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."

"M