Thus the village children settled amongst themselves all about the little Countess, and the outcome of it all was that, as she was so much better off than they, she was to be disliked, and when she came into the village—if, indeed, she ever did—they were to turn up their noses at her, just as they made sure she would turn up her nose at them.
There was one, however, amongst the group who ventured to put in a word for the poor little Countess—this was Patience Filbert—whom, in spite of themselves, everyone liked, for Patience was good to all. The child was a little younger than the Countess. She had long fair hair, and round grey eyes which seemed to open wide when she talked to you and looked you, as she often did, so honestly, so wonderingly, so lovingly in the face.
Patience ventured to say that, perhaps the little Countess might be very nice, and if she was born a countess that was not her fault; but poor Patience was told that she was a silly little thing.
"Yes, yes," said Dolly Strap; "you was hatched out a little goose, and you'll be a little goose until you die. Now you go and give your Bullie his dinner; you sat up with him half the night, and I hope he won't die."
"Yes," they all said, "we hope he won't die," for they all liked Patience—as, indeed, who could help doing?—and they knew that her bullfinch was her great pleasure in life.
Poor Bullie! he was indeed ill, drawing near his end. He no longer sang when Patience sang, nor hopped from his cage to eat out of her mouth. He had fulfilled his mission in life, by making the delicate child happy in what would have been many lonely hours, for she could seldom play with other girls; and now in his death Bullie was about to play a greater part than he had ever done in his life.
Bullie lingered two or three days, during which time he had three warm baths and apoplectic fits, to the last of which he succumbed, and, turning himself on his back and throwing his legs up into the air, he departed this life. As Bullie had nothing to leave—at least, so far as he knew—he died without a will, though in reality he left a good deal, which was divided amongst all the inhabitants of Hopedale, making them ever so much richer than they had been before.
And it all came about in this way.
When Bullie died, it was determined amongst the children that he should have a public funeral. Patience Filbert would have liked to bury him just by herself; but two considerations induced her to let her little neighbours have their way. There was first the kindly feeling shown to herself, and then there was the honour done to Bullie. And so Bullie was carried to his burial; his body was wrapped in a clean pocket-handkerchief, and his coffin was an old cigar box with wadding and sweet herbs inside. There was a long avenue of trees leading up to the Castle gate, beneath a particular one of which it was decided the body should be buried. Here it was interred.
There was one more at the funeral than was expected. The little Countess was there. She had seen the small procession as she was out for her morning walk, and followed respectfully at a little distance all the way. Moreover, she was at the ceremony of interment, only standing a little way behind the rest.