On the last day of the month, Mop and Frisk, true to their word, came to the place where they last said good-by.  But how each one did look to see if his mate were the same dog he last saw!

Mop’s coat was rough no more — it shone like silk; his ears were cut; he wore a fine brass neck ring, with a new name on it; and his whole air was that of a dog in luck.

Poor Frisk was so thin that you could count all his ribs.  His tail stood up in the air no more.  He hung his head and crept close by the wall, as if he did fear some one would beat him if he dared to run or jump.

Good Mop did not look on him with scorn when he saw him in this sad way; but ran up to him on three legs, with one paw held out for “How d’ye do,” and his great fly-brush of a tail a-wag for joy.

“Why, Frisk, old dog!” he cried, “how glad I am to see you!  How have you been this long time?”

“O Mop!” said Frisk in a sad tone, “will you speak to me now I am so poor?  It is I who am not fit to be seen this time.”

“Frisk, my good dog,” said Mop in a grave tone, “real worth is not a thing of looks.  Let me tell you that if I knew you to steal a bone, you would lose my good-will in truth.  But I do not look down on dogs if they are poor and good.  Come home with me; we can talk more at our ease in my nice house, where you will find some first-rate bones, if you would like them.”

“O yes!  I guess I would!” cried Frisk.

So the dogs set off on a trot by the side of a fine lake, on the banks of which the town was built.  They soon came to a large house, with a court-yard in front, tall green rails all round, and a great gate by which to go in.  There was a small gate near the large one, the latch of which Mop could lift with his nose, for Frisk and him-self to pass; and then the dogs ran round to the back of the house.  On one side of the yard Frisk saw a fine dog-house, fit for the king, with a roof that ran to a peak, a porch in front, and a dove-cote on a pole on top.  In-side there was a heap of clean, warm hay, and on a blue plate were some nice bones.

“There!” said Mop, “don’t you call that prime?  Help your-self to the bones, Frisk; I can get lots more.”

Frisk did not wait to be asked twice, but fell to, and soon made way with the legs of a fowl.  When these were gone, kind Mop ran to the house and got a beef-bone for him.  Poor Frisk ate as if he was not used to such fine fare, and the good dog Mop, who gave up his own meal to feed Frisk, felt as glad as if he had had it all him-self.

When Frisk had made an end of the bones, he and Mop laid down in the dog-house; and as Frisk had asked him to do so, Mop told his tale, as you shall hear.

But first he asked Frisk to rise, so he could put more of the soft hay on his side.  “Do you feel quite warm?” he asked.

“O yes! thank you, dear Mop,” said Frisk; “as warm as a toast.  You will make me cry, if you are so kind to me.  When you were poor, I was a cross dog to you.  Oh!  I can not bear to think how bad I was;” and a great big tear came out of each of Frisk’s eyes, and ran off at the end of his nose.

“Oh! that is all gone.  We will be kind old dogs now, and do all the good we can in the world.  And now here goes for the grand tale of all my joys and woes since I saw you.”