The next morning Lolo and Moufflon went with Tasso to the gardens where he worked, and all the way along the bright river and among the green trees they talked together of what they should do when Tasso had gone.  Tasso said that if they could only get some money he would not have to go away to the wars, but he shook his head sadly and knew that no one would lend it to them.  At noon Lolo went home with Moufflon to his dinner.  When they had finished (it was only bean soup and soon eaten), the mother told Lolo that his aunt wanted him to go and see her that afternoon, and take care of the children while she went out.  So Lolo put on his hat, called Moufflou, and was limping toward the door, when his mother said:—­

“No, don’t take the dog to-day, your aunt doesn’t like him; leave him here with me.”

“Leave Moufflou?” said Lolo, “why, I never leave him; he wouldn’t know what to do without me all the afternoon.”

“Yes, leave him,” said his mother.  “I don’t want you to take him with you.  Don’t let me tell you again.”  So Lolo turned around and went down the stairs, feeling very sad at leaving his dear Moufflou even for a short time.  But the hours went by, and when night-time came he hurried back to the little old home.  He stood at the bottom of the long, dark stairway and called “Moufflou!  Moufflou!” but no doggie came; then he climbed half-way up to the landing and called again, “Moufflou!” but no little white feet came pattering down.  Up to the top of the stairs went poor tired Lolo and opened the door.

“Why, where is my Moufflou?” he said.

The mother had been crying, and she looked very sad and did not answer him for a moment.

“Where is my Moufflou?” asked Lolo again, “what have you done with my dear Moufflou?”

“He is sold,” the mother said at last, “sold to the gentleman who has the little lame boy.  He came here to-day, and he likes the dog so much and his little boy was so pleased at the pretty tricks he does, that he told me he would give a great deal of money if I would sell him the dog.  Just think, Lolo, he gave me so much money that we can pay somebody now to go to the war for Tasso.”

But before she had finished talking, Lolo began to grow white and cold and to waver to and fro, so that his little crutch could hardly support him.  When she had done he called out, “My Moufflou—­my Moufflou sold!” and he threw his hands up over his head and fell all in a heap on the floor, his poor little crutch clattering down beside him.  His mother took him up and laid him on his bed, but all night long he tossed to and fro, calling for his dog.  When the morning came, his little hands and his head were very, very hot, and by and by the doctor came and said he had a fever.  He asked the mother what it was the little boy was calling for, and she told him that it was his dog, and that he had been sold.  The doctor shook his head, and then went away.