"Yes, in every one."
"Even when the names are worn off?" asked the little boy.
"Yes, I believe they do," said Granny Robin softly.
"I'm so glad," said Stephen. "Then maybe the angels do come and look at them sometimes. I expect they come at night, when Audrey and me are in bed. I'll get out and look some night, Granny Robin; maybe I shall see them; my window looks out this way."
The forgotten graves weighed heavily on Stephen's mind after this talk with the old woman. When Audrey was at school, he used to wander up and down amongst them, pitying them with all the pity of his loving little heart. And he would try to put aside some of the branches that kept blowing against the stones, and which were so fast wearing them away, and he would pull up some of the long grass, which in some places hid the stones completely from sight.
"Audrey—" he said one afternoon when Aunt Cordelia had given her leave to have a long play with him, "Audrey, couldn't we make these poor old graves look nice?"
"We couldn't do them all," said Audrey. "Why, Stephen, there must be a hundred or more!"
"No, we couldn't do them all; we might begin with two—one for you and one for me, Audrey."
"Well, let's choose," said the little girl. "We'll walk round and have a look at them all."
"We'll have one with some reading on," said Stephen, "and then we shall know what to call it."