The child nestled close to her mother.

"It would be nice, mamma, only nothing pleasant happens now that Don is dead."

"Why, why," exclaimed Mrs. Davenport, "that isn't at all like my happy Beth. Put on your thinking cap and see if you can't remember something nice that happened to-day."

Beth remained silent for a moment, and then suddenly smiled.

"Why, yes, mamma, now that I think of it, a whole lot of nice things happened. Do you know, ever since Don died, Julia has been perfectly lovely. She always plays just as I want to. And what do you think?

Harvey played with Julia and me to-day, and he would never stay before when Julia was here. We even got him to play dolls with us, although he said dolls were beneath a boy."

Mrs. Davenport smiled. "Why should he feel that way?"

"Well, you see, mamma, he doesn't think much of girls and their play.

He's always saying to me, 'Beth, don't you wish you were a boy?' So one day I answered, 'No, indeed, Harvey.' It wasn't quite the truth, mamma, for I should like to be a boy, but I wouldn't let him know it.

Then I asked him: 'Don't you wish you were a girl, Harvey?'"

"What did he say, dear?"

"He grunted and said, 'Eh--be a girl? I'd rather be nothing than be a girl.'"

Mrs. Davenport could hardly keep her face straight; nevertheless, she said gravely:

"If Harvey ever says that to you again, you tell him your mamma says that girls are of just as much consequence as boys. G.o.d would not have created them otherwise. Well, what else happened to-day?"

"Oh, Harvey offered me a bird's nest that he'd stolen. Mamma, I couldn't help scolding him about it. You know papa doesn't think it right. So I had Harvey take the nest back."

"That was a good girl."

"And oh, mamma, I forgot to tell you how nice Marian has been. This afternoon after school, she made some candy for Julia and Harvey and me. It was just lovely. And now that I think of it, Maggie has been good too. She hasn't scolded us once, although I guess we are in her way very much sometimes."

Mrs. Davenport now kissed Beth good-night.

"Doesn't my little girl see that there never was a sorrow so great but that it has its bright side? You have much for which to be thankful, dear, and you must try to be happy."

This talk helped Beth somewhat. Nevertheless, for weeks thereafter, a dog did not cross her path without bringing tears to her eyes. And many a night she cried herself to sleep, grieving for Don.

Sorrow, however, is not eternal, and comfort came to her from an unexpected source.

One afternoon the Davenports were driving home from Jacksonville, when Beth chanced to look back. She thereupon uttered such an exclamation of delight that Mr. Davenport, who was driving, pulled in on the horses.

"Oh, just see the beautiful dog!" exclaimed Beth. "I believe he's following us."

About three yards behind the carriage was a very large dog, but possessing a grace and a swiftness of motion unusual to his size. He was not only beautiful, but also intelligent-looking. His coat was of dark brown, and smooth as sealskin, showing every muscle of his body.

His broad square head and monstrous jaw reminded the beholder of a tiger. His ears were close-cropped, which gave a compactness to his head that brought into prominence his great changeable eyes: eyes that the Davenports afterwards found so fiery sometimes that they reflected red lights; at other times so mildly brown that they beamed with the greatest affection. The dog was a combination of Russian bloodhound and mastiff.

"He looks the thoroughbred, through and through," declared Mrs.

Davenport. "See how majestically he moves. Duke would be a good name for him. Here, Duke. Here, Duke."

At the call, the dog raised his head and came bounding up to the carriage. By a strange coincidence, Mrs. Davenport had hit upon his name.

"Come here, Duke," cried Beth.

Large as the dog was, he jumped into the back part of the carriage where Marian and Beth sat. Both children were wild with delight.

"Papa, let's take him home with us," begged Marian.

Mr. Davenport, however, would not listen to the suggestion.

"He is a very valuable dog, and it would not be honorable," he declared. "Push him out immediately."

Both children began pleading, but Mr. Davenport proved relentless.

Therefore, Duke was finally put out of the carriage.

"Go home, Duke," cried Mr. Davenport, driving on.

The children looked back to see if the dog obeyed. To their joy, they saw him following as unconcerned as before. Mr. Davenport took out the whip and waved it at him. Duke stopped a second or two, and then started after them at a little greater distance.

"Well," said Mr. Davenport, "all we can do is to let him come with us now. To-morrow, I shall inquire in town and find his owner."

So Duke lodged at the Davenports that night, and was treated by the children as a royal guest. He captivated their hearts from the first, and he fully responded to their love.

At breakfast the next morning, Mr. Davenport looked up from his paper and said:

"Well, here is a notice of Duke's loss. I do not wonder that he ran away. This Brown who advertises is one of the hardest drinkers in town. Poor dog, to have such a master."

"Papa, couldn't you buy Duke?" asked Beth.

"I may consider the matter. Don't set your heart on the dog, however.

He is very valuable, and Brown may not wish to part with him."

That day, at noon, Beth and Duke were frolicing near the barn.

Suddenly, without seeming cause, Duke rushed towards the house, looking crestfallen. Beth, however, soon saw why Duke had run. She beheld a man walking up the driveway towards her. She had grown accustomed to Southern politeness, and resented the man's not raising his hat when he said:

"h.e.l.lo, little un. I've come after my dog. Where is he?"

Beth's heart sank. "Who are you?" she stammered.

"My name is Brown, and I've come after Duke."

"But I thought my papa was going to buy him."

The man laughed. "The old fellow did offer to buy him, but I wouldn't sell. I told him I wouldn't take a hundred dollars for the dog. But hurry up, little un, and get Duke for me."

Beth felt more resentful than ever. The man had dared to call her father "old fellow," and herself "little un." Besides, he had come for Duke. There were tears in her eyes, but she brushed them angrily away, and declared defiantly:

"You can hunt him up for yourself. I don't know where he is."

The man swore under his breath, and muttered something about having no use for people who tried to steal dogs. However, he moved on towards the house.