Not being much of a dog fancier, he soon tired of old Crusoe, and gave him away to a gentleman, who took him down to Florida, and that was the end of him.

He was never heard of more.
When Crusoe, junior, was born, he was born, of course, without a name.
That was given to him afterwards in honour of his father.

He was also born in company with a brother and two sisters, all of whom drowned themselves accidentally, in the first month of their existence, by falling into the river which flowed past the block-house--a calamity which occurred, doubtless, in consequence of their having gone out without their mother's leave.

Little Crusoe was with his brother and sisters at the time, and fell in along with them, but was saved from sharing their fate by his mother, who, seeing what had happened, dashed with an agonized howl into the water, and, seizing him in her mouth, brought him ashore in a half-drowned condition.

She afterwards brought the others ashore one by one, but the poor little things were dead.
And now we come to the harrowing part of our tale, for the proper understanding of which the foregoing dissertation was needful.
One beautiful afternoon, in that charming season of the American year called the Indian summer, there came a family of Sioux Indians to the Mustang Valley, and pitched their tent close to the block-house.