ould have
to wait awhile, took out a lunch of bread and meat and began to cut it
with a pocket knife, the dog stood on his hind legs and begged in his
most insinuating way.

"He's as smart as his master," said the carrier, laughing, while the
gipsy-like man turned and glanced keenly at the van.

"Does he know any more tricks?" asked one of the boys eagerly.

Dick bent down and whispered something to Pat, and he threw back his
head, half shut his eyes, and gave vent to a succession of shrill howls
that were the best music his voice was capable of, while his master
whistled the air of "Killarney" as an accompaniment.

Everybody laughed, and then Pat made a funny little bow and held up his
paw to shake hands.

"How much do you want for him?" said the showman in the velveteen coat.
"I'm looking out for a smart little terrier to guard my show. I
wouldn't mind a couple of shillings."

"He's not for sale, thank you," answered Dick politely.

"Nonsense! Every dog has a price, and most likely you've picked him up
somewhere underhanded. So come along."

Dick flushed scarlet at the insult and again said "No!" decidedly.

The man turned and whispered something to a girl in an orange scarf and
black and green frock, who had come out of the show waggon, and she
tossed her head and laughed merrily. But now the broken caravan was
pulled aside and the road was partly clear again, and the carrier drove
on, and soon with a mighty flourish of the reins he stopped in front of
the "George Inn" at Weyn, and everyone got down.

CHAPTER V.

PAT LOST AND FOUND.

For two days in the year at the annual fair, the quiet little town of
Weyn gave itself up to merrymaking. Shows and caravans choked the
narrow streets; huge roundabouts as "patronised by all the crowned
heads of Europe," swung giddily round in the market-place, and the
shouts of the stall-keepers, and the din of the orchestra, and the
ceaseless crack of the rifle ranges, where boys were shooting for
cocoa-nuts, made a noise that was almost deafening.

The piles of gingerbread and coloured rock on the stalls looked very
tempting, and Dick, with Pat in his arms, and three-and-ninepence in
his pocket, felt rich as he walked by. But though he liked sweet
things, all the more because he had had so few to enjoy, he would not
be tempted to buy.

"Don't believe Lionheart had cakes and candy--not when he was on the
crusades, anyhow. It must be bread and cheese, and