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Ever since the child had learned to walk he had been his mother’s and father’s despair and delight, for there never was such a boy for wandering, for climbing up things, for getting into and out of things.
The graveyard kept its secrets.
It is going to take more than just a couple of good-hearted souls to raise this child. It will,” said Silas, “take a graveyard.”
This is a graveyard, not a nursery, blast it.”
A graveyard is not normally a democracy, and yet death is the great democracy, and each of the dead had a voice, and an opinion as to whether the living child should be allowed to stay, and they were each determined to be heard, that night.
