“THE TWO FUNNY LITTLE TROTS.” 217

It’s about the trots,” I said, now fairly
sobbing. “I have just seen one—in deep:
mourning, mamma, — and— and —the other
one is dead.”

“Poor little angel!” said mamma. And the
tears came into her eyes too.

I did not see Dot again after that day. I
fancy that was its last walk before leaving St.
Austin’s for its regular home, wherever that
was. And a very short time after we our-
selves left too.

I never forgot the trots. Of course the

pleasure of going back to our own dear home

again, and seeing all our old friends, raised
my spirits, and softened the real grief I had
felt. But whenever we spoke of St. Austin’s,
or people asked me about it, and mentioned
the Esplanade or the shore, or any of the
places where I had seen the trots, the tears.
would come into my eyes, as again I seemed
to see before me the two dear funny little
figures. And whenever our plans for the fol-.