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Louis
looked
up
.
They
were
in
a
natural
clearing
.
He
supposed
that
explained
how
well
the
grass
did
;
the
sun
could
get
through
.
Nevertheless
it
would
have
taken
watering
and
careful
tending
.
That
meant
cans
of
water
lugged
up
here
or
maybe
Indian
pumps
even
heavier
than
Gage
in
his
Gerrypack
carried
on
small
backs
.
He
thought
again
that
it
was
an
odd
thing
for
children
to
have
kept
up
for
so
long
.
His
own
memory
of
childhood
enthusiasms
,
reinforced
by
his
dealings
with
Ellie
,
was
that
they
tended
to
burn
like
newsprint
--
fast
...
hot
...
and
quick
to
die
.
Moving
inward
,
the
pet
graves
became
older
;
fewer
and
fewer
of
the
inscriptions
could
be
read
,
but
those
that
could
yielded
a
rough
timeline
extending
into
the
past
.
Here
was
TRIXIE
,
KILT
ON
THE
HIGHWAY
SEPT
15
,
1968
.
In
the
same
circle
was
a
wide
flat
board
planted
deep
in
the
earth
.
Frost
and
thaw
had
warped
it
and
canted
it
to
one
side
,
but
Louis
could
still
make
out
IN
MEMORY
OF
MARTA
OUR
PET
RABIT
DYED
MARCH
1
1965
.
A
row
farther
in
was
:
GEN.
PATTON
(
OUR
!
GOOD
!
DOG
!
the
inscription
amplified
)
,
who
had
died
in
1958
;
and
POLYNESIA
(
who
would
have
been
a
parrot
,
if
Louis
remembered
his
Doctor
Doolittle
correctly
)
,
who
had
squawked
her
last
"
Polly
want
a
cracker
"
in
the
summer
of
1953
.
There
was
nothing
readable
in
the
next
two
rows
,
and
then
,
still
a
long
way
in
from
the
center
,
chiseled
roughly
on
a
piece
of
sandstone
,
was
HANNAH
THE
BEST
DOG
THAT
EVER
LIVED
1929-1939
.
Although
sandstone
was
relatively
soft
--
as
a
result
the
inscription
was
now
little
more
than
a
ghost
--
Louis
found
it
hard
to
conceive
of
the
hours
some
child
must
have
spent
impressing
those
nine
words
on
the
stone
.
The
commitment
of
love
and
grief
seemed
to
him
staggering
;
this
was
something
parents
did
not
even
do
for
their
own
parents
or
for
their
children
if
they
died
young
.
"
Boy
,
this
does
go
back
some
,
"
he
said
to
Jud
,
who
had
strolled
over
to
join
him
.
Jud
nodded
.
"
Come
here
,
Louis
.
Want
to
show
you
something
.
"
They
walked
to
a
row
only
three
back
from
the
center
.
Here
the
circular
pattern
,
perceived
as
an
almost
haphazard
coincidence
in
the
outer
rows
,
was
very
evident
.
Jud
stopped
before
a
small
piece
of
slate
that
had
fallen
over
.
Kneeling
carefully
,
the
old
man
set
it
up
again
.
"
Used
to
be
words
here
,
"
Jud
said
.
"
I
chiseled
em
myself
,
but
it
's
worn
away
now
.
I
buried
my
first
dog
here
.
Spot
.
He
died
of
old
age
in
1914
,
the
year
the
Great
War
begun
.
"
Bemused
by
the
thought
that
here
was
a
graveyard
that
went
farther
back
than
many
graveyards
for
people
,
Louis
walked
toward
the
center
and
examined
several
of
the
markers
.
None
of
them
were
readable
,
and
most
had
been
almost
reclaimed
by
the
forest
floor
.
The
grass
had
almost
entirely
overgrown
one
,
and
when
he
set
it
back
up
,
there
was
a
small
tearing
,
protesting
sound
from
the
earth
.
Blind
beetles
scurried
over
the
section
he
had
exposed
.
He
felt
a
small
chill
and
thought
,
Boot
Hill
for
animals
.
I
'm
not
sure
I
really
like
it
.
"
How
far
do
these
go
back
?
"
"
Gorry
,
I
do
n't
know
,
"
Jud
said
,
putting
his
hands
deep
in
his
pockets
.
"
Place
was
here
when
Spot
died
,
of
course
.
I
had
a
whole
gang
of
friends
in
those
days
.
They
helped
me
dig
the
hole
for
Spot
.
Digging
here
ai
n't
that
easy
,
either
--
ground
's
awful
stony
,
you
know
,
hard
to
turn
.
And
I
helped
them
sometimes
.
"
He
pointed
here
and
there
with
a
horny
finger
.
"
That
there
was
Pete
LaVasseur
's
dog
,
if
I
remember
right
,
and
there
's
three
of
Albion
Groatley
's
barncats
buried
right
in
a
row
there
.
