The Carlisle church was a very old-fashioned one , with a square , ivy-hung tower . It was shaded by tall elms , and the graveyard surrounded it completely , many of the graves being directly under its windows . We always took the corner path through it , passing the King plot where our kindred of four generations slept in a green solitude of wavering light and shadow . There was Great-grandfather King 's flat tombstone of rough Island sandstone , so overgrown with ivy that we could hardly read its lengthy inscription , recording his whole history in brief , and finishing with eight lines of original verse composed by his widow . I do not think that poetry was Great-grandmother King 's strong point . When Felix read it , on our first Sunday in Carlisle , he remarked dubiously that it LOOKED like poetry but did n't SOUND like it . There , too , slept the Emily whose faithful spirit was supposed to haunt the orchard ; but Edith who had kissed the poet lay not with her kindred . She had died in a far , foreign land , and the murmur of an alien sea sounded about her grave . White marble tablets , ornamented with weeping willow trees , marked where Grandfather and Grandmother King were buried , and a single shaft of red Scotch granite stood between the graves of Aunt Felicity and Uncle Felix . The Story Girl lingered to lay a bunch of wild violets , misty blue and faintly sweet , on her mother 's grave ; and then she read aloud the verse on the stone . '' ` They were lovely and pleasant in their lives and in their death they were not divided . ' '' The tones of her voice brought out the poignant and immortal beauty and pathos of that wonderful old lament . The girls wiped their eyes ; and we boys felt as if we might have done so , too , had nobody been looking . What better epitaph could any one wish than to have it said that he was lovely and pleasant in his life ? When I heard the Story Girl read it I made a secret compact with myself that I would try to deserve such an epitaph . `` I wish I had a family plot , '' said Peter , rather wistfully . `` I have n't ANYTHING you fellows have . The Craigs are just buried anywhere they happen to die . '' `` I 'd like to buried here when I die , '' said Felix . `` But I hope it wo n't be for a good while yet , '' he added in a livelier tone , as we moved onward to the church .
The interior of the church was XXXXX old-fashioned as its exterior .
about as between by for in like of on under