ted
tone, starting off. The dog followed quickly, and in a few moments both
were out of sight.

"A smart chap that," remarked Mr. Acres to himself, as Dick bounded
away. "He'll make something before he dies, I'll warrant."

The possession of the dog and half-dollar, especially the latter, were
strongly objected to by Dick's mother.

"How could you, my son, think of robbing a poor bird of her little young
ones?" said she seriously and reprovingly.

"But, mother, Mr. Acres wanted me to get him a bird, and of course I
could not say 'no.' What would he have thought of me?"

"You never should do wrong for any one."

"But if it had been so very wrong, Mr. Acres never would have asked me
to do it, I know," urged Dick.

Mrs. Lawson would have compelled her son to take back the money he had
received, if almost any other person in the village but Mr. Acres had
been concerned. But he was well off, and influential; and, moreover, was
her landlord; and, though she was behindhand with her rent, he never
took the trouble to ask for it. The dog, too, would have been sent back
if any one but Mr. Acres had given it to her son. As it was, she
contented herself with merely reprimanding Dick for robbing the bird's
nest, and enjoining on him not to be guilty of so cruel an act again.

About three days after this event, Dick, accompanied by Rover--now his
inseparable companion--met his young friend, Henry Jones, who had with
him his father's large house-dog, Bose.

"Whose dog is that?" asked Henry.

"He's mine," replied Dick.

"Yours!"

"Be sure he is."

"Why that is Mr. Acres's Rover."

"Not now he isn't. Mr. Acres gave him to me."

"What did he give him to you for?"

"For getting him a young mocking-bird."

"I thought he promised you half-a-dollar?"

"So he did; and what is more, gave it to me, and Rover into the
bargain."

"Well, I wouldn't have robbed a bird's nest for a dozen Rovers," said
Henry Jones, warmly.

"Wouldn't you, indeed?" returned Dick, with a sneer.

"No, I would not. It's wicked."

"Oh, you're very pious! But Rover can whip your Bose, anyhow."

"No, he can't, though," replied Henry quickly, who could not bear to
hear his father's faithful and favourite old dog's courage called in
question.

"Yes, but he can, ten times a day. There, Rover! There,
_sck!--sck!--sketch him_!" At the same time pushing Rover against Bose.

Both dogs growled low, and showed their teeth, but that was all.

"Rove