t outside he could
hear the thump of an axe and the whining yelp of a dog. Then Charley
came in, his arms full of wood, and lit a roaring fire in the stove.
Wiley dozed off again, for his leg had pained him and kept him awake
half the night, and when he woke up it was to the strains of music and
the mournful howls of Heine.

"Ah, you are so confectionate!" exclaimed Charley in honeyed tones and
laughed and patted him on the back. "Don't you like the fiddle, Heine?
Well, listen to this now; the sweetest song of all."

He stopped the rasping phonograph to put on another record and when
Heine heard "Listen to the Mocking-bird" he barked and leapt with joy.
Wiley listened for awhile, then he stirred in bed and at last he tried
to get up; but his leg was very stiff and old Charley was oblivious, so
he sank back and waited impatiently. Heine sat upon the floor before the
largest of three phonographs, which ground out the Mocking-bird with
variations; and each time he heard the whistled notes of the bird he
rolled his eyes on Charley with a soulful, beseeching glance. The
evening before, when his master had cuffed him, Wiley had considered
Heine badly abused; but now as the concert promised to drag on
indefinitely he was forced to amend his opinion.

"Say," he spoke up at last, in a pause between records, "what's the
chance of getting something to eat?"

"Yes, there's plenty," answered Charley, and went on with his frolic
until Wiley rose up in disgust. He had heated some water, besides
tearing down a blanket and letting the daylight in, when there came a
hurried knock at the door and the Widow appeared with his breakfast. She
avoided his eyes, but her manner was ingratiating and she supplied the
conversation herself.

"Good morning!" she smiled,--"Charley, stop that awful racket and let
Heine go out for his scraps. Well, I brought you your
breakfast--Virginia isn't feeling very well--and I hope you're going
to be all right. No, get right back into bed and I'll prop you up with
pillows; Charley's got a hundred or so. I declare, it's a question
which can grab the most; old Charley or Stiff Neck George. Every time
anyone moves out--and sometimes when they don't--you'll see those two
ghouls hanging around; and the minute they're gone, well, you never
saw anything like it, the way they will fight for the loot. Charley's
got a whole room filled up with bedding, and stoves and tables and
chairs; and George--he's vicious--he ta