Flaxie was crying still, but her anger was gone; she was crying for dear little Rosa.
"Won't you let me go and carry the lamb to Rosa?"
"Why, where do you want to go?"
"O, I want to go and put it side o' the flowers," replied Flaxie.
"Well, I'll go with you; only you act very queer, Flaxie."
He gave his little sister his hand; and she led him along Elm Street and up the hill to the cemetery.
"O, is that what you mean?" said he.
"Yes," replied Flaxie, kneeling and placing the white lamb on Rosa's grave, along with the myrtles and evergreens that had just been planted there. "That's for you, Rosa! I 'tended it for you, when you's sick, and I'm 'termined you shall have it."
"How will she get it up in heaven?" asked Preston, in a whisper.
"I don' know. God will see 'bout it. Isn't it a beau-ful little lamb?"