MAYSIE, firmly grasping her bag of cakes, rushed through the crowded sidewalks and street-crossings, darting in among the carriages and teams with the skill that only a child brought up in a large city possesses. Sometimes she passed under the very nose of a horse, and it seemed as if she must certainly be run over, but she always came out safe and sound. Her brother and sister, with Toby, followed wherever she went, but found it difficult to keep up with her. She was always some distance ahead of them, and paid no attention to their calls to stop for them to catch up with her.

“Stop, can’t you?” called out Johnny, who was leading Toby, and who always picked him up and carried him across the most crowded streets. “Stop and divy up! They ain’t all yours.”

“I’m going to, Johnny,” replied Maysie, still continuing her rapid gait. “Just a few blocks more, and then I’ll stop.”

So away they all went once more, little Toby as eager as the children for the share that had been promised him. They had gradually left behind them the pleasant part of the city where the bake-shop was situated, and had reached a part where the streets and sidewalks were narrower and the houses smaller and closer together. When they came to a place where building was going on, Maysie came to a stop, and seating herself on a low pile of boards, announced her intention of dividing the contents of the paper bag. Johnny seated himself by her side, placing Toby in his lap, and Hannah, the elder sister, took a seat near by.

They were not a quarrelsome family, and seemed to feel perfectly confident that Maysie would do the right thing by them and divide fairly. They edged as closely to the paper bag as they could get, and took long sniffs of the delicious odors wafted toward them.

“The dog has got to have his share, too,” said Johnny, as Maysie had helped them all around and had not included Toby.

“Each of us can give him a piece of ours,” replied Maysie, breaking off a generous piece of hers and handing it to the little dog.

“No,” said Johnny, firmly, “you agreed to go divies with him, and he heard it, and you’ve got to do it;” and Johnny hugged Toby closely to him, while the little dog looked gratefully into his face and wagged his tail in response.

“Well, then,” said Maysie, “he can have his share;” and she placed one of the largest cakes before Toby, who ate it in such large mouthfuls that it had disappeared and he had lapped up all the crumbs before the children were half through with theirs.

“He eats so fast,” said Maysie, “that he can’t get the good of it.”

Toby tried to explain in the animal language that she was mistaken,—that dogs had proved by experience that they got more taste from their food by swallowing it whole than they did by eating it slowly, and that every sensible dog ate in that way. “A few lap-dogs and such as that may nibble at their food,” explained Toby, “but you can’t go by them.”

This explanation was lost upon the children, however, because they couldn’t understand the animal language Toby spoke in. They thought he was asking for another cake.

“You must wait until we are ready for the second help,” said Johnny, at the same time offering him a piece of his own cake.

Toby tried to make them understand that this was not what he said, but it was of no use, they didn’t know what his whining meant.

“I shouldn’t wonder if he were cold,” suggested Hannah, whereupon good-hearted Johnny unbuttoned his coat and wrapped it around the little dog as well as he could.

“How can I be so mean as to leave these kind children, when they share everything with me?” said Toby to himself. “I do miss those fields to roam about in, though!” and he sighed as he thought of his country home.

At last the cakes were eaten, and one of each kind left to be taken home to Mother. These were carefully wrapped up, and the party started for home.

It was a poor place, their home, but they had never known a better one, and they were such happy, contented children that they really enjoyed more than some children who have beautiful homes and clothes, and everything that money can buy; for, after all, it is not money and beautiful things that bring happiness. Often those who have the least of these are the most contented and happy, if they are blessed with sweet tempers and cheerful natures.

In the rear of the tenement-house where the children lived, was a shed. It was a dark, cheerless affair, but in it the children had made a bed of some straw that a stable-man near by had given them, and here they had kept Toby. It was not very warm, but it was better than no shelter; and then Toby had been brought up in the country, and he was not quite so sensitive to the cold as dogs who are kept in city houses are.

“It seems awfully cold here,” said Johnny, as he looked about the bleak shed. The door had long since disappeared, and the raw winter air entered through the large opening.

“He looks kind of shivery,” said Hannah. “Perhaps, if we tell Mother about him, she will let us keep him in the house.”

“I don’t believe she will,” said Johnny, “because whenever I have asked her to let us keep a dog, she said we couldn’t afford it, they ate so much.”

“Let’s try,” said Hannah. “It is going to be awfully cold to-night. Maysie can tell her, because she lets her do so many more things than she does the rest of us.”

This was true. Little Maysie, the baby of the family, had been indulged and petted more than the rest, because she had not been so rugged as they were. When they all had the measles and whooping-cough, Maysie it was who had them the hardest. Maysie, too, had been very ill with pneumonia. Thus they had gotten into the habit of letting her have her way whenever any important question was at hand. So it was not strange that Maysie, in spite of a happy and generous nature, had taken advantage of the situation and become a little wilful. It is quite natural it should be so, when she so often heard Mother say, “Oh, give it to Maysie, she has been so sick, you know;” or, “Let Maysie do it, because she isn’t so strong as you are.”

So, when Hannah proposed that Maysie should be the one to tell Mother that they had been keeping a dog for the last week, and ask her to let them take it into the house to live, Maysie answered confidently,—

“All right, I’ll ask her.”

“That will settle my business,” said Toby to himself, as the children trooped up the dark and narrow stairways of the tenement-house. “No chance for me now to slip my collar. So here I shall have to stay, and good-bye to the fields I love so much.”

The children went up to the very top tenement of the house, and stopped a moment before opening the door.

“Give her the cakes before you tell her about the dog, Maysie,” said Johnny in a loud whisper.

“Of course I shall,” replied Maysie, shrewdly. “Don’t I know she will be more likely to give in after she sees the beautiful cakes?”

They found the table set for the simple supper, and their mother busily sewing. The father of the family worked in a machine-shop, and in busy seasons the work went on by night as well as by day; so the children saw little of their father, who, when he worked nights, was obliged to sleep part of the day.

The mother looked up as the children entered the room. Care and hard work had left their impress on her face, for it was thin and worn, but it brightened as her eyes fell on the faces of the happy children.

“I was afraid that something had happened to you,” said the mother. “What kept you so long?”

“We couldn’t find the house at first,” said Hannah; “and when we did find it, they made us wait until the lady looked at the work to see if it suited. She says she shall have some more for you in a few days.”

“And we stopped to look in at the windows of a fine shop where they sell all kinds of lovely cakes, and a beautiful, kind gentleman asked me would I like some, and I said I would, and he went inside and bought me a great bag full of the most beautiful ones you ever saw, and we brought one of each kind home to you, Mother dear,” said Maysie, putting the package of cakes in her mother’s lap.

“I hope you didn’t ask him for any?” said Mother.

“N—o,” replied Maysie, somewhat embarrassed. “I didn’t ask him for cakes, did I?” she asked, turning to her brother and sister.

“You didn’t ask him out and out, but you asked him for a cent, and he asked what did you want it for, and you said, ‘Cake,’” replied Hannah.

“Why, Maysie,” said Mother, reproachfully, “that is real begging! The gentleman thought you were a little beggar girl.”

“I can’t help it,” said Maysie, beginning to cry. “The cakes did look so nice, and I wanted to see if they would taste as nice as they looked. He needn’t have given me so many. I only asked for just one cent.”

“Well, don’t ever do it again, dear,” said Mother; for Maysie was making herself very miserable over the affair, and she couldn’t bear to see Maysie unhappy. “I guess that there’s no harm in doing it this once. I don’t wonder you wanted to get a taste of the nice cakes. It’s kind of tantalizing to see them before your very eyes and never to know how they taste.”

“I will never ask any one to give me a cent again,” said Maysie between her sobs; but Maysie was never unhappy long at a time, so she soon regained her cheerfulness, and came to the conclusion that she had not done such a very bad thing after all.

All this time Johnny had been standing behind the stove, keeping Toby out of sight. This was hard to do, for Toby was a restless little fellow, and Johnny knew that if he should move about much, his feet would make such a noise on the bare floor that he would be discovered before Maysie would have time to plead for him. Johnny at last succeeded in catching Maysie’s eye, and gave her to understand that it was high time to broach the subject; and Maysie, who never allowed the grass to grow under her feet, began at once.

“Mother dear,” she said, going up to her mother and giving her an affectionate hug and kiss, “we saw a poor little dog who didn’t have any home, and he was so cold and hungry! Can’t we just take him in? He won’t be any trouble at all.”

“No,” replied Mother, firmly, “we haven’t any room for dogs. They eat a lot, and are a great bother. No, you can’t.”

“But he is so little he will hardly eat anything, and we can each of us save him a little mite from our share every day, and then you see it won’t cost anything. Do say ‘yes,’ Mother dear;” and Maysie grew more affectionate than ever.

“No,” said Mother, firmly, “you mustn’t think of it. Father would never allow it. He doesn’t like to have dogs around.”

“We will keep him out of Father’s way,” pleaded Maysie. “He would be ever so much company for me when I am sick and have to stay in, and the others away at school. It’s awfully lonesome for me then.”

Mother thought of the many days when little Maysie was laid up with the colds that always lasted so long and made her so pale and weak, and she began to give way. It was true that a little playmate at those times would amuse the poor child, and after all it could not cost much to keep a little dog. The greatest obstacle in the way was Father. What would he say?

The children, eagerly watching their mother’s face, saw these signs of weakening, and were sure that they had gained their cause. Toby, too, with his true dog’s instinct, saw it even sooner than the children did, and before Johnny knew what he was about, gave a sudden jerk to the cord that held him. It slipped through Johnny’s fingers, and Toby, finding himself free, quickly ran up to the mother’s side, and sitting up on his hind legs, begged with all his might to be allowed to stay.

“Mercy on us,” exclaimed the astonished mother. “You don’t mean to say that you have brought him here already?”

Toby looked so small and thin, and his eyes had such a pleading expression, that the mother’s soft heart was touched. “You poor little fellow,” she said, picking him up and stroking him gently, “I think we can spare enough to keep you from starving.”

“We have kept him tied up in the shed a whole week,” said Johnny, boldly, “and it hasn’t cost a bit more. I wouldn’t mind being a little hungry myself, to save something for him.”

“I don’t think it will be necessary to go so far as that,” replied Mother. “What troubles me most is to keep him from annoying Father. You know he isn’t fond of dogs, and he mustn’t be troubled when he works so hard.”

“He is a real quiet dog,” said Johnny. “I don’t believe he will disturb him a mite.”

So Toby’s fate was settled, and he had a good supper and a share of the cakes besides, for Mother could not be prevailed upon to eat them all herself, and divided them with the others, Toby included.

Then came the important question of sleeping quarters. The cold shed was not to be thought of, and it ended by the indulgent mother consenting to his sleeping at the foot of Johnny’s bed. This was good news for Toby, who was always lonesome when he had to sleep all by himself. So the dog’s heart was no less happy than the children’s, and they all went cheerfully to bed so soon as it was decided what was to be done with Toby.

Johnny’s room was small and dark, not larger than a good-sized closet, but it seemed as luxurious as a palace to little Toby after the dark, cold shed. He was put to bed at Johnny’s feet after an affectionate leave-taking by the two girls. For a while he lay very still, but as soon as Johnny was asleep, he crept toward the head of the bed, and at last settled himself so closely to the sleeping boy that he could lick the hand that lay outside the bed-clothes.

“You are so kind to me,” said Toby to himself, “that I don’t believe I should have the heart to run away, even if I could. I should like to get a glimpse of the beautiful fields, though.”

So saying, the grateful little dog closed his eyes, and in a few moments he, too, was fast asleep, and dreaming that he was racing over his beloved fields, with Johnny close at his heels.