The porter then put poor Tray out,
But gave him, when they reached the street,
A mutton bone, well covered yet,
That Tray was very glad to eat.
Now in the streets the dog must live;
But far far from Nell he would not stray,
He howled about her home all night,
And lingered near it all the day.
Poor Nelly in her dismal loft,
That mournful sound in sleep would hear,
And smiles would play upon her lips,
Because in dreams her friend was near.
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The landlady, who could not sleep
For Tray’s loud howling, angry grew;
Her guilty conscience he awoke,
And now no peace or rest she knew.
At length one morning, in her wrath,
She gave poor Nell a cruel blow,
And bade her join that yelping cur,
And with him, begging, henceforth go.
The child fled screaming to the street,
Where Tray in ambush always lay;
He leaped upon her with delight,
But Nelly pushed her friend away.
“Oh, Tray!” she said, “you hurt my arm,”
—The arm she struck—“Oh, how it aches.”
And in her little trembling hand
The fallen arm she shrinking takes.
Tray at his little mistress looks,
With thoughtful eyes and wagging tail;
Then seems as if he understood
Why Nelly screamed and looked so pale.