The child wondered how a grey-headed man like him - one of his trade

too - could talk of time so easily. He saw her eyes wandering to the

tools that hung upon the wall, and smiled.

I warrant now,' he said, 'that you think all those are used in making

graves.'

Indeed, I wondered that you wanted so many.'

And well you might. I am a gardener. I dig the ground, and plant

things that are to live and grow. My works don't all moulder away, and

rot in the earth. You see that spade in the centre?'

'The very old one - so notched and worn? Yes.'

That's the sexton's spade, and it's a well-used one, as you see. We're

healthy people here, but it has done a power of work. If it could speak

now, that spade, it would tell you of many an unexpected job that it

and I have done together; but I forget 'em, for my memory's a poor

one. - That's nothing new,' he added hastily. 'It always was.'

There are flowers and shrubs to speak to your other work,' said the

child.

Oh yes. And tall trees. But they are not so separate from the sexton's

labours as you think.'

No!'

Not in my mind, and recollection - such as it is,' said the old man.

Indeed they often help it. For say that I planted such a tree for such a

man. There it stands, to remind me that he died. When I look at its

broad shadow, and remember what it was in his time, it helps me to

the age of my other work, and I can tell you pretty nearly when I made

his grave.'

But it may remind you of one who is still alive,' said the child.

Of twenty that are dead, in connexion with that one who lives, then,'

rejoined the old man; 'wife, husband, parents, brothers, sisters,

children, friends - a score at least. So it happens that the sexton's

spade gets worn and battered. I shall need a new one - next summer.'

The child looked quickly towards him, thinking that he jested with his

age and infirmity: but the unconscious sexton was quite in earnest.

Ah!' he said, after a brief silence. 'People never learn. They never

learn. It's only we who turn up the ground, where nothing grows and

The Old Curiosity Shop