ttle bird in it, after Fanny had given one last
glance at her pet, Norman covered it up. They then surrounded the grave
with the boughs which had served for a bier, and having finished all
they could then think of doing, they returned to the house.

On their way they met the gardener, who had, at the request of their
granny, prepared a smooth piece of hard wood. Fanny, thanking him, took
it into the house, and as she was very neat-handed with her pen, she
soon managed to write out the epitaph she proposed.

With this they returned to the tiny grave, and set it up at one end.

"We have one thing more to do though," she said, "come and help me to
pick some wild-flowers--the smallest we can find."

Having collected a number, she neatly formed a pretty little wreath.

"The French, and other people I have read of, have the custom of placing
wreaths of flowers on the tombs of their friends, and so that is why I
thought of putting one on Pecksy's grave," she observed. "I might have
picked some from the garden, but I think wild-flowers are more suited to
the little bird."

She stood gazing at the spot, after she had deposited the wreath for a
minute or two.

"There, we can do no more," she said, with a sigh, as she took Norman's
hand. "We will go home now, and, O Norman, if you will try to be a good
boy, and love me and everybody else, I shall not mind so much having
lost dear little Pecksy."

CHAPTER TEN.

THE DREAM.

Norman walked on by the side of his sister towards the house without
speaking. Her heart was too full to say anything more. She found it,
indeed, very difficult to forgive her brother from the bottom of her
heart, and to love him notwithstanding all he had done.

Norman little thought as he walked by her side how kindly she felt to
him. He fancied that she was only thinking about her little dead bird,
and mourning for its loss. He was ashamed to look up into her face, as
he would have done, had his conscience not accused him--for although he
tried to persuade himself that he had not intended actually to kill the
bird, yet he well knew that he had harboured the thought day after day,
and often as he murmured to himself, "I did not want to kill it," a
voice said to him, "Norman, you know that you did want to kill it."

How different was the expression in the countenance of the two children.
Although both were handsome, that of Norman showed his irritable
discontented disposition. By the t