illed Blackhawk. O-o-o!" and
they all cried again.

Mrs. Constant soothed them, and sympathized.

"Don't cry any more. You will be sick. I would not kill Prig, for then
she would be gone too, and to-morrow you would be sorry. And besides,
she was only trying to do as you wanted her to, and following out her
doggish instinct."

But half convinced, the children went to the summer-house and called
Prig; but she would not come. Then they drove her out, and as she
stood trembling before them, reproached her, and raising their arms,
shouted,--

"Go!"

Prig hesitated a moment, looked from one to another, then with her
tail between her legs, her hair on end, she uttered an unearthly howl,
and fled at full speed, crowded under the gate, and disappeared.

The children went to bed early, as Mrs. Constant thought the
excitement was bad for them, and in the night she was called to the
little girl's room. Dolly was feverish, and ill with a sore throat,
and Ada in great pain. They were sick all night, and in the morning
Mrs. Constant heard about the second piece of pie and Dolly's dam
building. Her sleeves had been wet all the afternoon, and the grief,
added to the pie and wet, had made them both ill.

They were not able to go out that day, and Willie buried Blackhawk
alone, while they watched him sadly from the window. They took their
last farewell of their pet at the kitchen door, and would have given
all their yesterday's sport to have helped Willie with the funeral. He
had meant that Prig should have attended as chief mourner, but she was
nowhere to be found. No one had seen her since her flight, and for
days they could find no trace of her. This added to their discomfort;
for they all loved her, and Ada and Dolly were confined to the house
for some time, and wanted her to play with them.

About a week after, on a rainy night, Bridget found her at the kitchen
door, and with great difficulty persuaded her to come in. She was very
thin and unhappy, and hid from the children, when they, already sorry
for their harshness, were kind to her, and tried to play with her. It
was a long time before she was the lively Prig she used to be, and was
always a little lame in her left fore foot. Something had hurt her in
those days of absence; and though after a while the children forgot
their holiday and the consequences, I am afraid poor Prig never did.

SARA CONANT.

LET HIM LIV