art.

"If he is lost I'll never forgive you; never, never, never!" and Ben
found it impossible to resist giving Bab several hard shakes, which made
her yellow braids fly up and down like pump handles.

"I'm dreadful sorry. He'll come back--you said he always did," pleaded
Bab, quite crushed by her own afflictions, and rather scared to see Ben
look so fierce, for he seldom lost his temper or was rough with the
little girls.

"If he doesn't come back, don't you speak to me for a year. Now, I'm
going home." And, feeling that words were powerless to express his
emotions, Ben walked away, looking as grim as a small boy could.

A more unhappy little lass is seldom to be found than Bab was, as she
pattered after him, splashing recklessly through the puddles, and
getting as wet and muddy as possible, as a sort of penance for her sins.
For a mile or two she trudged stoutly along, while Ben marched before in
solemn silence, which soon became both impressive and oppressive because
so unusual, and such a proof of his deep displeasure. Penitent Bab
longed for just one word, one sign of relenting; and when none came, she
began to wonder how she could possibly bear it if he kept his dreadful
threat and did not speak to her for a whole year.

But presently her own discomfort absorbed her, for her feet were wet and
cold as well as very tired; pop-corn and peanuts were not particularly
nourishing food; and hunger made her feel faint; excitement was a new
thing, and now that it was over she longed to lie down and go to sleep;
then the long walk with a circus at the end seemed a very different
affair from the homeward trip with a distracted mother awaiting her. The
shower had subsided into a dreary drizzle, a chilly east wind blew up,
the hilly road seemed to lengthen before the weary feet, and the mute,
blue flannel figure going on so fast with never a look or sound, added
the last touch to Bab's remorseful anguish.

Wagons passed, but all were full, and no one offered a ride. Men and
boys went by with rough jokes on the forlorn pair, for rain soon made
them look like young tramps. But there was no brave Sancho to resent the
impertinence, and this fact was sadly brought to both their minds by the
appearance of a great Newfoundland dog who came trotting after a
carriage. The good creature stopped to say a friendly word in his dumb
fashion, looking up at Bab with benevolent eyes, and poking his nose
into Ben's hand before he bounded