Bob spoke not again—Bob never spoke again and when Daisy at length discovered that he was dead, she wept as if her heart would break.
* * * * *
“Father, I think poor Bob would not have died, if you had let me have him sooner,” said Daisy the evening of the funeral.
“Alas! my child, I believe what you say is too true,” replied Mr. Goodman. “But his death has already caused me suffering enough; do let me try and forget it. I promise there shall be no more Flywheel Bobs in my factory.”
“Oh! yes, pa; give them plenty of holidays. Why, Rover, I think, is happier than many of those poor people.” Then, patting the dog’s head: “And, pa, I am going now to call Rover Pin; for I am sure that was his old name.”
“Perhaps it was, darling,” said Mr. Goodman, fondling with her ringlets. Then, with a smile, he added: “Daisy, do you know both Mr. Fox and my superintendent believe that I am gone mad!”
“Mad? Why, pa?”
“Because I have sworn to undo all I have done. Ay, I mean to try my best to be elected president of another society—the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children; and I will try to make them all happy.”
“Oh! yes, yes, as happy as Pin is,” said Daisy, laughing. “Why, pa, I only work two hours a day, and Mam’selle is always pleased with me.” Then, her cherub face growing serious again: “And now,” she added, “I must have a pretty tombstone placed on Bob’s grave, and I will pay for it all myself out of my own money.”
“Have you enough, darling?”