“Thy mama has also clover on her grave,” suggested Frank. On this Staza grubbed with her fingers in the direction where her mother lay, until she came to the coffin, then she tapped upon it with her finger and the mouldy wood gave out a droning sound.
“To-day I shall sleep beside mama,” said Staza, and her eyes sparkled with delight. She had no very clear idea of what a mother meant, but she believed that it was a fine thing to sleep beside mamma. And she had advised Frank to have the grave dug in this spot for no other reason than that she might get near her mother.
“Shall you sleep here all night? enquired Frank.
“Why should I not? All night I shall sleep here and to-morrow also I shall sleep beside mamma.
“Who was thy mama?” asked Frank.
“Who was she?” said Staza. “Why who could she be when she was my mama?”
This reply satisfied Frank, at all events if he had tried all his life he himself could not have invented a wiser one.
The sun set and the shadows lay upon the cemetery. In the grave it was already dusk.
“Aren’t you frightened Franky,” enquired Stara.
“Since it is in the grave in which grandfather will have to be I am not frightened,” answered Frank, but he was frightened all the same.
