"I would never sell him," said Gabriel, regarding the dog wistfully. "He is lonely and so am I. We would stick together if we might."
"What prevents? Do you fear to take him home lest your father boil him down for his gold?" and Mother Lemon laughed as she spun.
"No. My father, I know, would not give him one night's lodging, and in my perplexity I bethought me to ask you the favor," and Gabriel's honest eyes looked so squarely at Mother Lemon that she stopped her wheel. "I cannot keep the dog," continued the boy, "and my heart is heavy."
"Your father is a curmudgeon," declared the old woman, for the more she looked at Gabriel, the more she loved him. "What is it? Would he grudge food for your pet?"
"It is not that, but I cannot keep the dog in any case."
"Why not, pray?"
For answer Gabriel looked down into the topaz eyes whose regard had scarcely left his face during the interview. He held up his finger, and instantly the dog sat up.
"'Tis a trick dog!" exclaimed Mother Lemon.
Gabriel began to whistle, and the dance commenced. The old woman pressed her side as she laughed at the comical, pretty sight of the little dancer, the fluffy golden threads of whose silky coat gleamed in the sunlight.
"Your fortune is made," said Mother Lemon as Gabriel ceased. "The dog will fetch a large price in the town, and because you are a good lad I will try to keep him for you until to-morrow, when you can go and sell him. If your father saw his tricks he would, himself, dispose of him and pocket the cash. I will shut him in an outhouse until you come again, and I only hope that he will not bark and vex Tommy!"