oy winked at us, selected
an empty can from the heap, produced a piece of string from his pocket, and
grasped the terrier by the collar. But only for a moment. With a rush of
concentrated fury it flew at his legs, gave him a sharp snap, and darted
back to its sausage, with a warning glean of its eyes in our direction.

"Ow," yelled the boy, doubling up, "'e's bit me sumpfin' cruel! You see if
I daon't brain 'im for that!"

He snatched up an axe and brandished it. The terrier dropped its sausage
and showed its little pointed teeth.

We three, with one impulse, flung ourselves between it and the boy.

"You dare touch that dog," shouted Angel.

"Oo's goin' to stop me, Mister Nosey Parker?" sneered the boy, with a
flourish of his axe.

"I am," said Angel, "'cos it's _my_ dog, see?" He coolly turned his back on
the boy and bent over the terrier, who came to him cautiously, sniffing his
legs.

"Your dorg!" scoffed the boy, "w'y daon't yer feed 'im then? 'E's arf
starved, 'e is. Yer ought to be 'ad up fer perwention of cruelty to
hanimals. It's a disgrice."

"We've only owned him a little while," explained Angel, "and he strayed
away. He'll be jolly glad to get home again--won't you, Rover? Give us that
bit of string and I'll lead him."

The boy, suddenly friendly, in one of those swiftly changing moods of
boyhood, assisted in the tying of the string to the little dog's collar,
though he cast a longing look at its stout fringed tail that was so
admirably built to further the riotous bouncings of an empty tin can.

We led him triumphantly through the shop into the street, and we trotted in
silence for a space, staring in rapt admiration of the little black paws
that padded along in such a business-like fashion beside us, the
knowingly-pointed ears, and valiant tail carried at a jaunty angle above
the sturdy hind-quarters.

When we reached our own quiet street we stopped. The Seraph looked in the
bag of buns.

"May I give him mine?" he asked.

"Good boy," said Angel, and The Seraph presented the little dog with the
large currant bun. We were charmed indeed when he sat up for it in the most
approved trained-animal posture, with short fore-legs crossed on his plump
hairy breast. How often had we longed for the joyous companionship of our
old four-footed friends, the comfort of a soft warm tongue on one's cheek,
the sensitive muzzle pressed into one's palm, the look of loving confidence
in the deep brown eyes.

Bu