No one knew. None remembered seeing him since breakfast. It was now half-past ten. The train was to go at eleven, and we were three-quarters of a mile from the station! We felt utterly lost. It was impossible to leave Bruno, and yet we must go. Julius looked in all directions, calling and whistling. No answer. Our baggage had gone, a wagon full of it. The tickets were bought, and everything was arranged. Julius came in from an unsuccessful search, a look of desperation on his face. "There's no help for it," he said; "we must start, Bruno or no Bruno." We locked up the house and set off. As we drove along, I kept looking out, hoping to see the familiar form come dashing after us, but in vain. Julius was to come into town each morning to the office, returning to us at the seashore on the afternoon train. I began to think I could not know Bruno's fate (for I feared something serious must have happened) until the afternoon of the next day. We had been so delayed it was necessary to make all speed. [Illustration: Chasing Crabs and Sea-Birds.--PAGE 111.] We hurried into the station, and there, standing beside our heap of luggage, one eye for the packages and the other on the lookout for us, stood Bruno! He greeted us with such extravagant delight, and we felt so relieved at seeing him, that we found no reproaches ready. Besides, although he had so delayed us, it was quite evident that he had thought we had our hands over-full, and that by keeping his eye on the things he would be helping us. So he had followed the wagon, overlooked the unloading, and evidently had kept tally of every package. Our man who had driven the wagon was to go on with us to help in the transfer at the other end, and to make all ready for comfort in the cottage. He told us that Bruno had mounted guard over him as well as our effects, and while rather overdoing it, had been quite helpful. It is hard to write of the weeks that followed. I see Bruno racing up and down the beach and swimming out through the breakers, while Julius and I sit on either side of a little wicker wagon drawn up beyond the reach of the tide, watching him. I see him chasing crabs and sea-birds, or limping up to show us his foot stung by a stranded jelly-fish. Then--darkness. It is night in a long white-draped room. One end of it is lighted by a lamp having a rose-colored shade. In the middle of the lighted end stands a crib. A little white-robed form lies within. The pink light so simulates a glow of health that the mother, sitting beside the crib, bends low, thinking the little breast heaves. But no. The waxen cheeks chill her lips. Still she bends and gazes on that loved little form. Bruno lies at the mother's feet. When she moves he rises, looking mournfully into the crib, then turns to rest his head on her knee. On a lounge, in the end of the room where shadows lurk, the father lies asleep, exhausted with grief.