CHAPTER XIX.
THE FRESH-AIR YOUNGSTERS.
"Hold him back! Hold him! Let me hide! He'll bite me!" exclaimed Uncle Ezra, as he saw Grit's wicked-looking teeth.
"Grit!" spoke Dick, softly, and in a reproving voice. "This is my Uncle Ezra," he went on. "Don't you know any better than that?"
Instantly Grit's manner changed. He showed that he was sorry for the mistake he had made of growling at one of the family visitors. He even approached Uncle Ezra as if to make friends, but Mr. Larabee shrunk away.
"I can't bear dogs," he said.
Grit acted as if he understood, for he turned away. Nor did he seem to miss a caress from Mr. Larabee. Grit was a wise dog, and he well knew that the man disliked him.
"If you keep that dog in the house I'm afraid I can't stay, Nephew Richard," Dick's uncle went on. "I wouldn't sleep a wink thinking of him."
"Gibbs, take Grit to the stable," said Dick to the butler, with a little sigh, and the dog, with a somewhat reproachful look at his master, al-
