"Yes," said Mabel, "we will; and maybe Maggie would make up some poetry for us about him."
The promised visit of Maggie and Bessie Bradford made quite a jubilee; and the next morning, when they landed with their papa from the boat which had brought them from Newport, they were met on the dock by a host of eager little friends.
They were soon told the story of the duckling, but as they had only a few hours to spend in the place, and there was much to be seen and to do, Maggie declined to spend any portion of her time in composition, save so much as would answer for the purpose of a short epitaph.
Mabel had sacrificed "the sweetest sugarplum box with the loveliest lady on the cover," to the service of the duckling, and he was tenderly laid therein. The procession was a large one, comprising not only most of the children in the house, but several others from the neighboring hotels; and Wagtail was buried with military honors; that is, to the beating of a drum and tooting of two tin trumpets, after which the assembly sang "Shoo Fly" about the grave.
These imposing ceremonies afforded so much consolation to Mabel that she privately informed Belle and Lily that she would like to have a duck funeral every day, only she would not like to be the one to kill it.
Maggie also composed a most touching epitaph for him, of mixed poetry and prose, which ran as follows:—
"Oh, pause, and drop a virtuous tear,
Whatever footsteps wander here;
For here's the body of Wagtail Duck,
Whom cruel Death so soon did pluck!
To the memory of Wagtail Duck, Esq.,
who
Died in the fifth day of his age,
after
A short life
in
Which he was never known to do wrong
and
Painful illness.
Reader, go and do likewise."
This gem of composition, having been greatly approved by the mourners, was carried to Tom Norris in order that he might print it upon the board which, by Lily's request, he had prepared for a headstone. He read it without a smile, gravely shaking his head, and saying,—
"Yes, that is the usual fate of ducks; they are only made to be plucked."