wild woods to mock at the singing-birds.  Argus too-what friends he and the child, who at first had been afraid of him, became before the summer was through!  What talks they held!  How merrily they laughed together! and how serenely Argus listened while Sunshine told him long histories of imaginary wanderings among the clouds, in enchanted forests, or “away beyond the blue up in the sky”!  Confidences these; for, as the narrator whispered,—­

“Dora doesn’t like dream-stories, and Kitty says, ‘Oh, nonsense!’ and Karlo laughs:  so you mustn’t tell a word, old Argus.”  And Argus, wagging his tail, and blinking his bright brown eyes, promised never to tell, and faithfully kept the promise.

Perhaps it was a vague sense of loneliness in these fancies; perhaps it was the lingering longing for something she had lost even from her memory, and yet not wholly from her heart, where, as we all know, linger loves for which we no longer have a name or a thought; perhaps it was only the dim reflex of that agony consuming her mother’s heart, and the earnestness with which it longed for her:  but something there was, that, at intervals, cast a sudden shadow over Sunshine’s heart; something that made her pale and still, and deepened the dimples at the corners of her mouth, until each might have held a tear.  At these times, she would always steal away by herself if possible; sometimes, and especially if the stars were out, to sit with folded hands, gazing at the sky; sometimes to lie upon her little bed, her eyes fixed on vacancy, until the bright tears gathered, and rolled slowly down her cheeks:  but, oftenest of all, she would call Argus, and, with one hand upon his glossy head, wander away to the dim forest, and seated at the foot of one of those patriarchal trees, the hound lying close beside her, would talk to him as she never talked to human ears.

Once, Karl, returning from an expedition to a distant part of the farm, saw her thus, and half in fun, half in curiosity, crept up behind the great oak at whose foot she sat, and listened.

“And up there in heaven, Argus,” she was saying, “it’s all so beautiful! and no one ever speaks loud or cross; and every one has shining white clothes, and flowers on their heads; and some one is there-I don’t know-I guess it’s an angel; but she’s got soft hands, and such pretty shiny hair, and eyes all full of loving me.  I dream about her sometimes; but I don’t know who she is:  and you mustn’t tell, Argus.  Sometimes I want to die, so as to go to heaven and look for her.  Argus, do you want to go to heaven?”

The brown eyes said that Argus wished whatever she did; and Sunshine continued:—­

“Well, some day we’ll go.  I don’t know just how; I don’t believe we’d find the way if we went now:  but some day I shall know, and then I’ll tell you.  Sometimes I feel so lonesome, Argus! oh, so dreadful homesick! but I don’t now.  You’re a real little comforter, Argus.  That’s what Dora called me the other night when Kitty was cross:  and Dora cried a little when she came to bed, and didn’t know I was awake; and I kissed her just so, Argus, and so.”