wounded his saddened heart. He could not resist the temptation to
present himself, unannounced, and end this wild revelry, this dreadful
disrespect for the dead. So, it happened that he appeared on the
threshold of the grand ball-room--an uninvited guest.




CHAPTER III

THE FLOWERING PLANT


On the following morning, George wended his way to the cemetery to visit
his father's grave. After wandering about for some time, he thought:
"How strange it is that I can not find it." At last he met a worker
there, to whom he said: "Friend, would you be so kind, as to direct me
to the tomb-stone that marks the grave of the late Mr. Acton."

The old grave-digger thrust his spade into the newly, upturned sod, and
said to George, whom he did not recognize, "Yes, I can show you the
grave, but the tomb-stone is still missing. His heirs have set up no
stone, and probably will never erect one. They have forgotten the good,
noble old soul."

By this time, they had reached the grave, which was graced by a
beautiful hydrangea, handsomer than any plant of its kind that George
had ever seen. A mass of beautiful flowers crowded forward between the
dark-green leaves and thousands of dew-drops hung on the plant and
sparkled in the morning sun.