"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.