The prices were decided upon on Friday night, but were not to be made public until Sat.u.r.day morning. Beth was up bright and early, therefore, on Sat.u.r.day. She was all impatience to be through breakfast that she might learn her fate, but she found that she might as well possess her soul in patience, as Maggie proved provoking, and would not hurry in the least.

To pa.s.s away the time, Beth hunted up Don. At sight of her, he barked and wagged his tail. She threw her arms about his neck. "Yes, Don, I know you're glad to see me, and I love you with all my heart. Come on and we'll have a play."

But, for some unaccountable reason, he did not seem ready for a frolic.

As soon as she let go of him, he walked back by the stable and lay down.

"Come on, Don," she called coaxingly.

He did not budge. She stamped her foot impatiently.

"Oh, everybody's provoking this morning. You're horrid and mean, Don, and I don't believe I love you, after all."

He looked up at this. His gaze seemed a reproach to her, but she grew only the crosser.

"Oh, you needn't be looking that way at me. You're lazy, and you know it. If you were sorry, you'd play with me. No, I don't love you one little bit."

She walked back to the house, and then sulked until the breakfast gong sounded.

To make up for being somewhat late, Maggie had prepared an extra fine meal. Mr. and Mrs. Davenport and even Marian proved unusually talkative that morning, and they started their breakfast very happily.

Beth, too, could not withstand the general good humor, and soon her spirits began to rise. She said, however:

"Do you know, that horrid old Don would not play with me this morning.

He----"

At that instant, January came running up on the piazza, where they were eating breakfast.

"Missy Beth," he cried, "come quick; Don acts mighty queer. 'Pears like he's dying."

Not only Beth, but Mr. and Mrs. Davenport and Marian jumped up from the table and ran out to the barn.

They found the n.o.ble dog where Beth had left him. He was, in truth, in the very throes of death.

Beth fell on her knees beside him, and lifted his head upon her lap.

Tears were streaming from her eyes so that she could hardly see him.

"Don," she cried, "you know I didn't mean it. You know I love you."

His fast glazing eye brightened momentarily at the sound of her voice.

If he could have spoken, he would have said:

"Little mistress, I never doubted your love. I wasn't lazy. You know now why I wouldn't play."

"Oh, we must do something for him. It would break my heart if he died," cried poor Beth.

"I'm skeered it's too late, but mebbe, if I fotch," began January. But Don, with one long, loving look at Beth, gave up his breath with a gasp, stretching out in the rigidity of death.

"It is too late," said Mr. Davenport huskily.

"No, no, no," cried Beth; "G.o.d wouldn't be so cruel as to let him die.

Don, look at me. Dear old doggie, I love you, I love you."

But Don was beyond range of her call. Mrs. Davenport and Marian were crying softly, too, and there were tears even in the eyes of Mr.

Davenport and January.

"You'se breakfasts all gettin' cole," called Maggie, not knowing of the trouble.

"Food would choke me," declared Marian.

"I couldn't eat either. Do you want anything, James?" asked Mrs.

Davenport.

"No,--I'm not hungry now," there was a break in Mr. Davenport's voice.

"Clear off the table, Maggie. Don is dead."

"Don dead?" cried Maggie, running out, "Why what am de mattah?"

"I 'lows he got hole some of de rat pizen," said January.

At sight of Beth's intense grief, Maggie's heart melted.

"Dar, dar, honey, don't yo' cry. Yo'se pah'll get you anoder dog."

"I don't want another dog. I--want--my--Don. I want him, I'll never be happy again," and Beth cried so hard that Mr. Davenport tried to comfort her.

"Beth," he said, "I have some news that will make you happy. I knew all about it last night, but I wouldn't tell you because I wanted you to find it out for yourself. Both your dress and cake have taken prizes--first prizes at that."

Her sobs did not lessen in the least. She hid her face on her father's shoulder and murmured:

"A hundred prizes wouldn't make up for dear old Don,--my dear old doggie who saved my life."

CHAPTER XII

The Arrival of Duke

The death of Don so preyed upon Beth's spirits, that one night Mrs.

Davenport took her in her arms and said:

"Do you remember that once when I was sad about something, you slipped your arms around my neck and asked, 'Mamma, what makes you think of the unpleasant things? why don't you just think of the nice things? That's the way I do.'"

"Did I say that really?"

Mrs. Davenport smiled at the mournfulness of Beth's tones.

"Yes, dear, and now mamma wants you to practice what you preached. I think you and I will have to form a 'Pleasant Club.' Every night we will tell each other all the pleasant things that happen during the day. What do you say?"