"I do not see how," I said.

"Why, because an urn comes to be an emblem of mortality and
all that. Come, Daisy; let us go."

"I think a vase of flowers would be a great deal nicer," I
said. "We do not keep the ashes of our friends."

"We don't put signs of joy over their graves either," said
Preston.

"I should think we might," I said, meditatively. "When people
have gone to Jesus — they must be very glad!"

Preston burst out with an expression of hope that Miss Pinshon
would "do something" for me; and again would have led me away;
but I was not ready to go. My eye, roving beyond the white
marble and the low brick wall, had caught what seemed to be a
number of meaner monuments, scattered among the pine trees and
spreading down the slope of the ground on the further side,
where it fell off towards another dell. In one place a bit of
board was set up; further on, a cross; then I saw a great many
bits of board and crosses; some more and some less carefully
made; and still as my eye roved about over the ground they
seemed to start up to view in every direction; too low and too
humble and too near the colour of the fallen pine leaves to
make much show unless they were looked for. I asked what they
all were?

"Those? Oh, those are for the people, you know."