“Dolly’ll watch for gan-pa,” she murmured, with long pauses between the words, which seemed to drop one by one upon Tony’s ear; “and Dolly’ll watch at the door for Tony to come home; and she’ll fret ever so if he never comes.”

Tony felt her stir restlessly under his arm, and stretch her tiny limbs upon the bed as if she were very tired, and the languid eyelids drooped slowly till they quite hid her blue eyes, and she sighed softly as children sigh when they fall asleep, weary of their play.  Old Oliver laid his shaking hand tenderly upon her head.

“Dear Lord!” he said, “take my little love to thyself.  I give her up to thee.”

It seemed to Tony as if a thick mist of darkness fell all about him, and as if he were sinking down, down, very low into some horrible pit where he would never see the light of day again.  But by-and-bye he came to himself, and found old Oliver sobbing in short, heavy sobs, and swaying himself to and fro, while Beppo was licking Dolly’s hand, and barking with a sharp, quiet bark, as he had been wont to do when he wanted her to play with him.  The child’s small features were quite still, but there was an awful smile upon them such as there had never been before, and Tony could not bear to look upon it.  He crossed her tiny hands lightly over one another upon her breast, and then he lifted Beppo away gently, and drew the bed-clothes about her, so as to hide her smiling face.

“Master,” he cried, “master, is she gone?”

Old Oliver only answered by a deep moan; and Tony put his arm about him, and raised him up.

“Come to your own chair, master,” he said.

He yielded to Tony like a child, and seated himself in the chair, where he had so often sat and watched Dolly while he smoked his pipe.  The boy put his pipe between his fingers; but he only let it fall to the ground, where it broke into many pieces.  Tony did not know what to do, nor where to go for any help.

“Lord,” he said, “if you really love the old master, do something for him; for I don’t know whatever to do, now little Dolly’s gone.”

He sat down on his old box, staring at Oliver and the motionless form on the bed, with a feeling of despair tugging at his heart.  He could scarcely believe it was all true; for it was not very long since—­only it seemed like long years—­since he had leaped over the counter in his light-heartedness.  But he had not sat there many minutes before he heard a distinct, rather loud knock at the shop-door, and he ran hastily to ask who was there.

“Antony,” said a voice he knew very well, “I have come with the doctor, to see what we can do for your little girl.”

In an instant Tony opened the door, and as Mr. Ross entered the boy flung his arms round him, and hid his face against him, sobbing bitterly.

“Oh! you’ve come too late,” he cried, “you’ve come too late!  Dolly’s dead, and I’m afraid the master’s going away from me as well.  They couldn’t take her in, and she died after we had brought her home.”