Far away in the deep heart of a lonely country there was an oldsolitary churchyard. People were no longer buried there, for it hadfulfilled its mission long, long ago, and its rank grass now fed a fewvagrant goats that clambered over its ruined wall and roamed throughthe sad wilderness of graves. It was bordered all round with willowsand gloomy cypresses; and the rusty iron gate, seldom if ever opened,shrieked when the wind stirred it on its hinges as if some lost soul,condemned to wander in that desolate place forever, was shaking itsbars and wailing at the terrible imprisonment.In this churchyard there was one grave unlike all the rest. The stonewhich stood at the head bore no name, but instead the curious device,rudely sculptured of a sun uprising out of the sea.The grave was very small and covered with a thick growth of dock andnettle, and one might tell by its size that it was that of a littlechild.