TANKOO
Little Jon says nothing, only looks at me, for a long time. I remember that look now. How pale his little face was! How his young blue eyes blazed accusation at me!
He took Tankoo in his arms, all bloody and ragged—not understanding—not understanding at all—and when he can't hold his little head up, only open and close his brown eyes, like he was tired and hurt, Jon holds him out to me and shrieks:
"Fix him! Holes in him! Oo done it!"
But there was no fixing Tankoo. He put his head under my little boy's arm and died.
And I don't like to remember his look when he drew the head of the animal forth and found the eyes steadily open but in them no sight.
When he understood he looked up at me. And I see that look often in the nights when I think cruel thoughts.
Betsy said, afterward, that when Tankoo found us both gone he ran about like crazy to find us. So she took him to the window up-
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