Page:The way of Martha and the way of Mary (1915).djvu/234

212 "Are they allowed to do that?" I asked in horror.

"Yes," said the sister. "Every one knows that directly evening comes and we elders go home the poor children will come and dig up the eggs and take them away, and take also the wild flowers we have brought. Let them! It is quite good that they should. You know it is the festival of spring and of life." I realised that she was right. It is the way to give to the dead—give to the beggars and to the children. The dead get what we send them, surely.

Strange to notice in this acre of God some graves that had not been visited this day—old graves. I reflected on many a country walk in England, culminating in a visit to an old church and graveyard, and the tracing of the names and dates of people long since passed away. It is somewhat strange. When we are in an old graveyard and looking at the graves of people who have died centuries ago we feel, instead of grief, a sort of quiet satisfaction, and that even when those whose burial is recorded are of our own name and family. We dare not even contrast our feeling with the poignancy that is attached to a new grave—with its garish stone, fresh clods, and wilted flowers.

I often wonder where the dead are. Neither in heaven nor hell, I suppose, nor waiting for a last day and dreadful judgment, nor going through