving friends.'
'I was sure they did!' the child exclaimed. 'I am very glad to
know they do!'
'Aye,' returned the old man, 'but stay. Look at them. See how
they hang their heads, and droop, and wither.
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