96 OUR DOGS. 



stop its going. Poor old Carlo lay under the crib when 

 they would let him, sometimes rising up to look in with 

 an earnest, sorrowful face ; and sometimes he would stretch 

 himself out in the entry before the door of little Charley's 

 room, watching with his great open eyes lest the thief 

 should come in the night to steal away our treasure. 



But one morning when the children woke, one little soul 

 had gone in the night, gone upward to the angels ; and 

 then the cold, pale little form that used to be the life of 

 the house was laid away tenderly in the yard of a neigh- 

 boring church. 



Poor old Carlo would pit-pat silently about the house in 

 those days of grief, looking first into one face and then 

 another, but no one could tell him where his gay little 

 master had gone. The other children had hid the baby- 

 wagon away in the lumber-room lest their mamma should 

 see it; and so passed a week or two, and Carlo saw no 

 trace of Charley about the house. But then a lady in the 

 neighborhood, who had a sick baby, sent to borrow the 

 wicker wagon, and it was taken from its hiding-place to 

 go to her. Carlo came to the door just as it was being 

 drawn out of the gate into the street. Immediately he 

 sprung, cleared the fence with a great bound, and ran after 

 it. He overtook it, and poked his nose between the cur- 

 tains, there was no one there. Immediately he turned 

 away, and padded dejectedly home. What words could 



