disconsolately down the road. There were traces of tears upon her thin
little face and the warmth of the hug which returned her sister's
greeting was evidence of an unusually disturbed mind.

"Why aren't you playing with the other children, Jane?"

"I don't want to play, Esther. Timothy's dead."

"Yes, I know, dear. But Fred has promised you a new puppy--"

"I don't want a new puppy. I want Timothy."

"But Timothy is so much happier, Jane. He was old, you know. In the
Happy Hunting Grounds, he will be able to frisk about just like other
dogs. Wouldn't you like an apple?"

Jane considered this a moment and decided favourably. But her tale of
woe was not yet complete. "Mother's ill again," she announced gloomily.
"I mustn't play band or nail the slats on the rabbits' hutch. Aunt Amy
gave me my dinner on the back porch. I liked that. I wouldn't go in the
house, not till you came, Esther."

The straight brows of the elder sister came together in a worried frown.

"You know that is being silly, Jane."

"I don't care."

"You must learn to care. Run now and get the apple and ask Aunt Amy to
wash your face."