They did sober themselves, for Beth’s sake; Laurie dug a grave under the ferns in the grove, little Pip was laid in, with many tears, by his tenderhearted mistress, and covered with moss, while a wreath of violets and chickweed was hung on the stone which bore his epitaph, composed by Jo, while she struggled with the dinner:⁠—

“Here lies Pip March,

Who died the 7th of June;

Loved and lamented sore,

And not forgotten soon.”

“Here lies Pip March, Who died the 7th of June; Loved and lamented sore, And not forgotten soon.”