"'Course she does!" answered Betty emphatically, "An' she'll feel mighty bad, if we don't do it nice!"
Betty dug the grave and Edna placed the coffin inside of it. They drew lots as to who should cover the coffin with dirt—this being the most heart-breaking,—and the lot fell to Betty.
With the tears streaming down her face, she piled the damp earth in, Edna crying more in sympathy for her sister, than in sorrow for Tinkey's death.
The grave filled and covered with flowers, Betty looked around until she found a flat piece of wood. Taking her pencil, she wrote:
"Here lies Tinkey Emmit, too young to die, too sick to live. Mourned for by Edna and Betty Emmit."
She handed this to Edna with a smile of pride between her tears.
"Guess Tinkey'll like that for a gravestone. She'll know jes' why she had to die, an' won't have any bad feelin's."
"You're awfully smart, Betty," declared Edna soberly, as Betty drove the gravestone into the ground.
"Sometimes, Edna, only sometimes," returned Betty humbly. "Now, Edna, kneel th'other side of the grave and we'll have prayer, next."
"Dear God," began Betty, then there was a prolonged silence.