Emma and Charlie, who had just comprehended that the stranger-gentleman
was going to take away the dog, began to look very grave indeed. Emma
was no martyr, to suffer calmly for conscience' sake, much less little
white-headed Charlie, who obstinately asserted with a most heroic air,
that "nobody should tarry off _his_ doggie."
"But your dear brother Arthur is all alone, and he cries at night when
he goes to bed, because he has no brother nor sister there, not even a
pussie or a dog. He won't cry if Rover is with him. Don't you want Rover
to go?"
"Esmaam I do; but I want Rover to stay here with me too."
"But he can't make Arthur happy then. Arthur, poor, dear Arthur, will
have nobody to comfort him."
"Rover _must_ go," said Emma, sorrowfully; "but I wish there were
two Rovers, one for Arthur, and one for me."
It was a pretty sight to see these children put their fat, little arms
round Rover's neck, and hug him over and over again, and kiss his rough
face with their rosy mouths, and let their sunny curls lie among his
shaggy locks. Great tears rolled down Emma's cheeks as the dog went out
of the door; but though Emma was no martyr, she was a warm-hearted,
generous little girl, and she did not want to keep the dog away from
Arthur, though so sorry to part with it.
"We have got you and I, and two kitties, haven't we Charlie," said she,
"and sister Mary and brother John."
"And your mother beside, who I hope is worth counting," said Mrs.
Hamilton. "You can spare Rover very well, I think."
