ubsisting between Alice and Bumpus, Toozle straightway sought to pour
the overflowing love and sorrow of his large little heart into the bosom
of that supposed pirate. His advances were well received, and from that
hour he followed the seaman like his shadow. He shared his prison with
him, trotted behind him when he walked up and down his room in the
widow's cottage; lay down at his feet when he rested; looked up
inquiringly in his face when he paused to meditate; whined and wagged
his stump of a tail when he was taken notice of, and lay down to sleep
in deep humility when he was neglected.

Thus it came to pass that Toozle attended the trial of Bumpus, entered
his cell along with him, slept with him during the night, accompanied
him to the gallows in the morning, and sat under him when they were
adjusting the noose, looking up with feelings of unutterable dismay, as
clearly indicated by the lugubrious and woebegone cast of his ragged
countenance. But we are anticipating.

It was on the morning of his execution that Bumpus sat on the edge of
his hard pallet, gazed at his manacled wrists, and gave vent to the
sentiments set down at the beginning of this chapter.

Toozle sat down at his feet, looking up in his face sympathetically.

"No, I _don't_ believe it's possible," said Bumpus, for at least the
hundredth time that morning. "It's a joke; that's wot it is. Ain't it,
Toozle, my boy?"

Toozle whined, wagged his tail, and said, as plainly as if he had
spoken:

"Yes, of course it is,--an uncommonly bad joke, no doubt; but a joke,
undoubtedly; so keep up your heart, my man."

"Ah! you're a funny dog," continued Bumpus; "but you don't know what it
is to be hanged, my boy. Hanged! why it's agin all laws o' justice,
moral an' otherwise, it is. But I'm dreamin'; yes, it's dreamin' I am;
but I don't think I ever did dream that I thought I was dreamin' an' yet
wasn't quite sure. Really, it's perplexin', to say the least on it.
Ain't it, Toozle?"

Toozle wagged his tail.

"Ah, here comes my imaginary jailer to let me out o' this here
abominably real-lookin' imaginary lockup. Hang Jo Bumpus!--why, it's--"

Before Jo could find words sufficiently strong to express his opinion of
such a murderous intention, the door opened, and a surly-looking man--a
European settler--entered with his breakfast. This meal consisted of a
baked breadfruit and a can of water.

"Ha! you've come to let me out, have you?" cried Jo, in a tone