rimble, as he saw Mr. Brown.

"No, I've given Tom up," replied the children's father. "I guess he has
gone back to the city. I'm sorry, for I wanted to help him."

"Boys are no good!" cried Mr. Trimble. "That Tom is no good. But I'll
pay him back for running away from me!"

"Did he come back to you?" asked Mr. Brown, thinking perhaps, after all,
the "ragged boy," as Sue sometimes called him in fun, might have thought
it best to go back to the man who had first hired him.

"You don't see him anywhere around here; do you?" asked Mr. Trimble.

"No, I don't see him," said Mr. Brown, wondering why the farmer answered
in that way.

"Well, he isn't here," said Mr. Trimble, and he went on hoeing his
potatoes, for he was in a field of them, near the road, when he spoke
to Mr. Brown.

As Bunny, Sue and their father walked on, Splash did not come with them.
He hung back, and seemed to want to stay close to a small building, near
Mr. Trimble's barn. Splash walked around this building three or four
times, barking loudly.

"What makes Splash act so funny?" asked Bunny.

"I don't know," answered Mr. Brown. "Here, Splash! Come here!" he cried.
But Splash would not come.

CHAPTER XIX

IN THE SMOKE-HOUSE

"What makes Splash act so queer?" asked Bunny again.

"I'm sure I don't know," said his father. "I guess we'll have to go back
and get him."

Certainly Splash did not seem to want to keep on to the village with Mr.
Brown and the children. The dog was running around and around the small
house, barking loudly. Mr. Trimble seemed not to hear the dog's barks,
but kept right on hoeing potatoes.

"We'll go back and get Splash!" decided Mr. Brown.

He and the children walked slowly back. Splash kept on barking.

"You seem to have something in that little house which excites our dog,"
said Mr. Brown.

"It doesn't take much to get some dogs excited," answered the farmer.
He did not seem to care much about it, one way or the other.

"What sort of house is that?" asked Mr. Brown. He looked at it closely.
The little house had no windows, and only one door. And there was a
queer smell about it, as though it had once been on fire.

"That's a smoke-house," said Mr. Trimble. "It's where I smoke my hams
and bacon. I hang them up in there, build a fire of corn-cobs and
hickory wood chips, and make a thick smoke. The smoke dries the ham and
bacon so it will keep all winter."

"What a funny house!" said Sue.

"It hasn't