Part 22 (1/2)

”How can you do it?” asked Toby, bitterly. ”He's dying already.”

”I know it, and it will be a kindness to put a bullet through his head.”

If Toby had been big enough perhaps there might really have been a murder committed, for he looked up at the man who so coolly proposed to kill the poor monkey after he had already received his death-wound that the young man stepped back quickly, as if really afraid that in his desperation the boy might do him some injury.

”Go 'way off,” said Toby, pa.s.sionately, ”an' don't ever come here again.

You've killed all I ever had in this world of my own to love me, an' I hate you--I hate you!”

Then, turning again to the monkey, he put his hands on each side of his head, and, leaning down, kissed the little brown lips as tenderly as a mother would kiss her child.

The monkey was growing more and more feeble, and when Toby had shown this act of affection he reached up his tiny paws, grasped Toby's finger, half-raised himself from the ground, and then with a convulsive struggle fell back dead, while the tiny fingers slowly relaxed their hold of the boy's hand.

Toby feared that it was death, and yet hoped that he was mistaken; he looked into the half-open, fast-glazing eyes, put his hand over his heart, to learn if it were still beating; and getting no responsive look from the dead eyes, feeling no heart-throbs from under that gory breast, he knew that his pet was really dead, and flung himself by his side in all the childish abandonment of grief.

He called the monkey by name, implored him to look at him, and finally bewailed that he had ever left the circus, where at least his pet's life was safe, even if his own back received its daily flogging.

The young man, who stood a silent spectator of this painful scene, understood everything from Toby's mourning. He knew that a boy had run away from the circus, for Messrs. Lord and Castle had stayed behind one day, in the hope of capturing the fugitive, and they had told their own version of Toby's flight.

For nearly an hour Toby lay by the dead monkey's side, crying as if his heart would break, and the young man waited until his grief should have somewhat exhausted itself, and then approached the boy again.

”Won't you believe that I didn't mean to do this cruel thing?” he asked, in a kindly voice. ”And won't you believe that I would do anything in my power to bring your pet back to life?”

Toby looked at him a moment earnestly, and then said, slowly, ”Yes, I'll try to.”

”Now will you come with me, and let me talk to you? for I know who you are, and why you are here.”

”How do you know that?”

”Two men stayed behind after the circus had left, and they hunted everywhere for you.”

”I wish they had caught me,” moaned Toby; ”I wish they had caught me, for then Mr. Stubbs wouldn't be here dead.”

And Toby's grief broke out afresh as he again looked at the poor little stiff form that had been a source of so much comfort and joy to him.

”Try not to think of that now, but think of yourself, and of what you will do,” said the man, soothingly, anxious to divert Toby's mind from the monkey's death as much as possible.

”I don't want to think of myself, and I don't care what I'll do,” sobbed the boy, pa.s.sionately.

”But you must; you can't stay here always, and I will try to help you to get home, or wherever it is you want to go, if you will tell me all about it.”

It was some time before Toby could be persuaded to speak or think of anything but the death of his pet; but the young man finally succeeded in drawing his story from him, and then tried to induce him to leave that place and accompany him to the town.

”I can't leave Mr. Stubbs,” said the boy, firmly; ”he never left me the night I got thrown out of the wagon an' he thought I was hurt.”

Then came another struggle to induce him to bury his pet; and finally Toby, after realizing the fact that he could not carry a dead monkey anywhere with him, agreed to it; but he would not allow the young man to help him in any way, or even to touch the monkey's body.

He dug a grave under a little fir-tree near by, and lined it with wild flowers and leaves, and even then hesitated to cover the body with the earth. At last he bethought himself of the fanciful costume which the skeleton and his wife had given him, and in this he carefully wrapped his dead pet. He had not one regret at leaving the bespangled suit, for it was the best he could command, and surely nothing could be too good for Mr. Stubbs.

Tenderly he laid him in the little grave, and, covering the body with flowers, said, pausing a moment before he covered it over with earth, and while his voice was choked with emotion, ”Good-bye, Mr. Stubbs, good-bye! I wish it had been me instead of you that died, for I'm an awful sorry little boy now that you're dead!”

Even after the grave had been filled, and a little mound made over it, the young man had the greatest difficulty to persuade Toby to go with him; and when the boy did consent to go at last he walked very slowly away, and kept turning his head to look back just so long as the little grave could be seen.