wretched one, and so thin and dirty, and looked so ugly and smelt so
nasty. But that was just why I wanted to give it a good funeral, and why
I picked my crimson lily and put it in the grave, because it seemed so
sad the poor thing should be like that when it might have been clean and
fluffy, and fat and comfortable, like Tabby, if it had had a home and
people to look after it.

It was remembering about the cat that made me think that there were no
Brothers of Pity (not even in Tuscany, for I asked Godfather Gilpin) to
bury beasts and birds and fishes when they have no friends to go to
their funerals. And that was how it was that I settled to be a Brother
of Pity without waiting till I grew up and could carry men.

I had a shilling of my own, and with sixpence of it I bought a yard and
a half of black calico at the post-office shop, and Mrs. Jones made me a
cloak out of it; and with the other sixpence I bought a mask--for they
sell toys there too. It was not a right sort of mask, but I could not
make Mrs. Jones understand about a hood with two eye-holes in it, and I
did not like to show her the picture, for if she had seen that I wanted
to play at burying people, perhaps she would not have made me the cloak.
She made it very well, and it came down to my ankles, and I could hide
my spade under it. The worst of the mask was that it was a funny one,
with a big nose; but it hid my face all the same, and when you get
inside a mask you can feel quite grave whatever it's painted like.

I had never had so happy a summer before as the one when I was a Brother
of Pity. I heard Nurse saying to Mrs. Jones that "there was no telling
what would keep children out of mischief," for that I "never seemed to
be tired of that old black rag and that ridiculous face."