About ten years after the date of William Raymond's letter to George Herman, a young man with a knapsack on his back and a stout staff in his hand, was seen approaching the village of M----, on that side on which lay the church-yard we have already described as the resting-place of the little shoemaker's parents. The young man was robust, and seemingly a mechanic, for his hands were rough, as though accustomed to labour, and his face gave plain evidence of acquaintance with the summer sun. He could not have been altogether a stranger to the place, for after he passed the few houses in the suburbs of the village, he turned towards the church-yard, the gate of which stood open, and entered the "silent city" where the dead were reposing.
The day was bright and clear, and, being the early part of June, the trees and flowers were in their freshest and fairest bloom; but they attracted no particular attention from the stranger. The grave-yard lay upon a hill which overlooked the town, and the traveller, passing by one flower-adorned grave after another, walked hastily on until he reached the highest point, from whence he looked down earnestly, as if his eyes sought to single out some particular object among the wilderness of roofs. At first his countenance was sad, but at last the melancholy look changed to an expression of cheerful surprise, for his eye had found what it was seeking among those once familiar objects. He knew the old house, for memory keeps the record of early days most faithfully, although its appearance was much changed. The old black roof of oak shingles was now replaced by a new one of slate; and instead of the dull yellow colour which had for many years distinguished it, it was now painted and modernized, to harmonize with the rest. He did not linger long to conjecture the cause of the change, but with hasty steps prepared to ascertain in person the reason. As he retraced the path trodden only a moment before, he bestowed rather more attention on the surrounding objects; and as his eye glanced over the graves once so familiar to it, he saw that change had been busy there too.
The slate roof had not less surprised him than what he now saw: the spot where two lowly graves, adorned only by flowers, had appeared for years without any monumental record, was now adorned with all that can be rendered by the living to the dead. A very high and handsome iron railing, on which climbing plants were trained, enclosed the little mounds, and a simple white marble pillar bore the names of George and Margaret Raymond. The flowers planted before William had left M---- had long ago vanished, and the spot, left to neglect, was overgrown with weeds; but now some kind hand had rescued it from wildness and planted it anew with rare flowers, which were beginning now to bloom in place of those dead. The sexton's wife with her watering-pot now came near. Many graves adorned in a similar way required the care of some one, and she received a regular salary for her attention to the flowers. The young man waited until she came quite close to where he stood, and then inquired, "Who has had these graves so carefully done up?"