Billy rather put on airs when he came up to the farm to see us, but he was such a dear, little dog, in spite of being almost spoiled by his master, that Jim and I could not get angry with him.

In a few days they went away, and we heard nothing but good news from them, till last winter.

Then a letter came to Miss Laura from a nurse in a New York hospital.

She said that the Italian was very near his end, and he wanted her to write to Mrs.Gray to tell her that he had sold all his animals but the little dog that she had so kindly given him.

He was sending him back to her, and with his latest breath he would pray for heaven's blessing on the kind lady and her family that had befriended him when he was in trouble.
The next day Billy arrived, a thin, white scarecrow of a dog.