Here and there it sprouts out into modernity , but at heart it is still unspoiled ; it is full of curious relics , and haloed by the romance of many legends of the past . Once it was a mere frontier station on the fringe of the wilderness , and those were the days when Indians kept life from being monotonous to the settlers . Then it grew to be a bone of contention between the British and the French , being occupied now by the one and now by the other , emerging from each occupation with some fresh scar of battling nations branded on it . It has in its park a martello tower , autographed all over by tourists , a dismantled old French fort on the hills beyond the town , and several antiquated cannon in its public squares . It has other historic spots also , which may be hunted out by the curious , and none is more quaint and delightful than Old St. John 's Cemetery at the very core of the town , with streets of quiet , old-time houses on two sides , and busy , bustling , modern thoroughfares on the others . Every citizen of Kingsport feels a thrill of possessive pride in Old St. John 's , for , if he be of any pretensions at all , he has an ancestor buried there , with a queer , crooked slab at his head , or else sprawling protectively over the grave , on which all the main facts of his history are recorded . For the most part no great art or skill was lavished on those old tombstones . The larger number are of roughly chiselled brown or gray native stone , and only in a few cases is there any attempt at ornamentation . Some are adorned with skull and cross-bones , and this grizzly decoration is frequently coupled with a cherub 's head . Many are prostrate and in ruins . Into almost all Time 's tooth has been gnawing , until some inscriptions have been completely effaced , and others can only be deciphered with difficulty . The graveyard is very full and very bowery , for it is surrounded and intersected by rows of elms and willows , beneath whose shade the sleepers must lie very dreamlessly , forever crooned to by the winds and leaves over them , and quite undisturbed by the clamor of traffic just beyond . Anne took the first of many rambles in Old St. John 's the next afternoon . She and Priscilla had gone to Redmond in the forenoon and registered as students , after which there was nothing more to do that day . The girls gladly made their escape , for it was not exhilarating to be surrounded by crowds of strangers , most of whom had a rather alien appearance , as if not quite sure where they belonged . The `` freshettes '' stood about in detached groups of two or three , looking askance at each other ; the `` freshies , '' wiser in their day and generation , had banded themselves together on the big staircase of the entrance hall , where they were shouting out glees with all the vigor of youthful lungs , as a species of defiance to their traditional enemies , the Sophomores , a few of whom were prowling loftily about , looking properly disdainful of the `` unlicked cubs '' on the stairs . Gilbert and Charlie were nowhere to be seen . `` Little did I think the day would ever come when I 'd be glad of the sight of a Sloane , '' said Priscilla , as they crossed the campus , `` but I 'd welcome Charlie 's goggle eyes almost ecstatically . At least , they 'd be familiar eyes . '' `` Oh , '' sighed Anne .
`` I ca n't describe how I felt when I was standing there , waiting my turn to be registered -- as insignificant XXXXX the teeniest drop in a most enormous bucket .
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