churchyard, the churchyard in which the poor were buried. Martha strewed
sand on the grave and planted a rose-tree upon it, and the boy stood by her
side.
“Oh, my poor mother!” he cried, while the tears rolled down his cheeks.
“Is it true what they say, that she was good for nothing?”
“No, indeed, it is not true,” replied the old servant, raising her eyes to
heaven; “she was worth a great deal; I knew it years ago, and since the last
night of her life I am more certain of it than ever. I say she was a good and
worthy woman, and God, who is in heaven, knows I am speaking the truth,
though the world may say, even now she was good for nothing.”
