In Chitterne Churchyard

Chitterne is one of those small out-of-the-world villages in the south
Wiltshire downs which attract one mainly because of their isolation and
loneliness and their unchangeableness. Here, however, you discover that
there has been an important change in comparatively recent years--some
time during the first half of the last century. Chitterne, like most
villages, possesses one church, a big building with a tall spire
standing in its central part. Before it was built there were two
churches and two Chitternes--two parishes with one village, each with
its own proper church. These were situated at opposite ends of the one
long street, and were small ancient buildings, each standing in its own
churchyard. One of these disused burying-places, with a part of the old
building still standing in it, is a peculiarly attractive spot, all the
more so because of long years of neglect and of ivy, bramble, and weed
and flower of many kinds that flourish in it, and have long obliterated
the mounds and grown over the few tombs and headstones that still exist
in the ground.

It was an excessively hot August afternoon when I last visited
Chitterne, and, wishing to rest for an hour before proceeding on my
way, I went to this old churchyard, naturally thinking that I should
have it all to myself. But I found two persons there, both old women of
the peasant class, meanly dressed; yet it was evident they had their
good clothes on and were neat and clean, each with a basket on her arm,
probably containing her luncheon. For they were only visitors and
strangers there, and strangers to one another as they were to me--that,
too, I could guess: also that they had come there with some object--
perhaps to find some long unvisited grave, for they were walking about,
crossing and recrossing each other's track, pausing from time to time
to look round, then pulling the ivy aside from some old tomb and
reading or trying to read the worn, moss-grown inscription. I began to
watch their movements with growing interest, and could see that they,
too, were very much interested in each other, although for a long time
they did not exchange a word. Presently I, too, fell to examining the
gravestones, just to get near them, and while pretending to be absorbed
in the inscriptions I kept a sharp eye on their movements. They took no
notice of me. I was nothing to them--merely one of another class, a
foreigner, so to speak, a person cycling about the country who was just
taking a ten minutes' peep at the place to gratify an idle curiosity.
But who was _she_--that other old woman; and what did she want
hunting about there in this old forsaken churchyard? was doubtless what
each of those two was saying to herself. And by-and-by their curiosity
got the