"Eat, little brother!" said John.

Brutus looked on gravely. The puppy opened its mouth feebly and
swallowed a bit of bread. After the first taste it grew eager, and
began to nibble hungrily. John gave it all he had, and was overjoyed
to see it gradually gain strength. But still it could not stand on its
weak little legs.

"We must take him home, Brutus," said John. "We will make him well and
strong, then we shall have another little dog to be your baby brother."

Brutus said nothing, though perhaps he knew better. Presently he was
trotting homeward; tracing backward, as no human being could have done,
the winding way by which they had come through the dense forest.
Behind him came John, carrying the little gray creature tenderly in his
arms, and with the basket full of flowers on his back. And so at last
they reached the hut, in the door of which stood the Hermit, shading
his eyes and looking anxiously for them.

"My son!" he cried gladly when they appeared. "You were gone so long
that I feared you were lost, even with Brutus to guide you. It is
after sundown. Where have you been, and what do you bring there?"

"We have been--I know not where," said John; "farther than I have gone
since I came to the forest. It must be near the homes of men. For
see! We have found a little dog! His brothers were lying dead beside
him; I think they were starved to death. But this one lives, and some
day I hope he will grow into a big dog like Brutus,--though indeed he
does not look much like him now!"