As it turned out, Mrs. du Maurier did think differently about graveyards. Emma du Maurier's prim, puckery old face contorted into an elegant countenance of approval, and, yes, soon the boys were told that they were to visit church each day and tour the city graveyard, under her supervision.

Mr. Barrie fought for the boys not to go. He pleaded in the cleverest ways to their grandmother…but she has a heart of resolute stone, and no frivolous little wisp of complaint will ever make it crumble. Her boys were going to the graveyard; and that was the end of the matter.

The nanny gave James a look, but when she turned, Sir Barrie stuck his tongue out at her, greatly annoyed. Like Peter, Mr. Barrie was beginning to hate nannies… James whistled for his dog, hoping its jolly presence would cheer the boys' spirits. The floor trembled, and the great galloping paws of Porthos came crashing into the dining room.

Emma du Maurier delicately frowned, "Mr. Barrie, having your dog at the table is hardly a good example for my boys—Please, take that dog outside, Miss Leary."

James Barrie got out of his seat, calmly, "Don't do tha', Miss Leary, I think I can manage." He gave a disdainful look to Mrs. du Maurier, as he took Porthos away from the dinner table and went upstairs. Sir Barrie shut his bedroom door with a bang, and stayed up in his room for the night's duration.

Everything was as tense as raw muscle that evening, and it came to Miss Leary noticed that the children hadn't even touched their dinner.

"Come along, boys," Came the strict voice of Emma du Maurier, "It is time for church! Up! Up! All of you! Up to church!"

"Why so early, Grandmama?" Squeaked little Micheal, struggling under his blankets.

With the help of Mrs. Reid, the boys were smacked, pushed, and shuffled off into their black clothes and then, like slaves being sold to market, where told to walk out in a single line formation.

Mr. Barrie watched all this, defeatedly, from a crack of opened door.

James wished them all a warm good bye, but this did little good; so, with downcast faces, the boys departed to church. Mr. Barrie watched them trod down the street from his bedroom window, silently cursed Mrs. Reid, then retired to his creaky desk and forced himself to write.

Down in the kitchen, Mrs. Bailey was starting to develop a cold, but it wasn't until the next day was it discovered she had a very bad cold, which, like most colds, spread contagiously. Soon, all the maids had caught it and were sneezing, coughing, and sputtering about the house. Well, as you can imagine, when the maids were cooking food, their sickness splattered all over the carrots, peas, and mash—and, therefore, Mrs. du Maurier and Mrs. Reid were soon very infected.

All the household males had been spared of this mild disease (mainly because they, out of indignation, never touched food lately), but it had somehow been installed in Michael's imagination that the women would die, much like his mother had. It took a good deal of Miss Leary's consoling to convince him that they would not die.

Now, this caused a bit of a dilemma, the nanny and the grandmother were both very sick (therefore, no graveyard visits could be made)—Catherine Reid was making such an unreasonable fuss about it, too, which wasn't helping things. The dilemma became direr, when Mr. Barrie received a letter, calling him away to Mr. Frohman's office.

Of course, this pleased the boys, and though they tried, they couldn't stop smiling. At last! Something had hindered their wicked nanny's plans! Thinking that the adults would certainly forget them, they all nudged each other and quietly began to sneak up to their nursery.

Oh, dear…Well, Mrs. Reid soon spotted the boys taking their leave, and she gave them such a scolding… hissing, shouting, threatening, … you'd wonder if she was the devil incarnate. The boys all shook in their boots, and politely took the insults.

After some debate between Catherine Reid and Emma du Maurier, Miss Leary was chosen. The young lady had only a small cold, and, judging from her patience with Micheal, the young lady was the most reasonable candidate for taking the boys to the church graveyard. And, so it was.

"But why must we go for a walk with Charlotte?" Asked Peter, slamming the garden gate.

"Sh!" Said George, "She'll hear you, Peter! Besides, I think she's a nice lady—she's done nothing bad."

"That's only because you fancy her," Snapped Peter, giving George the evil eye.

"That's not true!" George protested, his face reddening with embarrassment.

Peter laughed, harshly, and crushed a glittering garden snail under his polished shoe. He hated stupid brothers and he hated nannies and he hated, hated, hated walks to the graveyard. Sometimes he felt so angry and so hateful, his very blood begin to boil and bubble around inside him. Mother used to cool his blood…

"Must we walk, Charlotte?" Asked Jack, who looked rather sluggish.

"I'm only doin' my duty." Charlotte said, very sadly, "It's no pleasure to me…"

Peter demanded, "Then why do you go?"

"…'cause yer grandma's sick, Master Peter, an' Mr. Barrie's been called away—" She said, sullenly, "It's no choice of mine…"

The gang of children followed Miss Leary out into the London streets. The day was foggy and cold, the sky laden with rain—just the type of day for visiting a graveyard. The wind moaned and screamed down the cobbled road between the caverns of tall London apartments. The black clouds brewed and swirled in the dismal heavens…it was as if the whole world was in mourning for Sylvia.

The graveyard was an iron-fenced patch of land, in the east part of town, and it was littered with tombstones, memorial flowers, and ivy-covered crypts. It had ghastly types of trees; the naked kind that looked like they'd fancy to grab out and eat you.

According to Mrs. Reid, the boys were to stand in front of their mother's grave and mourn. They were not to talk, or else they would be smacked. The boys could, if they wished, walk around the cemetery and mourn for others, too—but this could only be done after the first half-hour.

The boys circled around their mother's gave and were totally silent. Her tombstone was a shimmering clean marble, and the dirt covering her coffin looked fresh. The soft soil was laced with sapphire forget-me-nots, which had been her favorite flower…The grave was still and peaceful, and each of the boys could almost swear they felt their mother's hand slip into theirs.

Micheal started crying—Jack started crying, then George, and then, finally, Peter.

Miss Leary grew impatient with this, as her cold was gradually starting to worsen. Muffledly, she told the boys to go about the graveyard, mourn accordingly, and return at the graveyard gate in an hour. They soon obliged and left.

Well, an hour had gone by and Miss Leary was at the gate, ready to leave. No boys. Charlotte Leary folded her arms, and waited another twenty minutes. No boys. The maid tapped her foot on the soil and waited yet another twenty minutes. Still, no boys.

Realizing the seriousness of this, she immediately felt alone and horrified. What was she to do? She would surely be fired if anything happened to those boys! Biting her lip, the maid decided to leave the gate, and search for them. The graveyard was not so awfully big, so there was hope of finding them soon. Miss Leary decided it was wise to employ the assistance of the groundkeeper, for extra assistance, as she didn't like the idea of roaming about a graveyard.

She spotted a dirty, ill-kept looking man bending over one of the graves, and he maid presumed that he must be the groundskeeper. He was patting some brown soil with his shovel, and looked very much like that ugly minion from Dracula, except he was younger and not hunched-backed. Hurriedly, she walked over to the soil-caked young man.

"Sir," Charlotte said, her voice as hard as flint, "'cuse me, please, but I've lost my charges. 'ave you seen them? I must get to them soon, sir—"

The young man looked up, and his face was splotched with dried dirt. "Umm…I did, yeah—"

"Could ya show me where they are?"

"'Course I could…" He said, trying to be polite, "Come along, then."

The two of them searched that grove thoroughly, but no more than a few small footprints could be found in the slushy mud. The boy's footprints led out into a wild, vegetated part of the graveyard. The young man breathed, in a lush Irish accent, "Well, now…They'd be tha wors' charges I've ever come across, miss. Mus' be horrible chasing after them this tis!"

"Ah, well—" Charlotte began, then stopped, and looked at him questioningly.

He smiled, "You're Irish, then, are ya?"

Charlotte happily nodded her head. It was wonderful to have someone of her native Ireland talking to her! It was like breathing in the first real breath of air, since she got off that ship and entered the grey, electrical, and steamy world of London.

"Ah," He grinned, very pleased, "I'm, too. Pleasure ta meet one of me own!"

Miss Leary introduced herself, eager to know a fellow Irishman. Embarrassedly, the maid explained how she had lost the boys, and the man had returned the interest and introduced himself as Bill Lawley. But he explained to Miss Leary, that he was not the groundskeeper.

She frowned, direly confused, "Then wha' do you do?"

"I dig graves…"

"Hmm?"

"I'm a gravedigger."

She looked at him, took a step backwards, but smiled politely nonetheless, and so, with pleasant acquaintances made, Mr. Lawley and Miss Leary continued looking for the lost boys.

"Look, Jack!" Chirped Micheal, excitedly, "Look! Look!"

"Oh, it's the caravans!" Cried Jack from the gates.

"Aye, and you'd stay away from them, if I were you, little lad." Said a dusty, warm voice from behind them. "Gypsies curse little boys! Turn ya into fogs, toads, cats, an' any other kind o' beastly thing"

All four boys turned around, looking very surprised by the unfamiliar voice. The source of the voice was a young man, and next to this peculiar spectacle was Charlotte Leary, who looked murderously displeased with them.

"Well, then," Bill Lawley sighed, "There ya 'ave it, Miss Leary. The los' boys are found!"

Charlotte thanked him, as she gave the boys a look. The boys weren't paying much attention to her, though; They all peered out of the bleak graveyard gates and gawked at the gypsies moving down the street. Large, splintery caravans carried dirty families of dark-faced Hungarian-Russian mobs.

Bill spat to the ground, repulsed by the very sight of them. "Filthy beggars. Look at 'em," Mr. Lawley said.

Peter looked at the gravedigger, suspiciously, "Who are you?"

"Bill."

"Are you a chimney sweep?" Peter asked, looking at his old clothes.

"I'm a gravedigger…"

A loud, respectful "Ooooo!" came from the boys, in a chorus. They somehow lost their interest in the gypsies and crowded up to Mr. Bill Lawley and Miss Leary.

The day had been a tiring one. Mr. Barrie's joints were stiff from sitting down, listening to Charles ramble on about money, success, work, new actors, new authors, business, and other senseless nonsense. You see, James did appreciate Charles as his friend and best financial banker, but he hated him when Charles started talking about debts and stockmarkets—because James could never shut the man up about it.

Besides, Mr. Barrie had had his heart set on climbing a tree today. And James could not think of much more than feathers, birds, and nests—instead of pennyworths, bank notes, and publishers.

Sir Barrie felt in his tweed pocket the letter he received in the post. He had told himself to open it numerous times today, but he could never quite do it. It was from Mary…Oh, how he wished she had just forgotten about him and left him alone. Wasn't she happy with Gilbert Cannon? Why was she doing this?

Yes, he accepted that Mary had left, and he was glad she was happier where she was—but why did she have to remind him with letters? Solemnly, he tore the letter open and read it. After finishing it, he crumpled it up and threw it away. It was all nonsense…telling him about her time in France, her new cat, and Gilbert. James Barrie frustratedly kicked a stray piece of coal, and it skidded along the cobblestones, leaving a trial of soot along the pavement.

He wished Sylvia could be alive, to make things right again. Sylvia had been a person who hadn't been suspicious of him and his intentions. James had always been a man who loved things too much, and she understood that. She was not jaded by the world, but instead hopefully raised her eyes to the sky…Beloveds are always taken away—but, then again, the world had never been the proper place for pure souls like hers.

He kicked the coal rock again and it skipped along the street, until it landed right behind a group of children. James squinted his eyes, and walked faster—those were his boys!

"Hello!" He said, catching them.

Their faces lit up and the boys simultaneously cried "Uncle Jim!" as they left the guidance of Miss Leary and flocked around him.

"How was the graveyard, then, Peter?" Mr. Barrie asked.

James was smiling at him, but Peter wasn't smiling back, "Horrible, as usual." Peter eventually mumbled.

"But," Jack piped in, enthusiastically, "We met a gravedigger, a real one!"

George nodded and smiled, contentedly, "It was amazing, and he's such a nice fellow."

"His name's Bill, Uncle Jim," Micheal explained, clinging onto Mr. Barrie's sleeve, "He's very dirty but he's very clever. Bill told us how to look for vampires and ghouls and bad fairies…" The little boy paused, as if in very deep contemplation, "I…I have had a realiz-ion…"

Mr. Barrie looked down at Micheal, "You have, young man?"

"Yes," Micheal said, importantly, "I want to grow up to be a gravedigger."

"An' I firmly encourage the notion!" James Barrie said, proudly, as he picked the little boy up and carried him on his shoulders.