Lulu looked up at the cradle, and saw a pair of very bright, sprite-y eyes peering out of it. Behold! Master Dick had turned out poor dolly, and was lying flat on his stomach in the little bed, using his own silver-gray tail for a blanket.

It grieves me; but as a faithful historian I must relate that a sad day finally came, when dear Dickon was missing; and alas! this time, he could not be found.

There was no clue to his fate.

Perhaps the voices of the woods had called him back to his early home. Perhaps he had been enticed away.

No one knew, but in a few days they realized that he had gone “for always,” as Lulu said, and they spoke of getting another one for her.

But she did not want it.

“I would rather ’member my own p’ecious Dicky,” she said, “than to have fifty ‘other ones,’ They could never be the same, and would only make me think that p’r’aps he was mis’able somewhere while they was havin’ a good time.”

DAYS OF THE WEEK.