"Where is my Moufflou?" asked Lolo again, "what have you done with my
dear Moufflou?"

"He is sold," the mother said at last, "sold to the gentleman who has
the little lame boy. He came here to-day, and he likes the dog so much
and his little boy was so pleased at the pretty tricks he does, that
he told me he would give a great deal of money if I would sell him the
dog. Just think, Lolo, he gave me so much money that we can pay
somebody now to go to the war for Tasso."

But before she had finished talking, Lolo began to grow white and cold
and to waver to and fro, so that his little crutch could hardly
support him. When she had done he called out, "My Moufflou--my
Moufflou sold!" and he threw his hands up over his head and fell all
in a heap on the floor, his poor little crutch clattering down beside
him. His mother took him up and laid him on his bed, but all night
long he tossed to and fro, calling for his dog. When the morning came,
his little hands and his head were very, very hot, and by and by the
doctor came and said he had a fever. He asked the mother what it was
the little boy was calling for, and she told him that it was his dog,
and that he had been sold. The doctor shook his head, and then went
away.

Day after day poor Lolo lay on his bed. His hair had been cut short,
he did not know his brothers and sisters, nor his mother, and his
little aching head went to and fro, to and fro, on the pillow from
morning till night. Once Tasso went to the hotel to find the
gentleman. He was going to tell him to take the money and give him
back the dog; but the gentleman had gone many miles away on the cars
and taken Moufflou with him. So every day Lolo grew weaker, until the