“Did you plant yours?”
“Yes, on the lawn, and I mean it shall come up if I can make it,” answered Frank, gravely.
“I put mine where I can see it from the window, and not forget to water and take care of it,” added Jack, still turning the pretty brown acorn to and fro as if he loved it.
“What do they mean?” whispered Merry to Jill, who was leaning against her knee to rest.
“The boys were walking in the Cemetery last Sunday, as they often do, and when they came to Ed's grave, the place was all covered with little acorns from the tree that grows on the bank. They each took up some as they stood talking, and Jack said he should plant his, for he loved Ed very much, you know. The others said they would, too; and I hope the trees will grow, though we don't need anything to remember him by,” answered Jill, in a low tone, thinking of the pressed flowers the girls kept for his sake.
The boys heard her, but no one spoke for a moment as they sat looking across the river toward the hill where the pines whispered their lullabies and pointed heavenward, steadfast and green, all the year round. None of them could express the thought that was in their minds as Jill told the little story; but the act and the feeling that prompted it were perhaps as beautiful an assurance as could have been given that the dear dead boy's example had not been wasted, for the planting of the acorns was a symbol of the desire budding in those young hearts to be what he might have been, and to make their lives nobler for the knowledge and the love of him.
“It seems as if a great deal had happened this year,” said Merry, in a pensive tone, for this quiet talk just suited her mood.
“So I say, for there's been a Declaration of Independence and a Revolution in our house, and I'm commander-in-chief now; and don't I like it!” cried Molly, complacently surveying the neat new uniform she wore of her own choosing.
“I feel as if I never learned so much in my life as I have since last December, and yet I never did so little,” added Jill, wondering why the months of weariness and pain did not seem more dreadful to her.
“Well, pitching on my head seems to have given me a good shaking up, somehow, and I mean to do great things next year in better ways than breaking my bones coasting,” said Jack, with a manly air.