when the _dog_-wood poison affected both face and hands. Poor Bab
thought so, too, and dared ask no sympathy from him, though Thorny
eagerly prescribed plantain leaves, and Betty kept her supplied with
an endless succession of them steeped in cream and pitying tears. This
treatment was so successful that the patient soon took her place in
society as well as ever, but for Ben's affliction there was no cure,
and the boy really suffered in his spirits.

[Illustration: BEN AND LITA AT THE BROOK.]

"I don't think it's fair that I should have so much trouble--first
losing father and then Sanch. If it wasn't for Lita and Miss Celia,
I don't believe I could stand it," he said, one day, in a fit of
despair, about a week after the sad event.

"Oh, come now, don't give up so, old fellow. We'll find him if he's
alive, and if he isn't I'll try and get you another as good,"
answered Thorny, with a friendly slap on the shoulder, as Ben sat
disconsolately among the beans he had been hoeing.

"As if there ever could be another half as good!" cried Ben, indignant
at the idea; "or as if I'd ever try to fill his place with the best
and biggest dog that ever wagged a tail! No, sir, there's only one
Sanch in all the world, and if I can't have him I'll never have a dog
again."

"Try some other sort of a pet, then. You may have any of mine you
like. Have the peacocks; do now," urged Thorny, full of boyish
sympathy and good-will.