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 Frisky stayed until nearly noon playing with poor Tony, and it was the pleasantest half-day that the little fellow had ever known.

Always after that when we went to the post-office, we were sure to see Tony standing at the corner of the house watching for us; and although Frisky's calls were the pleasantest hours that he knew, his troubles grew rather than got less.

"They are so cruel to me," he said to Frisky one day, "I believe I shall drown myself."

"Don't do that," said Frisky; "things will get better pretty quick, and I should miss you so much."

One morning Tony awoke early, and climbing out of his basket went to the shed door and looked out. It was still dark, and the stars were shining.

He was so lonesome, and tired, and cold. He would give a great deal to see Frisky, even for a minute, and tell him all his troubles. How nice it would be to have some one to pat him on the head, and tell him that he was a good dog, as Frisky's master always did when he came along. If he only had some one to love him like that. A big tear rolled down his cheek, and fell upon the floor, and he gave a pathetic little whine.

Down from the door-step he hopped, and around the shed to the barn. There was the horse-pond, dark and cold, but it could not be worse than his lot.