'" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. “It’s your birthday today, May Day. ’ I don’t know what you’d call it —a sort of witchery, almost suggestiveness. A native of Manchester, he was the son of Kenelm Kneebone, a staunch Catholic, and a sergeant of dragoons, who lost his legs and his life while fighting for James the Second at the battle of the Boyne, and who had little to bequeath his son except his laurels and his loyalty to the house of Stuart. She could see over a waist high stone wall into the miniature courtyard, complete with benches only a small child could sit upon, one which had been broken in half, its two pieces left unjoined on the sandy ground. . She understood. " Neither spinster noticed the reluctance in the tones.
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