could, he barked three times,--in the hope, you know, that the little boy
would hear his call and come. But the little boy did not come.

Then Fido trotted sadly down the lane to the pasture to talk with the old
woodchuck about this strange thing. The old woodchuck saw him coming and
ambled out to meet him.

"But where is our little boy?" asked the old woodchuck.

"I do not know," said Fido. "I waited for him and called to him again and
again, but he never came."

Ah, those were sorry days for the little boy's friends, and sorriest for
Fido. Poor, honest Fido, how lonesome he was and how he moped about! How
each sudden sound, how each footfall, startled him! How he sat all those
days upon the front door-stoop, with his eyes fixed on the fence-corner
and his rough brown ears cocked up as if he expected each moment to see
two chubby arms stretched out toward him and to hear a baby voice calling
"Goggie, goggie, goggie."

Once only they saw him,--Fido, the flower, and the others. It was one day
when Fido had called louder than usual. They saw a little figure in a
night-dress come to an upper window and lean his arms out. They saw it was
the little boy, and, oh! how pale and ill he looked. But his yellow hair
was as glorious as ever, and the dimples came back with the smile that
lighted his thin little face when he saw Fido; and he leaned on the window
casement and waved his baby hands feebly, and cried: "Goggie! goggie!"
till Fido saw the little boy's mother come and take him from the window.

One morning Fido came to the fence-corner--how very lonely that spot