Dan had evidently been crying, for the tears stood in his eyes then, and Frank was not far from it.
"Excuse us, Mr. Richardson, for coming in so, but—"
"But you couldn't help it. What is the matter?"
"O, Mr. Richardson, don't you think! Frank, and Horace, and me were going down to the river, to go in swimming, and there was Ned Baker, Clinton Blanchard, and a whole lot of boys, had got his dog Rover, the prettiest dog you ever did see, and they'd got a rope round his neck, and were going to drown him."
"What were they going to drown him for?"
"Because they were at play with him, and pushed him under a cart; the wheel went over his hind leg, and ground it all up."
"You don't know how pitiful he looked, Mr. Richardson," said Merrill; "there they were, dragging him along on three legs, his broken leg hanging down, and he whining enough to break your heart. I never will like Clin Blanchard after this, to treat his dog so, that he pretended to love so much! I think it's real mean."
"So we got 'em to give him to us," said Dan; "and we've brought him to you, Mr. Richardson, for you to doctor him, and make him well. Will you, Mr. Richardson? Don't kill him. O, don't, please don't. You won't kill him; will you?"