The names on the three little stones were Emeline, Frank, Jr., and Clarissa. Weeds and tall grass had begun to sprout about the tombstones in the old churchyard.
Carolyn May pulled the unsightly weeds from about the little, lozenge-shaped stones and about the taller one, and she dug out a mullen plant that grew on one of the graves.
While she was thus engaged, a tall man in black—looking rather “weedy” himself, if the truth were told—came across the graveyard and stood beside her. He wore a broad band of crêpe around his hat and on his arm, and was very grave and serious-looking.
“Who are you, little girl?” he asked, his voice being quite agreeable and his tone kindly.
“I’m Car’lyn May, if you please,” she replied, looking up at him frankly.
“Car’lyn May Stagg?” he asked. “You’re Mr. Stagg’s little girl? I’ve heard of you.”
“Car’lyn May Cameron,” she corrected seriously. “I’m only staying with Uncle Joe. He is my guardian, and he had to take me, of course, when my papa and mamma were lost at sea.”
“Indeed?” returned the gentleman. “Do you know who I am?”
“I—I think,” said Carolyn May doubtfully, “that you must be the undertaker.”
For a moment the gentleman looked startled. Then he flushed a little, but his eyes twinkled.