'There!' he said, his old face quivering all over; 'underneath them mounds are my dear wife and four children, all taken from me in less than one month.'
'Did they die?' asked Roland with solemn eyes.
'The Lord took 'em. 'Twas the scarlet fever was ragin' in our village; little Bessie, our baby, was the first one to take it. She were only five year old, and as merry as a cricket; then Rob and Harry, big lads o' twelve and thirteen, were stricken next, and then Nellie, her mother's right hand; and the poor wife nursed 'em all through herself, and just lived to see the last o' the four buried, and then she follered them, and I were left in the empty house alone.'
Little Olive squeezed the old man's hand tightly.
'I feel as if I was going to cry,' she said. 'Why did God make them die, Mr. Bob?'
Bob raised his face to the sky above him.
'He didn't tell me why,' he said; 'but He'll tell me one day. 'Twas just at this time o' year they were taken. Ah, dear! That were a terrible winter for me! It all seemed dark and drear, and not a gleam of sunshine in sight. But thank the good Lord I got my bit o' cheer when Easter came. And it have come reg'lar and fresh like every Easter since. Do you mind them "ugly pots" in my window? Now you come back with me, and I'll tell you their story. 'Tis too cold for us to be standin' here, but don't forget my five grassy mounds in this corner when I tells the tale!'
As the children turned away to follow him, Roland said thoughtfully, 'They're all under the ground, just like you say the flowers are!'
Old Bob smiled.
'That's it, Master Roland! That's my comfort. You've hit upon the very thing I was agoin' to explain!'