But in the evening , when everybody had gone home , she crept over the hill and through the beech grove to see what had been done . The plots were all very neat and prettily set out with plants and bulbs . Some perennials were already in bud . The grave of Katie Morris ' great-uncle , who had been dead for forty years , was covered with blossoming purple pansies . Every grave , no matter how small or old , had its share of promise -- every grave except one . Freda came across it with a feeling of surprise . It was away down in the lower corner where there were no plots . It was shut off from the others by a growth of young poplars and was sunken and overgrown with blueberry shrubs . There was no headstone , and it looked dismally neglected . 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 XXXXX be buried on charity when he died .
If except for from in into of over through to