They took the silver box and carried it to a corner of the garden where she used to go to look at blue lilacs and climbing blue morning glories in patches of silver lights. Among the old leaves of blue lilacs and morning glories they dug a place for the silver box to be laid in. And men and women with music and flowers stood by the silver box, and her old playmates, singing songs she used to sing—and calling her name. When it was all over and they all went away they remembered one thing most of all. And that was her arms in the soft silk and blue silver sleeves, the left arm crossing over the right arm like the letter X. Somebody went to the king of the country and told him how it all happened, how the black rains with a strong wind came, the deep sleep, the singing playmates, the silver box—and the soft silk and blue silver sleeves on the left arm crossing the right arm like the letter X. Before that there never was a letter X in the alphabet. It was then the king said, “We shall put the crossed arms in the alphabet; we shall have a new letter called X, so everybody will understand a funeral is beautiful if there are young singing playmates.” [Illustration] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES 1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling. 2. Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed. 3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Rootabaga pigeons, by Carl Sandburg