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 T is so cold in all the world, with mother lying dead ; I only want to go to sleep, but we must rouse, they said. I wonder why they harass us, and will not let us lie; The door is wide, and we will hide, my little Fan and I. Yes, just a dog, and nothing more ; but I have naught beside, And mother's hand was laid on her the moment that she died; And they loved one another so — where's mother, little Fan ? Ay, raise your head and whine, my dog, and call her if you can.