e bars and laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks,
Then Bolton got mad, and began to make battle with the dog, pitching
into him with his horns. We soon stopped that, for the spirit had all
gone out of Dash. Windham unfastened the rope, and told him to get home,
and if ever I saw a dog run, that one did. Mrs. Windham set great store
by him, and her husband didn't want to kill him. But he said Dash had
got to give up his sheep-killing, if he wanted to live. That cured him.
He's never worried a sheep from that day to this, and if you offer him a
bit of sheep's wool now, he tucks his tail between his legs, and runs
for home. Now, I must stop my talk, for we're in sight of the farm.
Yonder's our boundary line, and there's the house. You'll see a
difference in the trees since you were here before."

We had come to a turn in the road where the ground sloped gently upward.
We turned in at the gate, and drove between rows of trees up to a long,
low, red house, with a veranda all round it. There was a wide lawn in
front, and away on our right were the farm buildings. They too, were
painted red, and there were some trees by them that Mr. Wood called his
windbreak, because they kept the snow from drifting in the winter time.

I thought it was a beautiful place. Miss Laura had been here before, but
not for some years, so she, too, was looking about quite eagerly.

"Welcome to Dingley Farm, Joe," said Mrs. Wood, with her jolly laugh, as
she watched me jump from the carriage seat to the ground. "Come in, and
I'll introduce you to pussy."

"Aunt Hattie, why is the farm called Dingley Farm?" said Miss Laura, as
we went into the house. "It ought to be Wood Farm."

"Dingley is made out of 'dingle,' Laura. You know that pretty hollow
back of the pasture? It is what they call a 'dingle.' So this farm was
called Dingle Farm till the people around about got saying 'Dingley'
instead. I suppose they found it easier. Why, here is Lolo coming to see
Joe."

Walking along the wide hall that ran through the house was a large
tortoise-shell cat. She had a prettily marked face, and she was waving
her large tail like a flag, and mewing kindly to greet her mistress. But
when she saw me what a face she made. She flew on the hall table, and
putting up her back till it almost lifted her feet from the ground,
began to spit at me and bristle with rage.

"Poor Lolo," said Mrs. Wood, going up to her. "Joe is a good dog, and
not like Bruno. He wo