'What?' said the old man. 'Say that again.'

'He's very deaf. He's very deaf indeed,' cried the sexton petulantly; 'are

you sure you're right about the figures?'

Oh quite,' replied the old man. '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. Do you guess the reason?'

No,' the child replied.

Because the memory of those who lie below, passes away so soon. At

first they tend them, morning, noon, and night; they soon begin to

come less frequently; from once a day, to once a week; from once a

week to once a month; then, at long and uncertain intervals; then, not

at all. Such tokens seldom flourish long. I have known the briefest

summer flowers outlive them.'

I grieve to hear it,' said the child.

The Old Curiosity Shop