“Well, papa says some folks believe that dead people never go to heaven.”
“Never mind what they believe, Budge. You should believe what you are taught,” said Mrs. Burton.
“But I’d like to know for sure.”
“So you will, some day.”
“I wish ’twould be pretty quick about it, then,” said Budge. “Now tell us a story.”
Mrs. Burton drew the children nearer her as she reopened the Bible, when she discovered, to her surprise, that Toddie was crying.
“I hazhn’t talked a bit for ever so long!” he exclaimed, in a high, pathetic tremolo.
“What do you want to say, Toddie?” asked Mrs. Burton.
“I know all ’bout burying folks—that’ what,” said Toddie. “Mamma tolded me all ’bout it one time, she did. An’ yeshterday me and Budgie had a funelal all by ourselves. We found a dear little dead byde. An’ we w’apped it up in a piesh of paper, ’cause a baking-powder box wazn’t bid enough for a coffin, an’ we dugged a little grave, an’ we knelted down an’ said a little prayer, an’ ashked de Lord to take it up to hebben, an’ den we put dyte in the grave an’ planted little flowers all over it. Dat’s what.”
“Yes, an’ we put a little stone at the head of the grave, too, just like big dead folks,” said Budge. “We couldn’t find one with any writin’ on it, but I went home and got a picture-book an’ cut out a little picture of a bird, an’ stuck it on the stone with some tar that I picked out of the groceryman’ wagon-wheel, so that when the angel that takes spirits to heaven comes along, it can see there’s a dead little birdie there waitin’ for him.”