about us, uttering yelps and whines that voiced a joy so great it could not be told from mortal agony.

Regardless of the fact that we were on the most public thoroughfare of the town, I fell on my knees to hug him, and could not keep back tears of mingled joy and pain. His poor thin sides! His gasps of rapture! Oh, Boonie, Boonie!

The first excitement over, we looked about us for Mr. Nimrod. He was nowhere to be seen. Bruno had evidently escaped, and was running away to look for us when he had chanced to strike our trail and so had found us.

We were glad he was alone. We both felt that if he had been torn from us at that supreme moment he would have died; he was so faint with fasting and grief, and then the overwhelming joy at finding those he had thought to be forever lost to him! He squeezed himself in between us, and kept step as we went homeward in the gathering twilight.

As soon as we reached home, we hurried him to the kitchen to enjoy the sight of the poor fellow at his trencher. How we fed him! I ransacked the pantry for the things he liked best, till his sides began to swell visibly. He paused between mouthfuls to feast his loving eyes on first one, then the other of us, and his tail never once stopped wagging. Rebecca came purring in to rub against his legs, and even submitted with shut eyes to a kiss from his big wet tongue. He must have felt that such an hour repaid him for all his sufferings.

After he had eaten until he evidently could not take another morsel, we drew him in front of us as we sat side by side, for a three-cornered talk. He sat on end, waving his tail to and fro on the floor, wrinkling his forehead and cocking up his ears, while we explained the situation to him.

We told him how kind Mr. Nimrod meant to be to him, how he would train him to hunt and take him on long daily runs. Then we reminded him how impossible it was for Julius to go on such excursions with him, and of how many scrapes he had got into by going alone,—he seeming to take it all in and to turn it over in his mind.

Then we told him that since he had found our new home he could come often to see us, and he would always find us glad to see him,—yes, more than glad!

Then Julius got his hat and said,—

"Come on, Boonie; now we're going home."

He seemed quite willing to go. I told him good-by with a heart so light I could scarcely believe it the same one I had felt to be such a burden when I had set off for our walk two hours earlier. I busied myself then preparing a little supper against Julius's return; for we had not been able to eat since breakfast, and I knew by my own feelings that Julius would welcome the sight of a well-spread smoking table; and he said on his return that I "guessed just right."

He and Bruno had found the Nimrods very much disturbed over their dog's disappearance. Mr. Nimrod had just returned from an unsuccessful search, and they were wondering what to do next. They welcomed the wanderer, but were concerned, too, that he had discovered our dwelling-place.

"I'm afraid we'll have to keep him tied up now," said Mr. Nimrod.

Julius thought not, and said,—

"Now that he knows where we are, and can come for a glimpse of us now and then, I believe he'll be better contented than he was when he thought we'd left the country."

Better contented he certainly was, but he positively refused to stay at home. It soon came to be a regular thing for Julius to escort him back every evening.

The Nimrods lived nearly a mile from us, so Julius did not lack for exercise.

Mr. Nimrod finally came to remonstrate with us.

"You ought to shut him out," he cried, "then he'd have to come back home."

For answer, Julius showed him certain long, deep scratches on our handsome new doors, adding,—

"Don't you see? It's as much as our doors are worth to shut him out, and he leaps that four-foot fence as if it were but four inches."

There was obviously no possible reply to such logic as this; so he continued to come,—dragging sometimes a rope or strap, or some other variety of tether, triumphantly proving that love laughs at locksmiths!

The Nimrods at last lost heart. Bruno never would eat there, and he never stayed when he could manage to escape. One night it was raining hard when the time came for him to be taken "home," so they did not go; and that seemed to settle it.

He was our dog.

We had given him away without his consent, and he refused to be given; so the trade was off. He stayed closely at home now, seeming to think we might disappear again if he did not watch us.

CHAPTER V

Unless there were guests in the house, we usually slept with all the inner doors wide open for better circulation of air.

One night we were awakened by tremendous barkings and growlings from Bruno. Julius spoke to him, and he answered with a whine. Then we could hear his feet pad-padding on the carpet as he went from our room, tap-tapping on the oil-cloth in the hall, pad-padding again through the sitting-room and the dining-room, then tap-tapping on the painted kitchen floor, with more loud barks and deep growls.

Julius tried again to quiet him, but he refused to be quieted.

"Something disturbs him," I said. "Maybe we'd better let him out."

"No," said Julius, "it is probably that wretched Leo lurking around, trying to toll him off. He's better inside."

I did not think he would seem so fierce if it were Leo, but I was too sleepy to argue; so we dozed off, leaving him still on the alert.

Deep was our surprise next morning to find that a band of thieves had raided the town during the night, and that the houses on both sides of us had been entered! How we petted and praised Bruno, our defender! He was quite unconcerned, though, and seemed as if he would say to us,—

"Oh, that was nothing. I only barked and made a racket!"

Truly, it was only necessary for him to bark and make a racket. There was never any occasion for him to go further. His voice was so loud and deep it always conveyed the impression of a dog as big as a house,—one that could swallow a man at one mouthful without winking.

People were always ready to take the hint when he gave voice to his emotions. They never undertook to argue with him.

After that night we never slept with such comfortable feelings of perfect security as we felt at those times when we were half aroused by Bruno's barks and growls.

For a while the days passed uneventfully in our little home. Julius and I were interested in beautifying and improving our grounds, so time never dragged with us. Rebecca rejoiced in several successive sets of kittens. They and Bruno frolicked through the days, with exciting interruptions in the shape of the milkman's calls, Julius's returns from the office, and occasional visits from the neighbors' children.

For greater convenience we always spoke collectively of Bruno, Rebecca and her kits, as "the cattle."

The milkman's daily calls never grew stale to them. They generally heard his bell before Julius or I suspected he was near, and would all go to the sidewalk to meet him. Bruno would leap the fence; Rebecca and her kits would creep through. As soon as the milk was poured out, they all raced to the back piazza to wait for their share of it. When the dish was filled and placed before them on the floor, Bruno stood back with drooping ears, watching them drink. He seemed to feel that it would not be fair to pit his great flap of a tongue against their tiny rose-leaves. They always