"GOING TO HAVE A FUNERAL."
The plank did not hold out against Bertie, and he found several of the
worm family at home. They were very much disturbed by his presence, and
wriggled about in all directions, as if in pursuit of hiding places, or
their company dress and manners. They were evidently not prepared to
receive visitors. But that did not make any difference to Bertie. He
hung as many as he thought the robin could relish across a stick, and
with much difficulty--for the worms were constantly dropping off--he
made his way back to the porch without the loss of a single crawler.
But when he got there the birdy would not eat. Was not that a pity? They
coaxed in every way. Flora even talked to him with tears in her eyes,
but it was of no use. He did not open his bill or take any notice of the
nice breakfast spread before him.
"Too bad!" said Flora. "Will he die?"
"I am afraid he will."
Bertie gazed sadly at the writhing worms.
"He will starve in a land of plenty, and I don't see how anybody is to
help it. Who could resist such a tempting breakfast as that?"
"I couldn't," said Flora.
"And I couldn't. And if he does not hurry up, there won't be any
breakfast to eat. Look at that--and that."
Bertie pointed to a well-fattened, tender morsel, in such haste to be
off that it was hanging over the very edge of the flooring, and to
another whose thick-set body was fast disappearing between the boards.
"That is what I call a tight squeeze. They might stop to say good
morning."
"Worms don't know everything," returned Flora.
"Not quite everything," said Bertie.
"What shall we do next?"
"Perhaps he is thirsty. Dinah is."
"And you are?"
"Yes, I are."
Water was brought; but the birdy would not drink, although he opened his
bill so wide when Flora pushed his head into the porringer that she
thought he was drinking.
"He is only gasping," said Bertie. "Birds cannot breathe with their
heads under water. Nobody can."
"I can."
"No, dear."
"Minims can."
"Oh, yes, minims can. But minims are fishes, and they live in the water.
That is their home. Birds live in the air. They build little houses in
the trees."
"Live in the sky. I have seen them way up."
"They do fly almost as high as the sky; but when night comes and they
are tired of flying, they go home to rest."
"In the little houses?"
"Yes, dear."
"Want to see them."
"They are high up in the trees, out of sight. By and by, when the leaves
fall off and the birds fly away, I will get you one of the round nests."
"To put the robin in."
"If we have any robin."
"Got one now."
"But his wing is broken, and he will not eat."
"Too bad!"
"And if he will not eat, he may as well die. I do believe he is thinking
about it now. Look at him!"
Flora had made a bed by robbing Dinah of her dress and shawl; but the
bird had not moved since she placed him upon it. He was now lying on his
side, with closed eyes, and he was breathing very hard.
"He is asleep," said Flora.
Bertie shook his head.
"Feel better when he wakes up."
"If he _does_ wake up."
"Course he will! You do, don't you?"
"Yes."
"And I do. And Dinah does. Cover him up warm; course he will wake up!"
Flora covered him with her pocket handkerchief, which she called a
blanket, and tried to wait patiently for him to finish his nap. But she
could not help lifting a corner of the blanket, now and then, to see
how he was getting on; and every time she looked he seemed to be
breathing harder, until at last he lay quite still, and did not breathe
at all. She took that as a good sign, because the eye that she could see
was partially open; and she called to Bertie, who had gone to the barn
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 as chief mourners, while Amy and Charley walked in
single file to make the procession as long as possible. They marched
round and round the grounds as long as Flora wished, and then Bertie dug
a deep hole in the middle of Amy's garden, and buried the robin.