ith names sufficiently known to make
them more popularly significant of pre-eminent sagacity than if they had
been called--Mops.

CHAPTER VI.

The vagrant having got his dog, proceeds to hunt fortune with it,
leaving behind him a trap to catch rats.--What the trap does catch
is "just like his luck."

Sir Isaac, to designate him by his new name, improved much upon
acquaintance. He was still in the ductile season of youth, and took to
learning as an amusement to himself. His last master, a stupid sot,
had not gained his affections; and perhaps even the old soldier, though
gratefully remembered and mourned, had not stolen into his innermost
heart, as Waife and Sophy gently contrived to do. In short, in a very
few days he became perfectly accustomed and extremely attached to them.
When Waife had ascertained the extent of his accomplishments, and added
somewhat to their range in matters which cost no great trouble, he
applied himself to the task of composing a little drama which might
bring them all into more interesting play, and in which though Sophy
and himself were performers the dog had the premier role. And as soon
as this was done, and the dog's performances thus ranged into methodical
order and sequence, he resolved to set off to a considerable town at
some distance, and to which Mr. Rugge was no visitor.

His bill at the cottage made but slight inroad into his pecuniary
resources; for in the intervals of leisure from his instructions to Sir
Isaac, Waife had performed various little services to the lone widow
with whom they lodged, which Mrs. Saunders (such was her name) insisted
upon regarding as money's worth. He had repaired and regulated to a
minute an old clock which had taken no note of time for the last three
years; he had mended all the broken crockery by some cement of his
own invention, and for which she got him the materials. And here his
ingenuity was remarkable, for when there was only a fragment to be found
of a cup and a fragment or two of a saucer, he united them both into
some pretty form, which, if not useful, at all events looked well on a
shelf. He bound, in smart showy papers, sundry tattered old books which
had belonged to his landlady's defunct husband, a Scotch gardener, and
which she displayed on a side table, under the japan tea-tray. More than
all, he was of service to her in her vocation; for Mrs. Saunders eked
out a small pension--which she derived from the affectionate