A shallow grave was soon dug in the soft mould.
"We buried a man from the Madras," said Ned; "he was sewed up in canvas."
"We lost the second mate when I was in the Casco," said Walter; "he was buried ashore, and we put the American flag on the coffin for a pall. Suppose we should wrap their bones in these flags taken from the walls; they are their country's flags."
"I suppose they would like it if they could know it, and would rather lie here, where the nightingales will sing in the summer, than in that dark alley."
They carefully gathered the bones, wrapped them in the tattered banners, and committed them to the earth.
"What shall we do with the dog, Walter?"
"Do with him? Bury him with them."
"In the same grave?"
"To be sure; at their feet. He was the best and only friend they had, and died on his master's breast; he is worthy to sleep in marble."
"Well, I feel just so; but I didn't know."