In the morning he went back again to the restaurant, serving the sick dog first, and again at night, and day after day, till he became the jolly cook’s regular pensioner.
At the restaurant they grew quite curious to know what became of the first bone, and sent some one to follow Bummer, who came back telling the strange story, and saying, “it is really quite wonderful.”
Then every one talked of it, and soon the whole town came to know the two dogs, and called them Bummer and Lazarus.
In the pleasant days they walked out together, Bummer always watching over Lazarus with the tenderest care. It was really a pleasant sight to see them, they were so happy together.
Thus time passed away, making no change in the protecting devotion of Bummer, nor the trusting love of Lazarus.
But there must be an end of all things, and at last Lazarus died.
This was a great sorrow to poor Bummer, and he grew so thin and wretched that the jolly cook was quite distressed.
“You must cheer up, my good Bummer; really it will never do; you must cheer up.”
“It is all over now,” said the dog, “one must have something to live for. It is no use, one must have an object.”
He was no longer the Bummer of old, and he went away to the place where Lazarus rested.