“It’s the beef-tea!” said Timothy, who had by this time arrived.
“And thanks to you, old friend,” said Billy. “He’ll live now, Tim. Do you s’pose he’d change the world that’s to be taken a good look at for a hole in the ground? Not he!”
“You’re right!” said Timothy. “We must make these blind fellows take some of the eye-opener and get a look at the world before it’s too late.”
They were all so encouraged by that pair of bright eyes that they labored patiently with the three blind brothers; but though they still partook of oatmeal porridge freely, they could never be induced to imbibe more than an occasional drop of beef-tea; and instead of waxing fat and active on oatmeal, they waned daily.
All the love which Billy had divided among seven was given to the quartette; and so a greater portion was blighted when the next puppy died.
“It makes me think of the ‘ten little Injuns,’ the way they drop off one after another,” said Billy, as they laid him away from the sunshine which he had never seen.
So the love of four fell to three; and though Billy was very proud of the puppy who ate beef-tea, who was learning to walk firmly and briskly, he was equally as tender of the less fortunate brothers. It is true that on entering the barn one morning he forgot them for a moment as the other trotted towards him and laid—yes, actually rubbed!—his nose in his hand. But he recovered from the glad surprise directly, and looked over at the bed in the corner. Still asleep, the lazy fellows! He tossed some hay at them, which caused a languid paw to appear; then a head stirred, and another until the little soft heap had shaken itself apart and separated into two puppies, who faced about and looked at each other. Yes, for the first and last time, they celebrated their awakening after the usual fashion of opening the eyes.
“Hurrah!” shouted Billy.
(END OF PART I.)
