xact information about the
black dog and his owner, for they had no intention of giving it up so
soon.

That very evening, Thorny wrote to a boy cousin in New York, giving all
the particulars of the case, and begging him to hunt up the man,
investigate the dog, and see that the police made sure that every thing
was right. Much relieved by this performance, the boys waited anxiously
for a reply, and when it came found little comfort in it. Cousin Horace
had done his duty like a man, but regretted that he could only report a
failure. The owner of the black poodle was a suspicious character, but
told a straight story, how he had bought the dog from a stranger, and
exhibited him with success till he was stolen. Knew nothing of his
history, and was very sorry to lose him, for he was a remarkably clever
beast.

"I told my dog-man to look about for him, but he says he has probably
been killed, with ever so many more; so there is an end of it, and I
call it a mean shame."

"Good for Horace! I told you he'd do it up thoroughly and see the end
of it," said Thorny, as he read that paragraph in the deeply interesting
letter.

"May be the end of that dog, but not of mine. I'll bet he ran away; and
if it was Sanch, he'll come home. You see if he doesn't!" cried Ben,
refusing to believe that all was over.

"A hundred wiles off? Oh, he couldn't find you without help, smart as he
is," answered Thorny, incredulously.

Ben looked discouraged, but Miss Celia cheered him up again by saying,--

"Yes, he could. My father had a friend who left a little dog in Paris;
and the creature found her in Milan, and died of fatigue next day. That
was very wonderful, but true; and I've no doubt that if Sanch is alive
he will come home. Let us hope so, and be happy, while we wait."

"We will!" said the boys; and day after day looked for the wanderer's
return, kept a bone ready in the old place if he should arrive at night,
and shook his mat to keep it soft for his weary bones when he came. But
weeks passed, and still no Sanch.

Something else happened, however, so absorbing that he was almost
forgotten for a time; and Ben found a way to repay a part of all he owed
his best friend.

Miss Celia went off for a ride one afternoon, and an hour afterward, as
Ben sat in the porch reading, Lita dashed into the yard with the reins
dangling about her legs, the saddle turned round, and one side covered
with black mud, showing that she had been down. F