where, and being pinched or carted off to the Dogs' Home, or that. Can I, now?"
The new dog was very long, very brown, very friendly and charming. When it had had its supper it wagged its tail, turned a clear and gentle eye on Dickie, and without any warning stood on its head.
"Well," said Mr. Beale, "if there ain't money in that beast! A trick dog 'e is. 'E's wuth wot I give for 'im, so 'e is. Knows more tricks than that 'ere, I'll be bound."
He did. He was a singularly well-educated dog. Next morning Mr. Beale, coming down stairs, was just in time to bang the front door in the face of Amelia coming in, pail-laden, from "doing" the steps, and this to prevent the flight of the new dog. The door of one of the dog-rooms was open, and a fringe of inquisitive dogs ornamented the passage.
"What you open that door at all for?" Mr. Beale asked Amelia.
"I didn't," she said, and stuck to it.
That afternoon Beale, smoking in the garden, got up, as he often did, to look through the window at the dogs. He gazed a moment, muttered something, and made one jump to the back door. It was closed. Amelia was giving the scullery floor a "thorough scrub over," and had fastened the door to avoid having it opened with suddenness against her steaming pail or her crouching form.
But Mr. Beale got in at the back-door and out at the front just in time to see the dachshund
