breakfast."

"Money!" cried Dicky, looking at Lola.

"Money!" whispered little Lola, looking back at Dicky.

"Yes," said he, "of course! Give me a dollar and I will give you the
dog."

"But," answered Lola, "I haven't a bit of money; I never have any."

"Neither have"--began Dicky; and then his fingers crept into his
trousers pocket and felt the two silver half-dollars that were to buy
his tool-box. He had forgotten all about that tool-box for an hour,
but how could he--how could he ever give away that precious money
which he had been so long in getting together, five cents at a time?
He remembered the sharp little saw, the stout hammer, the cunning
plane, bright chisel, and shining screw-driver, and his fingers closed
round the money tightly; but just then he looked at pretty little
Lola, with her sad face, her swollen eyes and the brave red lips she
was trying to keep from quivering with tears. That was enough; he
quickly drew out the silver dollar, and said to the pound-man:--

"Here's your dollar--give us the dog!"

The man looked much surprised. Not many little eight-year-old boys
have a dollar in their trousers pocket.

"Where did you get it?" he asked.