CHAPTER IV.

THE PRESENT.

Arthur left home early Monday morning.  It was a cold, dreary day without, and a dreary one within to Mrs. Hamilton.  She had no unoccupied moments in which to sit down, and pore over her troubles; but amid all her cares and labors, the pleading, sorrowful face of her boy would rise before her, like an accusing angel.  She feared she had shown him too little sympathy in his sufferings, and had too much repressed the manifestation of his feelings.  She seemed to herself, as her imagination followed her weeping boy, a cruel, heartless mother; and again only in prayer could she find relief and peace, and even then, a weight still rested upon her spirits.

A few days after Arthur’s departure, an idea occurred to Mrs. Hamilton which she was sure would give him pleasure.  This was to send him Rover, to keep as his own.  But would the children be willing to part with their pet and playfellow?  And if they were, would Mr. Martin give his consent?

That very evening she proposed it to the children, and she was pleased to find how willing they were to make some sacrifice for their little brother’s sake.  Even Emma, who loved so dearly to play with him, and ride on the sled after him, seemed ready to part with him when she found it would make Arthur happy.  Yet it was with a mournful voice, she told him, as she patted him and stroked his long ears,

“You must be a good doggie, Rover, and make my brother Arthur happy.  He be good brother, and you must be good doggie too.  Won’t you, Rover, good fellow?”

Mrs. Hamilton wrote to Mr. Martin stating Arthur’s fondness for the dog, and that if he had no objections, they should like to give him to Arthur for his own; but added, that she did not wish to do so unless perfectly agreeable to him.  She was quite surprised to see Mr. Martin coming in at the door on the second morning after the letter was sent.  He said he had come within three miles on business, and thought he would just ride round, and take the dog.

“I fear you may find him troublesome, sir,” said Mrs. H., “for my children have allowed him to take great liberties with them.”

“Not a bit!  Not a bit!” said the old gentleman; “to be sure my wife don’t take to dogs overmuch, but you see, the boy is a little home-sick, and we want him to feel more contented, if we can; so I was very glad to take the dog.  He is a noble fellow, on my word.  How old is he?”

“Two next Spring,” said Mrs. H., “and he is a very kind, faithful creature, I assure you.  We all love him very much.”

Emma and Charlie, who had just comprehended that the stranger-gentleman was going to take away the dog, began to look very grave indeed.  Emma was no martyr, to suffer calmly for conscience’ sake, much less little white-headed Charlie, who obstinately asserted with a most heroic air, that “nobody should tarry off his doggie.”