Mrs. Patton brought Kate and me some delicious old-fashioned cake with much spice in it, and told us it was made by old Mrs. Chantrey Brandon’s receipt which she got in England, that it would keep a year, and she always kept a loaf by her, now that she could afford it; she supposed we knew Miss Katharine had named her in her will long before she was sick.  “It has put me beyond fear of want,” said Mrs. Patton.  “I won’t deny that I used to think it would go hard with me when I got so old I couldn’t earn my living.  You see I never laid up but a little, and it’s hard for a woman who comes of respectable folks to be a pauper in her last days; but your aunt, Miss Kate, she thought of it too, and I’m sure I’m thankful to be so comfortable, and to stay in my house, which I couldn’t have done, like’s not.  Miss Rebecca Lorimer said to me after I got news of the will, ‘Why, Mis’ Patton, you don’t suppose your friends would ever have let you want!’ And I says, ’My friends are kind,—­the Lord bless ’em!—­but I feel better to be able to do for myself than to be beholden.’”

After this long call we went down to the post-office, and coming home stopped for a while in the old burying-ground, which we had noticed the day before; and we sat for the first time on the great stone in the wall, in the shade of a maple-tree, where we so often waited afterward for the stage to come with the mail, or rested on our way home from a walk.  It was a comfortable perch; we used to read our letters there, I remember.

I must tell you a little about the Deephaven burying-ground, for its interest was inexhaustible, and I do not know how much time we may have spent in reading the long epitaphs on the grave-stones and trying to puzzle out the inscriptions, which were often so old and worn that we could only trace a letter here and there.  It was a neglected corner of the world, and there were straggling sumachs and acacias scattered about the enclosure, while a row of fine old elms marked the boundary of two sides.  The grass was long and tangled, and most of the stones leaned one way or the other, and some had fallen flat.  There were a few handsome old family monuments clustered in one corner, among which the one that marked Miss Brandon’s grave looked so new and fresh that it seemed inappropriate.  “It should have been dingy to begin with, like the rest,” said Kate one day; “but I think it will make itself look like its neighbors as soon as possible.”

There were many stones which were sacred to the memory of men who had been lost at sea, almost always giving the name of the departed ship, which was so kept in remembrance; and one felt as much interest in the ship Starlight, supposed to have foundered off the Cape of Good Hope, as in the poor fellow who had the ill luck to be one of her crew.  There were dozens of such inscriptions, and there were other stones perpetuating the fame of Honourable gentlemen who had been members of His Majesty’s Council, or surveyors