ack, "they think by what they discovered, that he planned
to pack his bag with silver, and carry it off; but just before he did so
he would pour oil around the room, and set fire to it, so people would
not find out that he had been robbing you."

"Why we might have all been burned to death," said Miss Bessie. "He
couldn't burn the dining-room without setting fire to the rest of the
house."

"Certainly not," said Jack, that shows what a villain he is."

"Do they know this for certain, Jack?" asked Miss Laura.

"Well, they suppose so; they found some bottles of oil along with the
bag he had for the silver."

"How horrible! You darling old Joe, perhaps you saved our lives," and
pretty Miss Bessie kissed my ugly, swollen head. I could do nothing but
lick her little hand, but always after that I thought a great deal of
her.

It is now some years since all this happened, and I might as well tell
the end of it. The next day the Drurys came home, and everything was
found out about Jenkins. The night they left Fairport he had been
hanging about the station. He knew just who were left in the house, for
he had once supplied them with milk, and knew all about their family. He
had no customers at this time, for after Mr. Harry rescued me, and that
piece came out in the paper about him, he found that no one would take
milk from him. His wife died, and some kind people put his children in
an asylum, and he was obliged to sell Toby and the cows. Instead of
learning a lesson from all this, and leading a better life, he kept
sinking lower.

He was, therefore, ready for any kind of mischief that turned up, and
when he saw the Drurys going away in the train, he thought he would
steal a bag of silver from their sideboard, then set fire to the house,
and run away and hide the silver. After a time he would take it to some
city and sell it.

He was made to confess all this. Then for his wickedness he was sent to
prison for ten years, and I hope he will get to be a better man there,
and be one after he comes out.

I was sore and stiff for a long time, and one day Mrs. Drury came over
to see me. She did not love dogs as the Morrises did. She tried to, but
she could not.

Dogs can see fun in things as well as people can, and I buried my muzzle
in the hearth-rug, so that she would not see how I was curling up my lip
and smiling at her.

"You--are--a--good--dog," she said, slowly. "You are"--then she stopped,
and could not think of a