Granny Pyetangle lived in a little thatched cottage, with a garden full of sweet-smelling, old-fashioned flowers. It was one of a long row of other thatched cottages that bordered the village street. At one end of this was the Inn, with a beautiful sign-board that creaked and swayed in the wind; at the other, Dame Fossie’s shop, in which brandy-balls, ginger-snaps, balls of string, tops, cheese, tallow candles, and many other useful and entertaining things were neatly disposed in a small latticed window.

All Granny Pyetangle’s relations were dead; and she lived quite alone with her little grandson ’Zekiel, who had been a mingled source of pride and worry to her, ever since he left off long-clothes and took to a short-waisted frock with a wide frill round the neck, that required constant attention in the way of washing and ironing.

’Zekiel’s favourite place to play in was Granny Pyetangle’s cottage doorway.

A board had been put up to prevent him rolling out on to the cobblestone pavement; and this board though very irritating to ’Zekiel in many ways as preventing him from straying down the road and otherwise enjoying himself was yet not to be despised, as he soon discovered, when he was learning to walk.

It was one of the few things he could grasp firmly, without its immediately sliding away, doubling up, turning head over heels, or otherwise throwing him violently down on the brick floor of the kitchen before he knew what had happened to him!

Granny Pyetangle frequently went to have a chat with Dame Fossie, her large sun-bonnet shading her wrinkled old face, a handkerchief crossed neatly over her print bodice. On these occasions ’Zekiel accompanied his grandmother, hanging on to her skirts affectionately with one hand, whilst he waved a crust of brown bread in the other a crust which he generally carried concealed about his person, for the two-fold purpose of assisting through his teeth and amusing himself at every convenient opportunity.

Whilst Granny Pyetangle discussed the affairs of the neighbours, ’Zekiel would sit on the floor by her side contentedly sucking his crust, and looking with awe upon the contents of the shop. Such a collection of good things seemed a perfect fairy-tale to him, and he would often settle in his own mind what he would have when he grew up and had pence to rattle about in his trousers’ pocket, like Eli and Hercules Colfox.

Like most children in short petticoats, who contrary to the generally-received idea are constantly meditating on every subject that comes under their notice; ’Zekiel had his own ideas about Granny Pyetangle and her friend Dame Fossie.

His grandmother ought to have spent more of her money on peppermint-cushions, tin trumpets, and whip-tops, and less on those uninteresting household stores; and Dame Fossie should have remembered that crusts are poor work when brandy-snaps and gingerbread are spread before you, and ought more frequently to have bestowed a biscuit on the round-eyed ’Zekiel, as he played with the cat, or poked pieces of stick between the cracks of the floor when Granny Pyetangle wasn’t looking.

Though ’Zekiel had no brothers and sisters, he had a great many friends, the chief of which were Eli and Hercules Colfox, his next door neighbours, who were very kind and condescending to him in spite of the dignity of their corduroy trousers.

’Zekiel had a way of ingratiating himself with everyone, and of getting what he wanted, that inspired the slower-witted Eli and Hercules with awe and admiration; until one day he took it into his head to long for Dame Fossie’s celebrated black and white spotted china dog!

All the village knew this dog, for it had stood for years on a shelf above the collection of treasures in the shop window. It was not an ordinary china dog such as you can see in any china shop now-a-days, but one of the old-fashioned kind, on which the designer had (like the early masters) expended all his art upon the dignity of expression without harassing himself with petty details.

Proudly Dame Fossie’s dog looked down upon the world, sitting erect, with his golden padlock and chain glittering in any stray gleams of sunshine; his white coat evenly spotted with black, his long drooping ears, neat row of carefully-painted black curls across the forehead, and that proud smile which, though the whole village had been smitten down before him, would still have remained unchangeable.

It was this wonderful superiority of expression that had first attracted ’Zekiel as he played about on the floor of Dame Fossie’s parlour.

The china dog never looked at him with friendly good-fellowship, like the other dogs of the village. It never wanted to share his crusts, or upset him by running up against his legs just as he thought he had mastered the difficulties of “walking like Granny!”

It was altogether a strangely attractive animal, and ’Zekiel, from the time he could first indistinctly put a name to anything, had christened it the “Fozzy-gog” out of compliment to its owner, Dame Fossie and the “Fozzy-gog” it remained to him, and to the other children of the village, for ever after.

When ’Zekiel was nearly six years of age Granny Pyetangle called him up to her, and asked what he would like for his birthday present.

’Zekiel sat down on a wooden stool in the chimney corner, where the iron pot hung, and meditated deeply.

“Eli and Hercules to tea, and a Fozzy-gog to play with,” he said at last and Granny Pyetangle smiled and said she would see what she could do “’Zekiel was a good lad, and deserved a treat.”

’Zekiel’s birthday arrived, and the moment he opened his eyes he saw that his grandmother had redeemed her promise.

On a rush chair beside his pillow stood the very double of the Fozzy-gog! yellow eyes, gold collar and padlock, black spots, and all complete!

’Zekiel sprang up, and scrambled into his clothes as quickly as possible. He danced round Granny Pyetangle in an ecstasy of delight, and scarcely eat any breakfast, he was in such a hurry to show his treasure to his two friends.

As he handed it over the low hedge that separated the two gardens he felt a proud boy, but Eli did not appear so enthusiastic as ’Zekiel expected. He said that “chaney dogs was more for Grannies nor for lads,” and that if he had been in ’Zekiel’s place he would have chosen a fine peg-top.

Poor ’Zekiel was disappointed. The tears gathered in his eyes. He hugged the despised china dog fondly to him, and carried it indoors to put in a place of honour in Granny Pyetangle’s oak corner-cupboard where it looked out proudly from behind the glass doors, in company with the best tea-cups, a shepherdess tending a woolly lamb, two greyhounds on stony-white cushions, and Grandfather Pyetangle’s horn snuff-box.

Time passed on, and ’Zekiel’s petticoats gave place to corduroy breeches, but his devotion to the china dog never waned. He would talk to it, and tell it all his plans and fancies, and several times he almost persuaded himself that it wagged its tail and nodded to him. In fact, he was quite sure that when Granny Pyetangle was ill that winter, the china dog was conscious of the fact, and looked at him with its yellow eyes full of compassion and sympathy.

Poor Granny Pyetangle was certainly very ill. She had suffered from rheumatism for many years, and was sometimes almost bent double with it; but that autumn it came on with increased violence, and ’Zekiel, who nursed his old grandmother devotedly, had to sit by the bed-side for hours giving her medicine, or the food a neighbour prepared for her, just as she required it.

Granny Pyetangle was sometimes rather cross in those days, and would scold poor ’Zekiel for “clumping in his boots” and “worritting” but ’Zekiel was very patient.

“Sick people is wearing at times,” said Dame Fossie. “Come you down to me sometimes, ’Zekiel, and I’ll let you play with my chaney dog. It isn’t fit as young lads should be cooped up always!” and when Granny Pyetangle had a neighbour with her, ’Zekiel gladly obeyed.

One evening he ran down the village street with a smile on his face, and a new penny in his pocket. Squire Hancock had given it to him for holding his horse, and he was going to spend it at Dame Fossie’s on a cake for his grandmother.

Twilight was falling, yet Dame Fossie’s shop was not lighted up; which was strange, as a little oil lamp generally burned in the window as soon as it grew dusk.

The shop door was shut and locked, and ’Zekiel ran round to the back, and climbing on the edge of the rain-water butt, he peered over the white dimity blind, into the silent kitchen.

No one was there, and yet Dame Fossie must be somewhere in the house, for he distinctly heard sounds of thumping and scraping going on upstairs.

“I’ll get in through the window, and surprise her!” said ’Zekiel; and as one of the latticed panes was unfastened he proceeded to push it gently open, and creep in on to the table that stood just beneath it.

He unlatched the kitchen door, and stole up the ricketty staircase.

The sounds continued, but more loudly. Evidently there was a house-cleaning going on, and ’Zekiel supposed this was why Dame Fossie had been deaf to his repeated knockings. He lifted the latch of the room from which the noise proceeded, and peeping cautiously in, beheld such a strange sight that he remained rooted to the ground with astonishment.

Dame Fossie’s furniture was piled up in one corner the oak bureau, and the rush-bottomed chairs, inside the four-post bedstead. A pail of water stood in the middle of the floor; and close by was the Fozzy-gog himself, with a mop between his paws, working away with the greatest energy.

He was about four times his ordinary size, as upright as ’Zekiel himself, and was directing the work of several other china dogs; amongst whom ’Zekiel immediately recognized his own property, Granny Pyetangle’s birthday present!

Everyone seemed to be too busy to notice ’Zekiel as he stood half in the doorway. Two of the dogs were scouring the floor with a pair of Dame Fossie’s best scrubbing brushes, another was dusting the ceiling with a feather broom; whilst several, seated round the four-post bedstead, were polishing it with bees’ wax and “elbow-grease.” They all listened to the Fozzy-gog with respectful attention, as he issued his directions; for he was evidently a person in authority.

It did not occur to ’Zekiel to be surprised that all the dogs were chatting together in very comprehensible Dorsetshire English. To see them actually living, and moving about, was such an extraordinary thing that it swallowed up every other feeling, even that of fear.

“Make haste, my good dogs! Put the furniture straight, and have all ready. Dame Fossie will be returning soon, and we must be back on our shelves before her key turns,” said the Fozzy-gog cheerfully.

The dogs all worked with renewed energy, and before ’Zekiel could collect his scattered wits enough to retreat or hide himself, the room was in perfect order, and out trooped the china dogs carrying the buckets, brooms, and brushes, they had been using.

As they caught sight of ’Zekiel, the Fozzy-gog jumped several feet into the air.

“What! ’Zekiel spying upon us!” he screamed angrily. “Bring the lad into the kitchen. We must examine into this,” and he clattered down the steep stairs with his mop into the wash-house.

Poor ’Zekiel followed trembling. His own dog had crept up to him, and slipped one paw into his hand, whispering hurriedly, “Don’t be downhearted, ’Zekiel. Never contradict him, and he will forgive you in a year or two!”

“A year or two!” thought ’Zekiel wretchedly. “And never contradict him, indeed! when he says I was spying on him. A likely thing!” and he clung to his friend, and dragged him in with him into the kitchen.

The Fozzy-gog sat in Dame Fossie’s high-backed chair in the chimney corner, the other china dogs grouped around him. It reminded ’Zekiel of the stories of Kings and their Courts, and no doubt the Fozzy-gog was a king in his own opinion at least.

He questioned ’Zekiel minutely as to how he happened to come there so late in the evening; and to all the questions ’Zekiel answered most truthfully.

The frown on the Fozzy-gog’s face relaxed more and more an amiable smile began to curl the corners of his mouth, and he extended his paw in a dignified manner towards ’Zekiel, who felt like a prisoner reprieved.

“We forgive you, ’Zekiel! You have always been a good friend to us, and your own dog speaks well of you,” said the Fozzy-gog benignly. “You must give us your word you will never mention what you have seen. In the future we must be china dogs to you, and nothing more; but in return for this you may ask one thing of us, and, if possible, we will grant it.”

’Zekiel hesitated. Wild possibilities of delight in the shape of ponies and carts flitted rapidly through his mind, and then the remembrance of Granny Pyetangle, lying ill and suffering on her bed in the little sloping attic, drove everything else from his mind.

“I want my poor old Granny to be well again,” he said, looking the Fozzy-gog bravely in the face “and I don’t want naught else. If you’ll do that, I’ll promise anything that’s to say, anything in reason,” added ’Zekiel, who prided himself on this diplomatic finish to his sentence which was one he had frequently heard his grandmother make use of in moments of state and ceremony.

The Fozzy-gog appeared to be favourably impressed by ’Zekiel’s request. He rose from his chair, and waved his paw graciously.

“We dismiss this gathering!” he cried. “And you, Pyetangle” pointing to ’Zekiel’s china dog “take your master home, and bring him to our meeting at the cross-roads to-morrow at midnight. Do not fail. Farewell!”

As he spoke the Fozzy-gog shrank and stiffened. His black curls acquired their usual glaze, and he had just time to jump upon the shelf above the shop window, before he froze into his immovable china self again.

The other dogs disappeared through the open kitchen casement; and ’Zekiel found himself in the village street without in the least knowing how he got there!

It was almost dark as he ran home, but as he swung open the garden gate, he fancied he saw something white standing exactly in the centre of the pathway. He was sure he heard a faint barking, and a voice whispered “Wait a minute, ’Zekiel, I want to talk to you.” ’Zekiel retreated a step, and sat down gasping on a flower bed.

“I want to talk to you,” repeated the little voice.

’Zekiel craned forward, though he was trembling with fright, and saw in the fast gathering shadows his own china dog, standing beside Granny Pyetangle’s favourite lavender bush though how it managed to get there so quickly he could not imagine! He stretched out his hand to stroke it, and started up, as instead of the cold china, he felt the soft curls of a fluffy fur coat.

“Tell me what it all means! Oh, do’ee, now!” said ’Zekiel, almost crying.

The china dog sat down by ’Zekiel’s side, and putting one paw affectionately on his knee, looked up in his face, with his honest yellow eyes.

“The Fozzy-gog has commissioned me to explain all about it,” he said confidentially. “So don’t be frightened, and no harm will come of it! Twice every month (if we can escape unobserved) we take the form of ordinary dogs, and meet together to amuse ourselves, or to work for our owners. There are many of us in the village, and as the Fozzy-gog is our ruler, we are bound to obey him, and to work more for old Dame Fossie than for anybody else. Yesterday we knew she was going to visit her married daughter. We determined to have a thorough house-cleaning, and were just in the midst of it when you came in! It was a good thing the Fozzy-gog happened to be in a good temper, and knew you well! We have never before been discovered. He is a hasty temper, and it certainly was irritating!”

’Zekiel began to recover from his terror, and grasped the china dog by the paw. He felt proud to think that his ideas about china dogs had proved true. They were not merely “chaney” as Eli and Hercules contemptuously expressed it; but were really as much alive as he was himself, after all!

“However did you manage to get out of Granny Pyetangle’s cupboard?” enquired ’Zekiel, curiously.

“Oh, I put those lazy greyhounds and the shepherdess at it,” replied the china dog. “They worked all night, and managed to undo the latch early this afternoon. They’re bound to work for me like all the inferior china things,” and he shook his head superciliously.

“And now,” said ’Zekiel, “please tell me how the Fozzy-gog is going to get my Granny well.”

“Ah, that I mayn’t tell you,” said the china dog. “You must come with me to-morrow night to the Dog-wood, and you will hear all about it.”

As he spoke, he began to shrink and stiffen in the same remarkable way as the Fozzy-gog, and a moment after he was standing in his ordinary shape in the centre of the cobblestone pathway.

The moonlight shone upon his quaint little figure and the golden padlock at his neck. ’Zekiel sprang up just as the cottage door opened, and a neighbour came out calling, “’Zekiel! ’Zekiel! Drat the lad! Where be you gone to?”

’Zekiel tucked the china dog under his arm and hurried in, receiving a good scolding from Granny Pyetangle and her friend for “loitering,” but he felt so light-hearted and cheerful, the hard words fell round him quite harmlessly.

“Granny ’ll be well to-morrow! Granny ’ll be well to-morrow!” he kept repeating to himself over and over again, and he ran into the kitchen just before going to bed to make sure the things in the corner cupboard were safely shut away for the night.

’Zekiel hardly knew how he got through the next day, so impatient was he for the evening. Granny Pyetangle was certainly worse. The neighbours came in and shook their heads sadly over her, and Dame Fossie hobbled up from her shop and offered to spend the night there, as it was “no’ fit for young lads to have such responsibilities” and this offer ’Zekiel eagerly accepted.

As soon as it grew dusk, he unlatched the door of the oak cupboard; and then being very tired for he had worked hard since daylight he sat down in Granny Pyetangle’s large chair, and in a minute was fast asleep.

He was awakened by a series of pulls at his smock-frock; and starting up he saw that it was quite dark, except for the glow of a few ashes on the hearth-stone, and that the china dog, grown to the same size as he had been the evening before, was trying to arouse him.

“Wake up, ’Zekiel!” he said in a low voice. “Dame Fossie is upstairs with your Granny, and we must be off.”

’Zekiel rubbed his eyes, and taking his cap down from a peg, and tying a check comforter round his neck, he followed the china dog from the kitchen, and closed and latched the door behind him.

Out in the moonlit street, the china dog kept as much as possible in the shadow of the houses; ’Zekiel following, his hob-nailed boots click, clicking against the rough stones as he stumbled sleepily along.

They soon left the village behind them, and plunged into a wood, which, stretching for miles across hill and dale, was known to be a favourite haunt of smugglers.

’Zekiel instantly became very wide awake indeed, and unpleasant cold shivers ran down his back, as he thought he saw black and white forms gliding amongst the trees, and yellow eyes glancing at him between the bare branches.

“It isn’t smugglers. It’s the dogs galloping to the meeting place,” said the china dog, who seemed able to read ’Zekiel’s thoughts in a very unnatural manner.

They soon left the rough pathway they had been following, and ’Zekiel, clinging to the china dog’s paw, found himself in the densest part of the wood, which was only dimly lighted by a few scattered moonbeams.

“We are getting near the Dog-wood now,” said the china dog as they hurried on, and in another moment they came out on to the middle of a clearing, round which a dense thicket of red-stemmed dog-wood bushes grew in the greatest luxuriance.

In the centre was a large square stone, like a stand; on which sat the Fozzy-gog, surrounded by about fifty china dogs of all shapes and sizes, but each one with a gold padlock and chain round his neck, without which none were admitted to the secret society of the “Fozzy-gogs.”

’Zekiel was drawn reluctantly into the magic circle, while every dog wagged his tail as a sign of friendly greeting.

The Fozzy-gog nodded graciously, and immediately the dogs commenced a wild dance, with many leaps and bounds; round the stone on which their ruler was seated.

The moonlight shone brightly on their glancing white coats; and behind rustled the great oak trees, their boughs twisted into fantastic forms, amidst which the wind whistled eerily.

’Zekiel shuddered as he looked at the strange scene, and longed sincerely to be back again in his little bed at Granny Pyetangle’s.

“However, it won’t do to show I’m afraid, or don’t like it,” he said to himself, so he capered and hopped with the others until he was quite giddy and exhausted, and forced to sit down on a grassy bank to recover himself.

“The trees are playing very well to-night,” said a dog as he skipped by. “Come and have another dance?” and he flew round and round like a humming top.

’Zekiel shook his head several times. He was so out of breath he could only gasp hurriedly “No, no! No more, thank you!” but his friend had already disappeared.

The Fozzy-gog now approached him. He carried something in his paw, which he placed in ’Zekiel’s hand.

“Put this on Grandmother Pyetangle’s forehead when you return to-night promise that you will keep silence for ever about what you have seen and to-morrow she will be well!”

“I promise,” said ’Zekiel. “Oh, Fozzy-gog! I’ll never forget it!”

“No thanks,” said the Fozzy-gog. “I like deeds more than words. Pyetangle shall take you home.”

He beckoned to ’Zekiel’s dog, who came up rather sulkily and ’Zekiel found himself outside the magic circle, and well on his way home, almost before he could realize that they had started!

As he entered Granny Pyetangle’s little garden, he saw that a light was still burning in her attic.

He went softly into the kitchen. It was quite dark, but a ray of moonlight enabled him to see the china dog open the cupboard; and, rapidly shrinking, place himself on his proper shelf again.

’Zekiel then took off his boots, ran up the creaking stairs, and tapped softly at Granny Pyetangle’s bedroom. No one answered, so he pushed open the door.

Dame Fossie sat sleeping peacefully in a large rush-bottomed chair by the fireplace and Granny Pyetangle, on her bed under the chintz curtains, was sleeping too.

’Zekiel laid the Fozzy-gog’s leaf carefully on her forehead, and creeping from the room, threw himself on his own little bed, and was soon as fast asleep as the two old women.

The next morning, when Granny Pyetangle awoke, she said she felt considerably better, and so energetic was she that Dame Fossie had great difficulty in persuading her not to get up.

Dame Fossie tidied up the place, and was much annoyed to find a dead leaf sticking to Granny Pyetangle’s scanty grey hair. “How a rubbishy leaf o’ dog-wood came to get there, is more nor I can account for,” she said crossly, as she swept it away into the fire, before ’Zekiel could interfere to rescue it.

Granny Pyetangle’s recovery was wonderfully rapid. Every day she was able to do a little more, and ’Zekiel’s triumph was complete when he was allowed to help her down the stairs into the kitchen, and seat her quavering, but happy, on the great chair in the chimney corner.

“Well, it do seem pleasant to be about agin,” said Granny Pyetangle, smoothing her white linen apron. “No’but you have kept the place clean, ’Zekiel, like a good lad. There’s those things in corner cupboard as bright as chaney can be! and that chaney dog o’ yours sitting as life-like as you please! It wouldn’t want much fancy to say he was wagging his tail and looking at me quite welcoming!”

The wood fire blazed and crackled, the kettle sang on its chain in the wide chimney. Granny Pyetangle was almost well, and quite happy; and ’Zekiel felt his heart overflowing with gratitude towards the Fozzy-gog.

“I’ll never forget him. Never!” said ’Zekiel to himself, “and I wouldn’t tell upon him not if anyone was to worrit me ever so!” and indeed he never did.

Years passed, and Dame Fossie’s shop was shut, and Dame Fossie herself was laid to rest. Her daughter inherited most of her possessions; but “to my young friend ’Zekiel Pyetangle, I will and bequeath my china dog, hoping as he’ll be a kind friend to it,” stood at the end of the sheet of paper which did duty as her will. And so ’Zekiel became the owner of the Fozzy-gog after all!

Granny Pyetangle has long since passed away, but the little thatched cottage is still there, with the garden full of lavender bushes and sweet-smelling flowers. From the glass door of the corner cupboard the Fozzy-gog and his companion look out upon the world with the same inscrutable expression; and ’Zekiel himself, old and decrepit, but still cheerful, may at this moment be sitting in the cottage porch, watching his little grandchildren play about the cobblestone pathway, or talking over old times with Eli and Hercules Colfox, who, hobbling in for a chat, take a pull at their long pipes, and bemoan the inferiority of everything that does not belong to the time when “us were all lads together.”