John. They all change ’em to something fine on the bills, you know. Father used to be Señor Jose Montebello; and I was Master Adolphus Bloomsbury, after I stopped bein’ a flyin’ Coopid and a Infant Progidy.”

Mrs. Moss leaned back in her chair to laugh at that, greatly to the surprise of the little girls, who were much impressed with the elegance of these high-sounding names.

“Go on with your story, Ben, and tell why you ran away and what became of your Pa,” she said, composing herself to listen, really interested in the child.

“Well, you see, father had a quarrel with old Smithers, and went off sudden last fall, just before the tenting season was over. He told me he was goin’ to a great ridin’ school in New York, and when he was fixed he’d send for me. I was to stay in the museum and help Pedro with the trick business. He was a nice man and I liked him, and ‘Melia was goin’ to see to me, and I didn’t mind for a while. But father didn’t send for me, and I began to have horrid times. If it hadn’t been for ‘Melia and Sancho I would have cut away long before I did.”

“What did you have to do?”

“Lots of things, for times was dull and I was smart. Smithers said so, anyway, and I had to tumble up lively when he gave the word. I didn’t mind doin’ tricks or showin’ off Sancho, for father trained him, and he always did well with me. But they wanted me to drink gin to keep me small, and I wouldn’t, ‘cause father didn’t like that kind of thing. I used to ride tip-top, and that just suited me till I got a fall and hurt my back; but I had to go on all the same, though I ached dreadful, and used to tumble off, I was so dizzy and weak.”

“What a brute that man must have been! Why didn’t ‘Melia put a stop to it?” asked Mrs. Moss, indignantly.

“She died, ma’am, and then there was no one left but Sanch; so I run away.”

Then Ben fell to patting his dog again, to hide the tears he could not keep from coming at the thought of the kind friend he had lost.

“What did you mean to do?”

“Find father; but I couldn’t, for he wasn’t at the ridin’ school, and they told me he had gone out West to buy mustangs for a man who wanted a lot. So then I was in a fix, for I couldn’t go to father, didn’t know jest where he was, and I wouldn’t sneak back to Smithers to be abused. Tried to make ’em take me at the ridin’ school, but they didn’t want a boy, and I traveled along and tried to get work. But I’d have starved if it hadn’t been for Sanch. I left him tied up when I ran off, for fear they’d say I stole him. He’s a very valuable dog, ma’am, the best trick dog I ever see, and they’d want him back more than they would me. He belongs to father, and I hated to leave him; but I did. I hooked it one dark night, and never thought I’d see him ag’in. Next mornin’ I was eatin’ breakfast in a barn miles away, and dreadful lonesome, when he came tearin’ in, all mud and wet, with a great piece of rope draggin’. He’d gnawed it and come after me, and wouldn’t go back or be lost; and I’ll never leave him again, will I, dear old feller?”

Sancho had listened to this portion of the tale with intense interest, and when Ben spoke to him he stood straight up, put both paws on the boy’s shoulders, licked his face with a world of dumb affection in his yellow eyes, and gave a little whine which said as plainly as words—

“Cheer up, little master; fathers may vanish and friends die, but I never will desert you.”

Ben hugged him close and smiled over his curly white head at the little girls, who clapped their hands at the pleasing tableau, and then went to pat and fondle the good creature, assuring him that they entirely forgave the theft of the cake and the new dinner pail. Inspired by these endearments and certain private signals given by Ben, Sancho suddenly burst away to perform all his best antics with unusual grace and dexterity.

Bab and Betty danced about the room with rapture, while Mrs. Moss declared she was almost afraid to have such a wonderfully intelligent animal in the house. Praises of his dog pleased Ben more than praises of himself, and when the confusion had subsided he entertained his audience with a lively account of Sancho’s cleverness, fidelity, and the various adventures in which he had nobly borne his part.

While he talked, Mrs. Moss was making up her mind about him, and when he came to an end of his dog’s perfections, she said, gravely—

“If I can find something for you to do, would you like to stay here awhile?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am, I’d be glad to!” answered Ben, eagerly; for the place seemed homelike already, and the good woman almost as motherly as the departed Mrs. Smithers.

“Well, I’ll step over to the Squire’s tomorrow to see what he says. Shouldn’t wonder if he’d take you for a chore boy, if you are as smart as you say. He always has one in the summer, and I haven’t seen any round yet.