When it comes to this with the heart, argument is wasted on the head; but the farmer-went on: "Why he's neither useful nor ornamental. He's been a good dog in his day, I dare say; but now—"
At this moment Flaps threw his head up in the air and sniffed, and his one eye glared, and he set his teeth and growled.
He smelt the gipsy, and the gipsy's black pipe, and every hair stood on end with rage.
"The dog's mad!" cried the swineherd, seizing a pitchfork.
"You're a fool," said the farmer (who wasn't). "There's some one behind that haystack, and the old watch-dog's back is up. See! there he runs; and as I'm a sinner, it's that black rascal who was loitering round, the day my ricks were fired, and you lads let him slip. Off after him, for I fancy I see smoke." And the farmer flew to his haystacks.
Hungry and tired as he was, Flaps would have pursued his old enemy, but Daisy would not let him go. She took him by the ear and led him indoors to breakfast instead. She had a large basin of bread-and-milk, and she divided this into two portions, and gave one to Flaps and kept the other for herself. And as she says she loves Flaps, I leave you to guess who got most bread-and-milk.
That was how the gipsy came to live for a time in the county gaol, where he made mouse-traps rather nicely for the good of the rate-payers.
And that was how Flaps, who had cared so well for others, was well cared for himself, and lived happily to the end of his days.
"Why, it's in print!" said Father Cock; "and I said as plain as any cock could crow, that it was a secret. Now, who let it out?"