“‘Poor Long-Ears!’—he said, patting him again with a feeble hand. ‘I’m going to leave you,—what will you do?’
“‘I’ll take care of him, Norman,’ said Mrs. Meadow.
“Norman signed for her to put her ear down to him, and said earnestly,—
“‘I give him to you—you keep him. Will you?’
“‘Yes, indeed, I will,’ said Mrs. Meadow.
“‘Then you’ll have milk enough, dear little Long-Ears,’ said Norman. ‘But,’ he said eagerly to Mrs. Meadow, ‘you must take him home with you to-night—I’m afraid father will do something with him if you don’t.’
“‘But you will want him,’ said Mrs. Meadow.
“‘No I won’t. Father will do something with him.’
“‘Indeed he will, sure enough,’ said Mrs Finch.
“‘Then I’ll take him, and keep him, dear, as if he was yourself,’ said Mrs. Meadow.
“‘I won’t want him,’ said Norman, shutting his eyes again;—‘I’m going.’
“‘And you’re not sorry, dear?’ said Mrs. Meadow.
“‘I wonder why he should,’ said Mrs. Finch, wiping her eyes.
“‘Because I love him,’ said Norman, without opening his eyes.
“‘Because he did that for me,’ said Norman, opening his eyes once more to look at her, and then re-shutting them. And he never opened them again. It seemed that having his mind easy about his pet, and having seen his friends, he wanted nothing more on this earth. He just slumbered away a few hours, and died so, as quietly as he had slept. His little pale meek face looked as if, as he said, he was glad to go.
“Nothing but a degree of force that no one would use could have moved Long-Ears from the body of his master, till it was laid in the grave. Then, with some difficulty, Mrs. Meadow gained possession of him, and brought him home.”
“Is that all?” said Carl, when the story stopped.
“Nothing more. They lived there, and took care of Long-Ears, and were kind to everybody, and sold milk, just as they used.”
“Nothing about him. He lived there with Mrs. Meadow and Silky, and was as well off as a little dog could be.”
“I’ll hear the rest another time,” said Carl, as he grasped the purse, and ran off towards home; for it was getting to be high noon, and his mother had called to him that dinner was ready.
“Mother,” said Carl, “I’ve heard the stories of my purse, and of my red cent, and of my three apples, and they’re splendid!”