Edna closed the door behind her and approached cautiously. "What's up?" "Nothin's up, Edna Emmit, but you're the most religious, and I've chose you for the funeral of Tinkey Emmit. Come right along with a towel and our big candy box and meet me under the big tree behind the barn. Mum's the word, Edna. This is a sad time, an' I don't want the whole family lookin' on. You understand?" Edna was only two years younger than Betty, but she was born with a bump of reverence for her "next sister" and all her doings. "All right, Betty, I'll be there," she answered respectfully, at once climbing on a kitchen chair, to get the much prized candy box, that had been treasured since it was emptied of its goodies last Christmas. Betty retrod her way to the big tree quickly, fearing that she might be called before her duty was done. She knelt down before the dead form and clasped her little hands in prayer. "Dear God," she said tearfully, "None but you knows jes' how I feel. Take care of Tinkey, an' make me feel better. Amen." Edna's soft tread behind her made her turn. "Give me the towel, Edna, and take the box an' fill it with flowers. Tinkey did so love flowers. When you come back, I'll have her all dried for the funeral." Edna's sympathy brought tears, too. "All right," she said simply, and wandered across the field for the funeral flowers. When she returned, Betty had Tinkey dried and combed and looking fairly natural. Gently they placed the kitten in the box and tastefully arranged the flowers about it. "Now to dig the grave," said Betty. "It's the hardest part to bury her, ain't it?" "Do you think that Tinkey knows we're givin' her a funeral?" asked Edna, awed. "'Course she does!" answered Betty emphatically, "An' she'll feel mighty bad, if we don't do it nice!" Betty dug the grave and Edna placed the coffin inside of it. They drew lots as to who should cover the coffin with dirt--this being the most heart-breaking,--and the lot fell to Betty. With the tears streaming down her face, she piled the damp earth in, Edna crying more in sympathy for her sister, than in sorrow for Tinkey's death. The grave filled and covered with flowers, Betty looked around until she found a flat piece of wood. Taking her pencil, she wrote: "Here lies Tinkey Emmit, too young to die, too sick to live. Mourned for by Edna and Betty Emmit." She handed this to Edna with a smile of pride between her tears. "Guess Tinkey'll like that for a gravestone. She'll know jes' why she had to die, an' won't have any bad feelin's." "You're awfully smart, Betty," declared Edna soberly, as Betty drove the gravestone into the ground. "Sometimes, Edna, only sometimes," returned Betty humbly. "Now, Edna, kneel th'other side of the grave and we'll have prayer, next." "Dear God," began Betty, then there was a prolonged silence. Edna at last opened her eyes. "Why don't yer pray, Betty?" Betty answered tremulously, "My heart's so full I can't. You try, Edna."