The mother came to the door with a much pleasanter face than she had worn yesterday.
"You may go to the pump yonder and wash yourself," she said; and Gabriel obeyed gladly, wiping his face upon the grass that grew long and rank about the well.
The clean face was such a good one that when the woman saw it she hushed the children. "Be still until they have had some breakfast," she said, "then the dog will dance again."
So Gabriel and Topaz had a comfortable meal which they enjoyed, and afterward the boy whistled and the dog danced with a good heart, and the children danced too, for very pleasure. They were all so happy that Gabriel for the moment forgot his errand.
"If you will sell your dog I will buy him," said the woman, at last, for the children had given her no peace when they lay down nor when they rose up, until she had promised to make this offer.
Gabriel looked at her frankly, and a shadow fell over his bright face. "Alas, madam, he is not mine to sell."
"Where dwells his master, then?"
"That I know not, for he had strayed and I found him and must restore him if I can."
"'Tis a fool's errand," said the woman, who liked the dog herself, and, moreover, saw that there was money in his nimble feet. "I will give you as many coppers as you can carry in your cap if you will leave him here and go your way and say nothing about it to any one."
Gabriel shook his head. "Alas, madam, he is not mine," was all the woman could induce him to say, and she thought his sadness was at the thought of the cap full of pence which she believed he dared not accept for fear of getting into trouble. Little she knew that if only the golden dog were Gabriel's very own, no money could buy from the boy the one heart on earth that beat warmly for him, and the graceful, gay coat of flossy silk which he loved to caress; so the farmer's wife and children were obliged to let the couple go.