You will bear in mind, Dash, that I left off where the good child fed me with bread.  Well, this made me strong, and I went on my way.  Soon I heard a sound, like that of a flute or fife; it was quite near, but I could see no one.  All at once, a great mob of boys and men came down the road, and made a crowd close by me.  I went in the midst of them to find out what it all meant.  Dear me! it was some-thing queer to be sure.  There was a man with a big drum fast to his back, which he beat with a drum-stick tied to one of his feet.  In the front of his coat was a set of Pan’s pipes, out of which he blew the tune the old cow died of.  In his left hand he held a whip, while in his right was a cord, which led three dogs.  The first one was an old dog, with bow-legs, who when the crowd did stop, got up on his hind-legs, and gave a look round at the two be-hind, who stood, right up on their hind-legs, all in a grave, glum way.  One of these was in the dress of a girl.  She had on a large round hat, full of big red bows.  The hat was so big, and shook so much, that it did seem as if her head, hat, and all, would drop off, if it got a hard knock.

“The dog with the bow-legs wore a blue coat, a flat hat with a broad brim, and such a high shirt col-lar, that the sharp ends all but put his eyes out.  He had a pair of specs tied on his black nose with twine.  The third had on a cap and coat like those of a small boy.  And all did look as if they were on their way to be hung.

“Then the man made a jig tune on his pipe, and beat the drum with his foot till he was as red as fire in the face, while the dogs kept time with hop, skip, and jump, with one eye on the whip.

“The men and boys were full of the fun.  O dear! how they did clap their hands and laugh! and I, great goose that I was, stood on my hind-legs, to try how it felt, and kept near the dogs all day, and saw them dance at least ten times.

“At last, when the sun had set, the man came to an old house, and let him-self in with a key; the dogs went in too, while I stood out-side on two legs, to try to peep thro’ a small crack in the door.  Soon there came — oh! such a good smell of hot beef-bones.  I felt as if I would give all four of my legs for just one bone.

“I gave the door a push, and found it moved; and then, to make a long tale short, I went in; for I said to my-self:  ’The man may beat me to death, but if I stay here I shall starve to death; so I can but try for a bone.’

“I found my-self in a low, dark room.  The walls were black with dirt and smoke.  The dogs lay in one part of the room, and the man sat by the fire.  On a hook was a great pot, and from this came such a nice smell, that all the dogs, and I with them, did lick our lips the whole time.

“And now there came in the room an old dame, with a dry, brown face, for all the world like the nut-shell dolls the pie-man’s boy used to make.

“‘Well, John,’ she said, ‘have you had a good day?’

“’Yes, Gran-ny; I took a hat full of cents.  See here, what a lot of them!  But that dog there, he lost me a three cent piece to-day; so he goes with-out his bone.’

“The poor dog with the bow-legs gave a great howl when he heard this; but the show-man hit him on the nose with his whip, and he slunk off, while the big tears ran in a stream down his face.

“The rest stood on their hind-legs in a row, while the old dame with the nut-shell face took the pot from the fire.

“‘Here,’ said she to the show-man, ’hold the dish while I pour the stew out.’

“Oh! how it did smoke! and what a fine smell it had!  The man got a loaf of bread and two blue plates from the shelf, and a knife and fork for each; and then they went to work to eat as fast as they could, while the dogs and I did look on with all the eyes we had.  When the show-man had eat-en all he could, he took some more meat, cut it up in bits, and said:  ’Now, I shall give each dog a bit in turn.  Look sharp you!  If the wrong dog starts when I call, he gets none at all.  Now then, Pete!’

“The dog in the cap made a jump and one snap, and the meat was gone.

“‘Now then, Hop!’ said the man; and the dog in the girl’s hat got it; and then it was Pete’s turn, while poor Bob with the bow-legs, who lost the three cents, kept up a kind of soft howl and a sob, as if his heart would break.

“All this time I did think I must die for want of food, and I made up my mind to stand on my hind-legs till the show-man gave me some meat too.  So I got up and did not fall, while you could count ten, then I ran up to the show-man, and stood on my hind-legs at his side.

“‘Why bless me, dame!’ he cried, ‘where did this dog come from?’

“‘Where to be sure,’ said the dame; ‘you let him in your-self.’

“’Did I, Gran-ny?  Well, that is queer.  I did not see him.  He seems to know how to stand up — sit down, sir.’

“Down I went like a flash.

“‘Get up, sir,’ and up I got once more as stiff as a po-ker.

“‘Why don’t you take him for one of your set,’ said the old dame.  ’He must be lost, for just see here! his name is on the brass ring round his neck.’  Then she put on a pair of old horn specs to spell my name out.  ’F-r-i-s-k Frisk; what a nice name! and what a clean, trim chap he is!  Why, John, he would be a great help to you, he seems so smart.’

“‘So he would,’ said the man.  ’He would soon learn to dance, and he knows now how to stand up.  I can soon teach him more.  Here, you, sir! take that!’ and he threw me a large bit of meat, which I was glad to get, you may be sure.  Then I took the rest of my share in my turn with Pete and Hop, and, O dear! how nice it was, and how glad I was to get it!

“When we had eat all up, the show-man took off the hats and coats of his dogs, and sent them and me to sleep in a large flat box, that stood at the end of the room.  It was full of straw and quite nice.

“Then the man sat down by the fire to smoke his pipe and have a chat with his old brown nut-shell Gran-ny.

“I was so glad to rest, that I went fast to sleep right off.  But, O dear!  O dear! the next morn, it was sad as it could be, for I had to learn to dance a jig, and stand on my head, and he beat me so, that I had a fit.  I did think he would break each bone I had, and the more I cried the more he beat me.

“But I had to learn; and in two weeks’ time I went out with the rest.

“One day the same man I ran from to-day saw me dance in the street.  He was a big show-man, and had dog plays, and was quite rich and great; so he tried to buy me.  I heard him tell my man, that the dog who used to play ‘Jack, the Run-a-way,’ was just dead, and I would make a first-rate Jack in his place.

“So he paid, I don’t know how much, and got me, and set me to learn my part.  O my dear Dash! my life was one scene of hard blows and hard fare.  The poor wee dog who acts the old dame in the play is worse off than I, for she is so weak, that she can not do her part well; and oh! how he beats her!  She has told me more than once that she would be glad to die, and I get quite wild when I think I can not help her.  If the bad man would whip me for her, I would be glad to take it, tho’ I get blows all the time for my own share.”

“Oh! how sad!” cried Dash, the big tears in his eyes.  “What a bad, bad man!  How glad I am you have run a-way from him.  But what shall we do to hide you?”

“Dear Dash, if you will keep me here for four or five days, I may get some one to take me, who is as good and kind as Mr. Grey, and then some day I will try to show you how much I feel what you have done and will do for me.”

“Don’t speak of it,” said Dash.  “It is as much of a joy to do good as to have good done to one’s self.  You shall stay here with me, dear Frisk! and we will wait and see what comes of it.”

“O you good old dog! you dear Dash!  I will stay in your house all the time.  I will be as still as a drum with a hole in it.”

“Yes, and I know you will come out all right at last.  I tell you what!  I heard May and Hal ask their pa-pa to buy you.  O my! they want you so much!”

“Do they?  O dear! then I can stay here all the rest of my life.”  And in his joy he tried to stand on his head; but the roof of the dog-house was too low, and his legs came down on top of Dash’s back, and gave him quite a start.

“But,” said Dash, “I must tell you that May and Hal said you were to dance for them.”

“O dear! if that is all, I will dance the whole day for a good home.”

So the two dogs kept house for a week, and Dash went out and got the bones, while Frisk made the straw beds, and swept the scraps out with his paws for a broom.  Not the tip of his nose did he show in the day-time, but at night he took a run round the lawn to get the twist out of his legs.

The fat old cook in the house said she did not know how Dash could eat so much; for he would beg for bones five or six times a day.  She was a good old soul, and she gave him all the bones she had, and he would lick her hand and wag his tail, and all but speak to thank her.

At last one day, Dash heard Mr. Grey say that the show-man had gone a-way.  He had tried his best to find Frisk.  He said he would give a large sum to get him back; and all the boys in town went out to hunt the poor dog.  But they did not find him, as you and I know.