"Well, you see, mamma, he doesn't think much of girls and their play. He's always saying to me, 'Beth, don't you wish you were a boy?' So one day I answered, 'No, indeed, Harvey.' It wasn't quite the truth, mamma, for I should like to be a boy, but I wouldn't let him know it. Then I asked him: 'Don't you wish you were a girl, Harvey?'" "What did he say, dear?" "He grunted and said, 'Eh--be a girl? I'd rather be nothing than be a girl.'" Mrs. Davenport could hardly keep her face straight; nevertheless, she said gravely: "If Harvey ever says that to you again, you tell him your mamma says that girls are of just as much consequence as boys. God would not have created them otherwise. Well, what else happened to-day?" "Oh, Harvey offered me a bird's nest that he'd stolen. Mamma, I couldn't help scolding him about it. You know papa doesn't think it right. So I had Harvey take the nest back." "That was a good girl." "And oh, mamma, I forgot to tell you how nice Marian has been. This afternoon after school, she made some candy for Julia and Harvey and me. It was just lovely. And now that I think of it, Maggie has been good too. She hasn't scolded us once, although I guess we are in her way very much sometimes." Mrs. Davenport now kissed Beth good-night. "Doesn't my little girl see that there never was a sorrow so great but that it has its bright side? You have much for which to be thankful, dear, and you must try to be happy." This talk helped Beth somewhat. Nevertheless, for weeks thereafter, a dog did not cross her path without bringing tears to her eyes. And many a night she cried herself to sleep, grieving for Don. Sorrow, however, is not eternal, and comfort came to her from an unexpected source. One afternoon the Davenports were driving home from Jacksonville, when Beth chanced to look back. She thereupon uttered such an exclamation of delight that Mr. Davenport, who was driving, pulled in on the horses. "Oh, just see the beautiful dog!" exclaimed Beth. "I believe he's following us." About three yards behind the carriage was a very large dog, but possessing a grace and a swiftness of motion unusual to his size. He was not only beautiful, but also intelligent-looking. His coat was of dark brown, and smooth as sealskin, showing every muscle of his body. His broad square head and monstrous jaw reminded the beholder of a tiger. His ears were close-cropped, which gave a compactness to his head that brought into prominence his great changeable eyes: eyes that the Davenports afterwards found so fiery sometimes that they reflected red lights; at other times so mildly brown that they beamed with the greatest affection. The dog was a combination of Russian bloodhound and mastiff. "He looks the thoroughbred, through and through," declared Mrs. Davenport. "See how majestically he moves. Duke would be a good name for him. Here, Duke. Here, Duke."