`` You ought to be very thankful that we have n't , '' she said severely . `` That Graveyard Day is a heathenish custom , anyhow . They make a regular picnic of it , and it makes me sick to hear those school girls chattering about what they mean to plant , each one trying to outblow the other . If I had a grave there , I would n't make a flower garden of it ! '' Freda did not go to the graveyard the next day , although it was a holiday . 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 XXXXX work my fingers to the bone making clothes for you ?
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