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 bedroom, as she had done in the days before he was a big boy of seven. But she did not explain how such a little girl, no older than himself, could so unexpectedly stop living. Nor could Aunt Verona in any way bridge the yawning gap between Leila's existence as a girl who stood in spelling matches, who ate sandwiches and played tag, and her transfiguration into something divine, impersonal and infinitely far-away, like the people in the Bible. In bed Paul tried to picture heaven, as he had done on the occasion of a funeral procession across the river. Suddenly he was confronted with the thought that French-Canadians went to the same heaven as Leila, for Mr. Silva maintained that even Catholics went there when they were sincerely good. He wondered if God spoke French to them, or if He had some arrangement like Aunt Verona's, speaking different languages on different days. Perhaps everybody in heaven had to learn English. Very likely, for the Bible was in English. He fell asleep at last, and next day Aunt Verona gave him ten cents to take to Miss Ranston as his contribution towards the wreath which the school was to present. The flowers he had picked in the meadow were still lying on his window sill. Without knowing why he did so, he emptied the treasures out of his cracked lacquer box, placed the flowers in it, gently closed the lid and locked it, then took it to the bureau and placed it far back in the corner of an empty drawer.

On the day of the funeral a half-holiday was declared, an event which exalted the otherwise undistinguished little Leila upon a plane with the Prime Minister. Walter Dreer lowered the flag, and all the children marched to the cemetery. On the way up the long hill, Bean-Oh, who since the distant occasion when Paul had nearly blinded him had been particularly amicable, confided that Leila had perished of a simultaneous indulgence in milk and cucumbers. Gritty Kestrell denied this and swore it was