Freda felt a sympathy for it . She had no grave , and this grave had nobody to tend it or care for it . When she went home she asked Mrs. Wilson whose it was . `` Humph ! '' said Mrs. Wilson . `` If you have so much spare time lying round loose , you 'd better put it into your sewing instead of prowling about graveyards . Do you expect me to work my fingers to the bone making clothes for you ? I wish I 'd left you in the asylum . That grave is Jordan Slade 's , I suppose . He died twenty years ago , and a worthless , drunken scamp he was . He served a term in the penitentiary for breaking into Andrew Messervey 's store , and after it he had the face to come back to North Point . But respectable people would have nothing to do with him , and he went to the dogs altogether -- had to be buried on charity when he died . He has n't any relations here . There was a sister , a little girl of ten , who used to live with the Cogswells over at East Point . After Jord died , some rich folks saw her and was so struck with her good looks that they took her away with them . I do n't know what become of her , and I do n't care . Go and bring the cows up . '' When Freda went to bed that night her mind was made up . She would adopt Jordan Slade 's grave . Thereafter , Freda spent her few precious spare-time moments in the graveyard .
She clipped the blueberry shrubs and long , tangled grasses from the grave with a pair XXXXX rusty old shears that blistered her little brown hands badly .
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