“The noise is certainly like that Don makes, mother.”
“Who’s Don?” asked Fritzy, suddenly sitting up straight.
“He’s a donkey.”
“Does he live here, too?”
“Yes. He is very old. Thy dear mother and I used to ride him once upon a time.”
“I may ride him, mayn’t I?”
“If he is willing.”
“How can he tell? Does he talk?”
“He has a very expressive way of making people understand his likes and dislikes. Thee shall try him to-morrow. Thee can hardly keep thy eyes open now, and we will go up to see how fresh and sweet grandmother’s sheets do smell.”
Fritz, junior, immediately climbed down, and slipped his hand within his aunt’s. It was evident that they two would speedily understand each other. And Ruth’s quick feeling was deeply touched, when, as the sleepy little fellow knelt down to say his “good-night word to God,” he begged that trusted Father to ‘forgive him for killing the crippler’; “no, for not killing him”—he went on; “oh! I don’t know what I mean; but God does every time, Fritzy Nunky says.”