When calmness was again restored, he seated himself on a grave at a
little distance, and taking a piece of paper and a pencil from his
pocket, he drew a sketch of the little square where his loved ones
slept. There were no stones to mark the spot, but there was no need of
any; the adornment of the place would have told the traveller that no
memorial of that kind was necessary, for true affection was keeping
the record. The little drawing was finished, and once more he broke
into a violent fit of weeping, from which he was suddenly disturbed by
the sound of a footstep near him. He turned, and saw a stranger
standing behind him, whose countenance was not only most
prepossessing, but now wore an expression of sympathy that operated at
once upon the heart of the desolate boy.

William rose, and would have left the spot, but the gentleman laid his
hand on his shoulder, and inquired, "Who are buried in these graves so
beautifully adorned?"

"My father and mother," answered the boy, the tears again flowing from
his eyes.

"Father and mother!" repeated the stranger; "poor orphan, what a
treasure of love belonging to thee may be buried here! Have you
brothers and sisters?"

"No, sir. I have no near relations; I am now alone in the world."

"Who, then, is to take care of you now?" asked the stranger.

"My guardian, sir," replied William, "from whom I am to learn a