Voyages à travers l'Bookland : un nouveau plan d'origine et pour la lecture appliquée à la meilleure littérature pour enfants . ou presque pleurer, robes asnurse la blessure ; et ce pauvre vieux w^hinesvery bac malheureusement. Vous pat sa tête, et Bella lui tapote;et vous asseoir ensemble par lui sur le sol du porche, et de mettre un tapis pour lui de se coucher sur andtry ; et lui tenter w-vec un peu de lait, et Bellabrings un morceau de gâteau pour lui - mais il va manger noth-ing. Vous asseoir jusqu'à très tard, bien après que Bella hasgone au lit, lui tapotant la tête, et qui souhaitent faire quelque chose pour youcould bac pauvres ; mais il onlylicks votre main, et whi

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Journeys through Bookland : a new and original plan for reading applied to the world's best literature for children . ou almost cry, asnurse dresses the wound; and poor old Tray w^hinesvery sadly. You pat his head, and Bella pats him;and you sit down together by him on the floor ofthe porch, and bring a rug for him to lie upon; andtry and tempt him w-ith a little milk, and Bellabrings a piece of cake for him—but he will eat noth-ing. You sit up till very late, long after Bella hasgone to bed, patting his head, and wishing youcould do something for poor Tray; but he onlylicks your hand, and whines more piteously thanever. In the morning, you dress early, and hurry down-stairs; but Tray is not lying on the rug; and yourun through the house to find him, and wliistle, and 132 Childhood call—Tray—Tray! At length you see him lying inhis old place, out hy the cherry tree, and you runto him; hut he does not start; and you lean down topat him—hut he is cold, and the dew is wet uponhim—poor Traj^ is dead! You take his head upon your knees, and pat againthose glossy ears, and cry; but you cannot bring. POOR TRAY IS DEAD him to life. And Bella comes, and cries with you.You can hardly bear to have him put in the ground;but uncle says he must be buried. So one of theworkmen digs a grave under the cherry tree, wherehe died—a deep grave, and they round it over withearth, and smooth the sods upon it—even now Ican trace Trays grave. You and Bella together put up a little slab fora tombstone; and she hangs flowers upon it, and The Bugle Song 133 ties them there witli a bit of lilihon. You can searcephiy all that day; and afterward, many weeks later, when you are rambling over the fields, or lingeringby the brook, throwing off stieks into the eddies, you think of old Trays shaggy coat, and of hisbig ptuv, and of his honest eye; and the memory ofyour boyish grief comes upon you; and you saywith tears, Poor Tray! And Bella too, in hersad sweet tones, says—Poor old Tray—he

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