a worn-out hair-broom; ears like bell-pulls; a mouth
that went from ear to ear, and a great bush of a tail. Then he had to
drag the cart of an old rag-man round the town, to earn his meals;
while Frisk, who lived with a pie-man, had a fine ride in the cart
each morn; and all the work he had to do was to bark at the bad boys
who tried to steal the pies. The rest of his time he spent in play.

One day the old rag-man, who was as cross as ten bears, and far too
fond of beer, came out of a shop where he had been to drink, while
poor Mop had to wait in the cold. The rag-man's legs went from side to
side; he could not walk; so he got in the cart, on top of all the
rags, and cried to Mop:

"Come, go on, you bad cur, or I'll make you!" and with these words, he
let fall a great stick on the back of the poor dog, and gave him a kick
with his thick hob-nail shoes. Mop tried to start, but it was more than
he could drag. Down came the stick once more; and this time, made quite
wild with pain, he gave one yelp and one jump, broke the old ropes that
held him to the cart by a great jerk, and made off down the road like a
flash. The bad old man did bawl to him to come back; but Mop was too
wise for that, and did not stop to see if the wind was west or not, till
he came to a part of the town which was quite new to him.

The place where our dog now found him-self was a sort of blind court,
with the blank wall of a house on each side, and, worse than all, with
not the sign of a thing to eat to be seen.

"A fly to snap at would be a good thing," said the poor dog with a
sigh. "I think I could eat a bit of brick, if I could get one up. But
cheer up! it will all come right in time! I'm _free_ at least--that
is one good thing!" and he gave three jumps and three barks for joy,
so loud that they most took the top of his head off.

Just then there came up, at a smart pace, Frisk the pie-man's dog. He
held his head in the air as proud as you like. When he saw Mop, he
tried to turn up his nose at him, but it was so flat, there was no
turn up to it. Then he gave a loud sniff, and said with an air:

"Who are you? Where did _you_ come from?"

"I am as good a dog as you," said Mop. "My coat is not quite so fine
to be sure, and my ears don't stick up so much; but I'm a nice sort
of chap for all that. Shake a paw."

"What! shake a paw with such an old flop-ear as you? You must be mad."

Mop did want to say, "You are a pert, stuck-up cur," but h