"A pretty smart dog!" said one of the men, as Rover trotted along.
Down the street he went, with the basket held high from the ground.
Rover could smell the meat, and it made him feel hungry. But he had never touched anything that he carried in his basket and he did not do it now.
When he came to the house where Ned Hopkins lived, he saw Ned sitting on the fence, whittling a stick.
"I'll try to make Rover drop that basket," said Ned. He whistled and called, "Here, Rover, get it," as he threw the stick across the road.
Rover stopped and looked longingly at it. One of his favorite games was to fetch sticks that were thrown for him. But he did not run after it this time.
"Come, Rover, old dog," said Ned, getting down from the fence; "let me see what is in your basket." He patted Rover on the neck and then reached over to take the basket.
Rover held the handle tightly in his teeth and growled, "Gr-r-r-"
Ned had never heard Rover growl like that before.
"Oh, well, if that is the way you feel about it, I won't bother you," said he.