Have the peacocks; do now," urged Thorny, full of boyish sympathy and
good-will.

"They are dreadful pretty, but I don't seem to care about em, thank
you," replied the mourner.

"Have the rabbits, all of them," which was a handsome offer on Thorny's
part, for there were a dozen at least.

"They don't love a fellow as a dog does; all they care for is stuff to
eat and dirt to burrow in. I'm sick of rabbits." And well he might be,
for he had had the charge of them ever since they came, and any boy who
has ever kept bunnies knows what a care they are.

"So am I! Guess we'll have an auction and sell out. Would Jack be a
comfort to you? If he will, you may have him. I'm so well now, I can
walk, or ride anything," added Thorny, in a burst of generosity.

"Jack couldn't be with me always, as Sanch was, and I couldn't keep him
if I had him."

Ben tried to be grateful, but nothing short of Lita would have healed
his wounded heart, and she was not Thorny's to give, or he would
probably have offered her to his afflicted friend.

"Well, no, you couldn't take Jack to bed with you, or keep him up in
your room, and I'm afraid he Would never learn to do any thing clever. I
do wish I had something you wanted, I'd so love to give it to you."

He spoke so heartily and was so kind that Ben looked up, feeling that he
had given him one of the sweetest things in the world--friendship; he
wanted to tell him so, but did not know how to do it, so caught up his
hoe and fell to work, saying, in a tone Thorny understood better than
words,--

"You are real good to me-never mind, I won't worry about it; only it
seems extra hard coming so soon after the other--"

He stopped there, and a bright drop fell on the bean leaves, to shine
like dew till Ben saw clearly enough to bury it out of sight in a great
flurry.

"By Jove! I'll find that dog, if he is out of the ground. Keep your
spirits up, my lad, and we'll have the dear old fellow back yet."

With which cheering prophecy Thorny went off to rack his brains as to
what could be done about the matter.

Half an hour afterward, the sound of a hand-organ in the avenue roused
him from the brown study into which he had fallen as he lay on the newly
mown grass of the lawn. Peeping over the wall, Thorny reconnoitred, and,
finding the organ a good one, the man a pleasant-faced Italian, and the
monkey a lively animal, he ordered them all in, as a delicate attention
to Ben, for music and monkey tog