"Hitch up a horse, quick," said Uncle Carey, rushing after Dinnie and
taking her up in his arms. Ten minutes later, Uncle Carey and Dinnie,
both warmly bundled up, were after flying Satan. They never caught him
until they reached the hill on the outskirts of town, where was the
kennel of the kind-hearted people who were giving painless death to
Satan's four-footed kind, and where they saw him stop and turn from the
road. There was divine providence in Satan's flight for one little dog
that Christmas morning; for Uncle Carey saw the old drunkard staggering
down the road without his little companion, and a moment later, both he
and Dinnie saw Satan nosing a little yellow cur between the palings.
Uncle Carey knew the little cur, and while Dinnie was shrieking for
Satan, he was saying under his breath:

"Well, I swear!--I swear!--I swear!" And while the big man who came to
the door was putting Satan into Dinnie's arms, he said, sharply:

"Who brought that yellow dog here?" The man pointed to the old
drunkard's figure turning a corner at the foot of the hill.

"I thought so; I thought so. He sold him to you for--for a drink of
whiskey."

The man whistled.

"Bring him out. I'll pay his license."

So back went Satan and the little cur to Grandmother Dean's--and Dinnie
cried when Uncle Carey told her why he was taking the little cur along.
With her own hands she put Satan's old collar on the little brute, took
him to the kitchen, and fed him first of all. Then she went into the