and inquired at farmhouses and of occasional pedestrians he met.

It was all of no avail. At three o'clock in the afternoon, tired,
bramble-torn and a little discouraged, he sat down by the roadside to
rest and think. He began to censure himself for taking the independent
course he had pursued.

"I should have telegraphed the company the circumstances of the
burglary, and put the matter in the hands of the Pleasantville police,"
he reflected. "If the trunk had belonged to anybody except Mrs. Colonel
Harrington, I would have done so at once. Somebody coming!" he
interrupted his soliloquy, as he caught a vague movement through the
shrubbery where the road curved.

"No--it's only a dog."

The animal came into view going a straight, fast course, its head
drooping, a broken rope trailing from its neck.

Bart suddenly sprang to his feet, for, studying the animal more closely,
something familiar presented itself and he ran out into the middle of
the road.

"Come here--good fellow!" he hailed coaxingly, as the animal approached.

But with a slight growl, and eyeing him suspiciously, it made a detour
in the road, passing him.

"Lem Wacker's dog--I am sure of that!" explained Bart, naturally
excited. "Come, old fellow--here! here! what is his name? I've got
it--Christmas. Come here, Christmas!"

The dog halted suddenly, faced about, and stared at Bart.

Then, when he repeated the name, it sank to its haunches panting, and,
head on one side, regarded him inquiringly.

The animal was a big half-breed mastiff and shepherd dog that Lem Wacker
had introduced to his railroad friends with great unction, one Christmas
day.

He had claimed it to be a gift from a friend just returned from Europe,
who had brought over the famous litter of pups of which it was one.

Wacker had estimated its value at five hundred dollars. Next day he cut
the price in half. New Year's day, being hard up, he confidentially
offered to sell it for five dollars.

After that it went begging for fifty cents and trade, and no takers. Lem
kicked the poor animal around as "an ornery, no-good brute," and had to
keep it tied up on his own premises all of the time to evade paying for
a license tag.

Meeting the dog now, gave a new animation to Bart's thoughts.

The sequence of its appearance, here, ten miles away from home, was easy
to pursue. It had broken away from its new owners--Buck and Hank
Tolliver--and they were somewhere further up the road.