have slipped away.

At last dinner came and went, and the gray soddenness of the skies
deepened into the blackness of coming night. Someone called Titee to go
to bed--and Titee was nowhere to be found.

Under the beds, in corners and closets, through the yard, and in such
impossible places as the soap-dish and the water-pitcher even; but he
had gone as completely as if he had been spirited away. It was of no use
to call up the neighbors; he had never been near their houses, they
affirmed, so there was nothing to do but to go to the railroad track,
where little Titee had been seen so often trudging in the shrill north
wind.

So with lantern and sticks, and his little yellow dog, the rescuing
party started out the track. The rain had ceased falling, but the wind
blew a tremendous gale, scurrying great, gray clouds over a fierce sky.
It was not exactly dark, though in this part of the city, there was
neither gas nor electricity, and surely on such a night as this, neither
moon nor stars dared show their faces in such a grayness of sky; but a
sort of all-diffused luminosity was in the air, as though the sea of
atmosphere was charged with an ethereal phosphorescence.

Search as they would, there were no signs of poor little Titee. The soft
earth between the railroad ties crumbled beneath their feet without
showing any small tracks or foot-prints.

"Let us return," said the big brother, "he can't be here anyway."

"No, no," urged the mother, "I feel that he is; let's go on."

So on they went, slipping on the wet earth, stumbling over the loose
rocks, until a sudden wild yelp from Tiger brought them to a standstill.
He had rushed ahead of them, and his voice could be heard in the
distance, howling piteously.

With a fresh impetus the little muddy party hurried forward. Tiger's
yelps could be heard plainer and plainer, mingled now with a muffled
wail, as of some one in pain.

And then, after awhile they found a pitiful little heap of wet and
sodden rags, lying at the foot of a mound of earth and stones thrown
upon the side of the track. It was little Titee with a broken leg, all
wet and miserable, and moaning.

They picked him up tenderly, and started to carry him home. But he cried
and clung to his mother, and begged not to go.

"He's got fever," wailed his mother.

"No, no, it's my old man. He's hungry, sobbed Titee, holding out a
little package. It was the remnants of his dinner, wet and rain washed.

"What