Beth fell on her knees beside him, and lifted his head upon her lap. Tears were streaming from her eyes so that she could hardly see him.
"Don," she cried, "you know I didn't mean it. You know I love you."
His fast glazing eye brightened momentarily at the sound of her voice. If he could have spoken, he would have said:
"Little mistress, I never doubted your love. I wasn't lazy. You know now why I wouldn't play."
"Oh, we must do something for him. It would break my heart if he died," cried poor Beth.
"I'm skeered it's too late, but mebbe, if I fotch," began January. But Don, with one long, loving look at Beth, gave up his breath with a gasp, stretching out in the rigidity of death.
"It is too late," said Mr. Davenport huskily.
"No, no, no," cried Beth; "God wouldn't be so cruel as to let him die. Don, look at me. Dear old doggie, I love you, I love you."
But Don was beyond range of her call. Mrs. Davenport and Marian were crying softly, too, and there were tears even in the eyes of Mr. Davenport and January.
"You'se breakfasts all gettin' cole," called Maggie, not knowing of the trouble.