“Yes, I was hanging around near the house at the front of the pound. The man called Stoggs out. He had your dog tied behind the axle. He made a bargain with Stoggs for five dollars to get rid of the animal—send him away somewhere. He was a man with reddish side-whiskers and a cast in one eye.”
Frank’s own good eyes flamed. He drew his breath with an angry catch in it.
“Dorsett,” he said. “The villain did it, eh? I wondered how poor Christmas came to be cooped up here, so far away from home. The mean sneak! He did it so he could snoop around the house and spy on us without interruption. Going? Good-bye. I hope you will keep Fido safe and sound from the dogcatchers this time.”
“You bet I will,” cried the little fellow, bolting off with his double canine burden. “And you’re a brick!”
Frank turned his face in the direction of home. He soon got out of sight of the pound with no indication of his having been seen or pursued. Christmas bounded over the fresh turf, cutting up all kinds of antics and barking joyously.
When they reached the flats Frank secured his rubber boots and was soon in the midst of the morass. Christmas led the way, making grand fun of leaps and dousings, and they reached the woods beyond with no mishap.
Frank drew his bicycle from the spot where he had hidden it, secured his rubber boots to the machine, and was speedily threading the path he had traversed in the opposite direction earlier in the day.
Passing down a gentle declivity in an open space, Christmas set up a sudden bark. Frank turned, to observe the dog halted and looking aloft.
“Hello!” exclaimed Frank, also glancing skywards. “That must be the balloon the little fellow at the pound was telling about.”
The balloon was about two miles distant, and was instantly obscured from view by some tall trees.