While he was following his father about, Bertie forgot to watch his donkey. When it was near dinner time, Mr. Curtis said,—
"Don't go off till I see you, Herbert, I want to ride to the blacksmith's; and you may drive me there."
The boy started and began to look in every direction, hoping to see Whitefoot quietly feeding on the lawn.
But neither on the hill, nor behind the chestnut grove could he be seen. Bertie's lip quivered, and then the tears filled his eyes.
"He's gone, papa; my pretty donkey is lost."
"Don't cry, my son," said Mr. Curtis, in a cheerful tone. "Crying for a donkey never brought one back, that I ever heard of. Take a handful of corn from Tom's pail, and run toward the lake. Call him by name and perhaps he will come."
Bertie hesitated, his cheeks growing very red. At last, when papa wondered what made him delay, the little fellow asked,—
"Can't I wait till Tom comes back? I'm almost sure he'll give me some of his corn; but mamma told me never to touch anything that belongs to the men, without asking their leave."