CHAPTER THIRTEENTH
SOMEHOW or other on Christmas morning everything takes on a festive, joyous tone. The very sleigh-bells seem to ring out more merrily than usual, and the children’s voices in their play seem more joyous than on other days. Even the shy sparrows seem to grow bolder, and twitter more loudly than usual. The dogs, too, seem possessed of unusually gay spirits, and bound through the streets as if they were thinking of the good Christmas dinner that awaits them.
The two little boys in the sleigh felt this Christmas influence and partook of the prevailing joyous spirit. We will leave them for a time and return to some other acquaintances,—the three children who had cared for the lost Toby.
Great was the grief of the children when they saw the little dog turned out into the cold, dark streets, but they did not dare to express their feelings before their father. Directly after supper they went to bed, and the mother soon went in to their rooms to comfort them. The two girls were nearly heart-broken, but the mother reminded them that the little dog would be likely to seek the shed for shelter, and she promised to look after him and give him a good supper.
“He wanted some of the sausages so much,” sobbed Maysie, “and I ate up the piece I was saving for him, and I am so sorry!”
“He shall have some sausage, dear, so don’t worry so about him. I will cover him up with something warm, and in the morning you can take him to the home for lost dogs. They will find a good place for him, I am sure, a much better one than we could give him.”
This hopeful prospect comforted the little girls, and from them the mother sought Johnny in his dark bedroom. He was lying very still, and answered in a voice that he tried to make sound as usual, but the mother knew he was trying hard to make it cheerful. As with a loving hand she put back the hair from his forehead, she felt it hot, and as her hand brushed against his cheeks she found them moist, and she knew he had been crying, although he tried so hard to conceal the fact.