Frisk, very loth, put the tip of one claw on Mop's paw. Then the two dogs stood back to back, and, with a one! two!! three!!! off they went as if a mad bull was at their heels.
PART II.
THE DOGS MEET ONCE MORE.
n the last day of the month, Mop and Frisk, true to their word, came to the place where they last said good-by. But how each one did look to see if his mate were the same dog he last saw!
Mop's coat was rough no more—it shone like silk; his ears were cut; he wore a fine brass neck ring, with a new name on it; and his whole air was that of a dog in luck.
Poor Frisk was so thin that you could count all his ribs. His tail stood up in the air no more. He hung his head and crept close by the wall, as if he did fear some one would beat him if he dared to run or jump.