The suffering creature licked his hands, and said with his eloquent eyes,—
"Dear little master, don't take it to heart. You didn't know I'd get hurt! You've always been good to poor Pincher."
"I'd rather have given a dollar," said Horace; "O, Pincher! I wish 'twas my foot; I tell you I do!"
They tried again, but the trap held the dog's paw like a vice.
"I'll tell you what," said Peter; "we'll leave the dog here, and go home and get somebody to come."
"You just behave, Peter Grant," said Horace, looking very angry. "I shouldn't want to be your dog! Just you hold his foot still, and I'll try again."
This time Horace examined the trap on all sides, and, being what is called an ingenious boy, did actually succeed at last in getting little Pincher's foot out.
"Whew! I didn't think you could," said Peter, admiringly.
"You couldn't, Peter; you haven't sense enough."
The foot was terribly mangled, and Pincher had to be carried home in arms.