And, a few minutes afterwards, Farmer Giles appeared. Betty ran to him with outstretched hands. 'Where is he? Are you going to take me to him?'
The farmer looked helplessly at his wife.
'Where is nurse?' he said.
'Keeping out of the way,' muttered Mrs. Giles.
The farmer fetched a deep breath. 'Come along, then,' he said; 'I've done my best, and mustn't shirk the consequence.'
He took hold of Betty's hand, and led her to the stables; twice he cleared his throat, as if about to speak, and then at the door, keeping one hand on the latch, he put his other one under Betty's little chin and raised her face.
'You'll be a brave, good little maid, won't you?' he said, 'and you'll bear up, for 'tis better for the little dog than to live in suffering.'
He opened the door, and Betty, not in the slightest understanding his words, pushed her way breathlessly in.
There in his basket, cold and stiff, lay poor little Prince! For one minute Betty thought he was asleep, and then the awful truth dawned upon her. With her blue eyes dilating with horror, she turned and faced the old farmer, and every vestige of colour left her cheeks.
'He's not dead!' she cried. 'Wake him up, Mr. Giles; he shan't be dead!'