It seemed less neglected than the lots about it,
and as they drew nigh they saw among the tombs a very black and
seemingly aged Negro engaged in pruning a tangled rose tree. Near him
stood a dilapidated basket, partially filled with weeds and leaves,
into which he was throwing the dead and superfluous limbs. He seemed
very intent upon his occupation, and had not noticed the colonel's and
Phil's approach until they had paused at the side of the lot and stood
looking at him.
When the old man became aware of their presence, he straightened
himself up with the slow movement of one stiff with age or rheumatism
and threw them a tentatively friendly look out of a pair of faded
eyes.
"Howdy do, uncle," said the colonel. "Will you tell me whose graves
these are that you are caring for?"
"Yas, suh," said the old man, removing his battered hat
respectfully--the rest of his clothing was in keeping, a picturesque
assortment of rags and patches such as only an old Negro can get
together, or keep together--"dis hyuh lot, suh, b'longs ter de fambly
dat I useter b'long ter--de ol' French fambly, suh, de fines' fambly
in Beaver County."
"Why, papa!" cried little Phil, "he means----"
"Hush, Phil! Go on, uncle."
"Yas, suh, de fines' fambly in Cla'endon, suh. Dis hyuh headstone
hyuh, suh, an' de little stone at de foot, rep'esents de grave er ol'
Gin'al French, w'at fit in de Revolution' Wah, suh; and dis hyuh one
nex' to it is de grave er my ol' marster, Majah French, w'at fit in
de Mexican Wah, and died endyoin' de wah wid de Yankees, suh.
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