ow, Mervyn, I hope you know what an epitaph is?"

"Yes, I think so," said Mervyn slowly; "but no one says bush like
thrush. It doesn't sound at all right."

"Hallo! young Indian, are you going to find fault with my
pronunciation? Isn't it splendid, Miss Bun, bun?"

"I'm not bun, bun, and I think Mervyn is quite right," answered the
little girl with a toss of her head. "It sounds very funny, and all
that, but it isn't the proper way to say the word, I know."

"Of course not, little Miss Wisehead, but we are allowed to say all
kinds of things in poetry," said Frank grandly; "and I can tell you
it's jolly convenient when a fellow wants a rhyme. But now that we
have decided this knotty point, let us go and look for a nice place
where we can bury the little fellow;" and, having placed the thrush
in the box, he went off to look for a suitable burying-place.

"Put him in my little garden," cried Bunny eagerly. "There are
lovely flowers there, and we can make him such a nice grave."

"Where is your garden, monkey?" said Frank. "I did not know you had
such a thing."

"Yes, I have; at least I call it mine," answered Bunny, skipping
gaily along. "It's a dear little flower-bed down there by the
sun-dial, and it will be such a pretty place for the poor dead bird.
Do bury him there, Frank."

"Very well; what pleases you pleases me," and off they went to
Bunny's garden.

Very carefully Frank dug up the earth, and, having placed the bird
within the grave, he filled it in neatly, took a lovely geranium
from a neighbouring flower-bed, and planted it just over the poor
songster's head.

"We must water it," cried Bunny, "or it will not grow," and away she
rushed to the tool-house. Here she found the gardener's
watering-pot, and, unfortunately for them all, it was more than
half-full of water.

"This will make the flowers grow beautifully," she cried; and before
the boys had time to speak or stop her hand, she tilted up the heavy
pot and sent the water flying all over their feet and legs.

"Oh! Bunny, Bunny! just see what you have done," exclaimed Mervyn,
beginning to cry as he felt the cold water soaking in through his
stockings and shoes. "Oh, dear! what shall I do?"

"You little mischief!" cried Frank, shaking himself. "What on earth
made you do that?"

"Oh! I wanted the flower to grow," said Bunny, bursting into tears,
"and I did not mean to wet you and Mervyn at all; and look at my own
pinafore and frock. Oh, dear! w