ad been to the nearest town that day
and had brought the mail home with him.

Suddenly he let the paper drop to his lap and sat looking at Prince Jan,
then he picked up the paper again, saying, "Listen to this!"

All of them turned expectantly, for the parents always read aloud
anything that might interest the children.

CAPTURED THIEF WORRIES OVER LOST DOG

John Leavitt, alias Shorty, now held as one of the two men who stole
and wrecked an automobile belonging to Paul E. Wallace of Los
Angeles, has made a confession implicating his half-brother, William
Leavitt, formerly stableman at the beach-home of the Pixleys.

According to Shorty's statement, they had stolen a St. Bernard dog
from Captain Smith, the Poundmaster, intending to sell the animal in
Canada. Shorty became attached to the dog, Prince Jan, and in a
quarrel with his brother over the muzzling of the dog, the machine
was wrecked.

Leavitt evidently supposed Shorty was dead beneath the wreckage, and
escaped. Shorty was found later, seriously injured, and his recovery
was not expected. His one anxiety seems to be that Prince Jan, being
muzzled, might have died of starvation. Any one knowing the fate of
the dog is asked to communicate with Captain Smith, through this
paper.

Prince Jan is a pure St. Bernard, with long fur, but he had been
clipped and his hair dyed black.

No trace of William Leavitt has been found, but the authorities are
looking for him. He has a criminal record in the East and is now
wanted there. Shorty has been bound over for trial.

The family looked at the dog sleeping peacefully at their feet.

"Not the least doubt," said Mr. Melville.

"Call him, Ruth. Call his name--Prince Jan--and see how he acts."

The child's lips quivered and her eyes filled with tears as she went to
her mother's side. "But, mother, if he is Prince Jan, will somebody take
him away from us?"

Charlotte's eyes, too, were blurred and her lower lip dropped.

"Suppose," the mother spoke gently, and her arm went about the slender
little figure leaning against her in half-choked grief, "Suppose, dear,
some one found you when you were lost, and daddy and I didn't know where
you were, and the people couldn't understand when you tried to tell them
who you were and where we lived," the voice grew very tender and grave,
"and then the people found out where you belonged and that w