Far away on a wooded knoll above the sea
was the old graveyard, where generations of Sherwoods lay dead in their
quiet rest, side by side.
But for a space in every year the desolation was touched with the breath
of life, and the sweet June air blew away the mould and the smell of
death, and the wild flowers and roses sprang up joyfully in the wilderness
to greet the song-birds and the butterflies of summer. And in this copious
year a double spring had come to Sherwood, for Sybil Brandon had arrived
one day, and her soft eyes and golden hair had banished all sadness and
shadow from the old place. Even the thin old man, who lived there among
the ghosts and shadows of the dead and dying past, smoothed the wrinkles
from his forehead, forgetting to long selfishly for his own death, when
Sybil came; and with touching thoughtfulness he strove to amuse her, and
to be younger for her sake. He found old garments of a gayer time, full
thirty years hidden away in the great wardrobes up-stairs, and he put them
on and wore them, though they hung loosely about his shaken and withered
frame, lest he should be too sad a thing for such young eyes to look upon.
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