Baby Pitchers Trials | Page 8

for a box to
keep the robin in till the new cage was made, to come quick and turn
the birdy over, for he had waked up on one side. She did not like to

disturb him; but she wanted to know if the other eye was open. Bertie
came up, with the box in his hand. He watched the bird closely for a
moment.
"No need to turn him over," he said, sadly. "He is asleep clear through."
"Waked up on one side," persisted Flora; but Bertie knew that the robin
would never wake again. He dropped the box, and took up the poor
little bird. It was quite dead.
When Flora saw the drooping head, and knew that the birdy would
never hop about and chirp or eat worms any more, she cried bitterly. It
was too bad for it to go and die just as she was getting acquainted. They
would have had such nice times together when the new cage was done.
"Never mind," said Bertie; but he too felt very sorry. He had been
looking forward to a tame bird in a pretty cage, singing the sweetest of
songs. And now that could never be.
"Get well, some time," sobbed Flora.
"Never," said Bertie, at which Flora cried louder than ever.
"We must bury him, and forget all about it."
"Have a funeral?"
"Yes."
"In a pretty box?"
"Yes."
Flora wiped her eyes. The prospect of a funeral was consoling. It
helped her to forget her loss.
"Tie a ribbon round your hat?"
"If you wish."

"Mine too?"
"Yes."
"And wait till Charley and Amy come?"
"Yes, dear."
"Goody!"
She caught up Dinah, and went skipping about the porch.
"Going to have a funeral. Did you know it? Why don't you ask who is
dead? Course somebody is. Couldn't have a funeral without somebody
dead! It isn't me, and it isn't you. Nor anybody in this house. Did you
think it was? No. It is a robin. You can go because you have a black
face. Always wear black to funerals. I will, and Bertie will,--round our
hats. You mustn't laugh. Good folks don't laugh at funerals, and I don't.
Only bad. There's a worm. Want to look? That is the robin's breakfast
going home. He lives down there under a plank. I can't lift it, and you
can't. Bertie can. He don't want no more breakfast. Course not! He is
going to be dead. Bury him when Amy and Charley come. Somewhere.
Do you know where? I don't. Bertie does."
With Dinah in her arms, she met Charley and Amy at the corner when
school was done, with the cheerful tidings.
"Going to have a funeral!"
"No!" said Charley.
"Are too, Charley Waters."
"When?"
"Now."
"Where?" inquired Amy, anxiously.

"There," pointing towards home.
"Not at our house?"
"Yes."
"It cannot be. Nobody is dead."
"Couldn't have a funeral without somebody dead."
"Flora, is anybody dead?"
"He is."
"Who?"
"The robin. Died to-day. Going to have a funeral in the porch."
"Ho, ho!" laughed Charley.
"You have given me such a fright!" said Amy. "I have not strength
enough left to take me home."
Charley offered to carry her on his back, but she declined the offer.
After leaning against a tree for a moment, she was able to go on.
"I don't know what the dear child means, do you?"
"Haven't the least idea," said Charley.
"And what is Bertie so busy about?"
"Can't make that out either."
"What is Bertie doing, pet?"
"Making the box," said Flora.
"What box?"

"Can't bury the robin without making a box!"
"Oh!"
"Course not. You ought to know better."
"That's so. When did Mr. R. shuffle off, &c.?"
"Didn't go nowhere, only to be dead."
"Oh!"
"And when Bertie gets the box done, we must form a line and march.
Me and Dinah will go first, because she is the blackest."
"Good. She shall be chief mourner."
"Me, too."
"You shall be the marshal."
"Well."
She had not the slightest idea what it was to be the marshal but she
liked the sound of it. Bertie was not long in finishing the box. Before
they put the birdy in, Amy brought a handful of hay and made a soft
nest. She could not bear to see it lying on the bottom of the hard box.
Bertie nailed the cover on, and bored a hole with a gimlet. "To look
through," he said. But as the hole was very small, and it was very dark
inside, you could not see anything.
Bertie wanted to march with the box under his arm and the spade over
his shoulder, but Flora insisted upon the wheelbarrow, and as Flora was
the marshal, the wheelbarrow was brought out to head the procession.
Flora and Dinah followed