Often at night I have listened to the wind roaring
in the chimney and have shivered with cold, and have thought how Robbie
would have put a rug over me if he were here."
Just then the gong sounded for luncheon. "I must go now," said Basil,
"but I will come up again and finish you."
* * * * * *
"Auntie," Basil began, when he was seated at the table, "I have been
mending up the old rocking-horse; won't you send it to Uncle Robbie's
boy?"
Basil was too wise to repeat all the old horse had told him, for he
knew that grown-up people never understand that toys talk to the
children.
"Yes, I think I will," auntie replied.
* * * * * *
The gas was lit in the entrance-hall of a big house in a country town.
A little white-frocked child raced to the door to meet a tall, handsome
man who had just entered.
"Papa! papa! the old wocking-horse is tum--it was youse when you was
ickle boy; tum and see it."
The father perched his little son on his shoulder and mounted the
stairs to the nursery, where the firelight danced on the walls.
The old rocking-horse was waiting, almost faint with joy; he was soon
to see his beloved master, to feel his caress.
The father placed his son on the floor, and advanced to his old
playmate.
"What an old scarecrow!" he exclaimed, laughing. "Whatever could your
aunt have been thinking of to send it! We will despatch it to be
chopped up for firewood, and buy you a new one.
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