“What do you think of that, now? Don’t you like him?”
“I dunno. I never had a pet, ’cept Speckly and Banty, and they’re hens.”
“Well, I think you’ll like him when you get to know him. Can we fix him up a place to sleep somewhere around?” said Bob.
“We can keep him in the kitchen, until he gets acquainted. Mary will look after him, and he can sleep in the little tool-room off the back veranda.”
Betsy made no move to go nearer or to play with him, and Aunt Kate said aside, to Bob,
“I’m afraid it’s a mistake. She doesn’t seem to care for animals. Ben’s away, and I don’t know what he’ll say. Oh, Bob, I’m afraid you will have to take him back.”
“Well, wait till morning, anyway, before you decide. I’ll be here over Sunday.”
That night a big, soft bed of blankets was made for Van on the floor of the tool-room. He was given a supper befitting his age and state, tucked up comfortably, and in one minute he had dropped fast asleep, and was making up for the excitement of the day past.
In the night Betsy awakened to hear a pitiful little cry. For a moment her thought was, “Ma’s awake and needs me!” and she jumped out of bed. She had so often, in her mother’s illness, awakened to wait on her, that, still drowsy from her sound sleep, she thought herself back in the little red house. Then, as she stumbled over unwonted furniture, she realized where she was. Groping her way to the window, she listened. The tool-room was directly below, and behind the door of it Van was voicing his loneliness and homesickness.
A wave of pity swept up in the heart of Betsy. Here was this tiny dog left all alone to cry his heart out, and here was she,—with friends,—yes, but friends not like her own self, and living a different life from what hers had been.