CHAPTER XVI
Toward the end of 1918, and after a short and unexpected illness, our Toto, who had walked beside us for over ten years, passed over. To write of it even now is acute pain. The loss was like that of an only and uniquely beloved child. We were stunned, and in spite of my philosophy I went to pieces as I had never done in my life. It was over this heart-breaking event that Mr. Saltus displayed his extraordinary qualities.
"I wish you would have little Totesy's body cremated and her ashes kept and mingled with mine," he said.
Astonishment brought the reply,
"I never realized that you loved her so deeply."
"Nor did I until now, but it is not only that. Husbands may come and go, but there can never be but one Toto," he said. "With whom do you wish to be buried?"
I was silent.
"There, you have answered me," he said after a pause. "I am sure you are planning to be buried in the Dogs' Cemetery in Hartsdale. Do as I ask. Let Toto's ashes and mine be mingled,—then, no matter where you go or what you do in the future, yours too will rest with mine at the last."