"I earned every cent of it," answered poor Dicky with a lump in his
throat and a choking voice. "I brought in coal and cut kindlings for
most six months before I got enough, and there ain't another tool-box
in the world so good as that one for a dollar--but I want Bruno!"

[Illustration: "Here's your dollar--give us the dog'"]

Then the pound-man showed them a little flight of steps that led up to
a square hole in the wall of the pound, and told them to go up and
look through it and see if the dog was there. They climbed up and put
their two rosy eager faces at the rough little window. "Bruno! Bruno!"
called little Lola, and no Bruno came; but every frightened homesick
little doggy in that prison poked up his nose, wagged his tail, and
started for the voice. It didn't matter whether they were Fidos, or
Carlos, or Rovers, or Pontos; they knew that they were lonesome little
dogs, and perhaps somebody had remembered them. Lola's tender heart
ached at the sight of so many fatherless and motherless dogs, and she
cried,--

"No, no, you poor darlings! I haven't come for you; I want my own
Bruno."

"Sing for him, and may be he will come," said Dicky; and Lola leaned
her elbow on the window sill and sang:--

Lit-tle shoes are sold at the gate-way of Heaven,

And to all the tattered lit-tle an-gels are giv-en;

Slum-ber my dar-ling, Slum-ber my dar-ling,