"What dog is that?" said the woman.

"This is Franco," said Jonas. "Franco Ney is his name. Now we shall have
no trouble in getting out."

Franco turned off, short, from the road in which Jonas was going. He
knew by instinct which way the shore lay from them. Jonas at first
hesitated about following him.

"That can't be the way, Franco," said he.

But Franco, after plunging on a few steps, looked round and whined.
Then he came back towards Jonas again a few steps, looking him full in
the face, and then whisked about again, and went on farther than
before,--and then stopped and looked back, as if to see whether Jonas
was going to follow him. Jonas stood just in advance of the oxen,
hesitating.

"That must be the way," said Jonas. "Franco knows."

"No, that isn't the way," said the woman; "the dog don't know any thing
about it. We must go straight forward."

"No," said Jonas, "it will be safest to follow Franco." And so saying,
he began to turn his oxen in the direction indicated by Franco.

The woman remonstrated against this with great earnestness. She said
that they should only get entirely lost, for he was leading them
altogether out of their way. But Jonas considered that the