A line of Lombardy poplars, stiff and severe, like a row of grenadiers, mounted guard on the water-side.

On the extreme end of the peninsula was an old disused graveyard, tenanted principally by the early settlers who had been scalped by the Indians.

In a remote corner of the cemetery, set apart from the other mounds, was the grave of a woman who had been hanged in the old colonial times for the murder of her infant.

Goodwife Polly Haines had denied the crime to the last, and after her death there had arisen strong doubts as to her actual guilt.

It was a belief current among the lads of the town, that if you went to this grave at nightfall on the 10th of November--the anniversary of her execution--and asked, "For what did the magistrates hang you ?" a voice would reply, "Nothing." Many a Rivermouth boy has tremblingly put this question in the dark, and, sure enough, Polly Haines invariably answered nothing! A low red-brick wall, broken down in many places and frosted over with silvery moss, surrounded this burial-ground of our Pilgrim Fathers and their immediate descendants.