read and milk, and allowed
to curl himself up in the cool grass for a nap, looking so like a
tired little old man in a fur coat that the children were never weary
of watching him.

Meantime, Miss Celia had come out, and was talking Italian to Giacomo
in a way that delighted his homesick heart. She had been to Naples,
and could understand his longing for the lovely city of his birth, so
they had a little chat in the language which is all music, and the
good fellow was so grateful that he played for the children to dance
till they were glad to stop, lingering afterward as if he hated to set
out again upon his lonely, dusty walk.

"I'd rather like to tramp round with him for a week or so. Could make
enough to live on as easy as not, if I only had Sanch to show off,"
said Ben, as he was coaxing Jacko into the suit which he detested.

"You go wid me, yes?" asked the man, nodding and smiling, well pleased
at the prospect of company, for his quick eye and what the boys let
fall in their talk showed him that Ben was not one of them.

"If I had my dog I'd love to," and with sad eagerness Ben told the
tale of his loss, for the thought of it was never long out of his
mind.

"I tink I see droll dog like he, way off in New York. He do leetle
trick wid letter, and dance, and go on he head, and many tings to
make laugh," said the man, when he had listened to a list of Sanch's
beauties and accomplishments.

"Who had him?" asked Thorny, full of interest at once.

"A man I not know. Cross fellow what beat him when he do letters bad.

"Did he spell his name?" cried Ben, breathlessly.

"No, that for why man beat him. He name Generale, and he go spell
Sancho all times, and cry when whip fall on him. Ha! yes! that name
true one, not Generale?" and the man nodded, waved his hands and
showed his teeth, almost as much excited as the boys.

"It's Sanch! let's go and get him, now, right off!" cried Ben, in a
fever to be gone.

"A hundred miles away, and no clue but this man's story? We must wait
a little, Ben, and be sure before we set out," said Miss Celia, ready
to do almost anything, but not so certain as the boys. "What sort of
a dog was it? A large, curly, white poodle, with a queer tail?" she
asked of Giacomo.

"No, Signorina mia, he no curly, no wite, he black, smooth dog, littel
tail, small, so," and the man held up one brown finger with a gesture
which suggested a short, wagging tail.

"There, you see how mistaken we wer