"Please tell me your name, sir, and you, too, sir," turning to the Eastern man.
"Why, sis, what do you want to know my name for?"
"To pray for you, sir; mother's dead, but I pray every night just the same, and I ask God to bless Rover—he's all I've got now, you know. Is that wrong, sir? and to-night and every night I'm goin' to ask God to bless both o' you for bein' so kind ter Rover and me."
"Oh, that's all right, sis; don't think of it;" the Cowboy's voice was husky. "Good-by; good-by, Rover, old boy."
He seized the big dog in his arms and turned him over on his back, holding him down. The dog caught one of the man's hands in his huge mouth and chewed it gently, while the Cowboy poked him playfully in the ribs with the other. Then the man jumped up and ran for the car, with Rover leaping and romping about him, uttering great deep barks of joy. The Eastern man followed more slowly; a cinder or something had got into his eye, and he was ostentatiously wiping it out with the corner of his handkerchief.
That night, in the darkness of her room, the girl knelt by the side of her rough bed, and whispered softly her little prayer:
"God bless mamma,
God bless papa,
God bless Rover, and bless the two fellers
that was good to me and Rover—I dunno their names, God, but you do."
The sounds of a slight figure getting into bed were followed by "'Scuse me, Rover, I didn't mean to step on yer foot; goodnight, Rover, dear." Several heavy blows on the floor answered her, and then for a time there was silence. The wind moaned faintly in the chimney and a rat squeaked and scampered across the floor; then a board creaked,—the child slept on oblivious to it all,—but at each new sound the dark form on the floor stirred slightly, a shaggy head was raised, and wide-open, faithful eyes gazed in the direction from whence it came, intent, alert, and watchful.
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