treasure from the bottom of the stream. No sooner said than done, and
after thanking this accommodating animal profusely, they turned homeward
once more.

When they reached the cottage the door was shut, and, bark as he would,
Blackfoot could not persuade his master to open it. There was the sound
of loud wailing inside.

"Mistress is broken-hearted," whispered the cat, "I will go to her and
make her happy."

So saying, she sprang lightly through a hole in the paper window, which,
alas! was too small and too far from the ground for the faithful dog to
enter.

A sad sight greeted the gaze of Whitehead. The son was lying on the bed
unconscious, almost dead for want of food, while his mother, in despair,
was rocking backwards and forwards wringing her wrinkled hands and
crying at the top of her voice for some one to come and save them.

"Here I am, mistress," cried Whitehead, "and here is the treasure you
are weeping for. I have rescued it and brought it back to you."

The widow, wild with joy at sight of the beetle, seized the cat in her
scrawny arms and hugged the pet tightly to her bosom.

"Breakfast, son, breakfast! Wake up from your swoon! Fortune has come
again. We are saved from starvation!"

Soon a steaming hot meal was ready, and you may well imagine how the old