The dog rose stiffly, for every bone in his gaunt body ached, his legs
trembled from weakness due to lack of proper food, but he moved
trustingly beside this kindly stranger. As they reached once more the
door of the little house where Jan had been washed and fed the night
before, the wrinkled hand holding the rope reached out and Prince Jan's
hot tongue touched it in a light caress.

Inside the tiny house the man fixed an old comforter then pointing at
it, he said, "Go lie down, Jan."

With a sigh that was half-weariness, half gratitude, the dog stretched
his tired body on the soft quilt, but his eyes watched every movement of
his new friend. Then Jan slept in peace, for the first time since
Elizabeth had deserted him.

The odor of warm, fresh meat from a dish near his nose wakened him. As
he moved toward it a tiny yellow bird flew across the room and lit on
the floor, watching him pertly and edging cautiously to the plate. It
paused with head perked impudently on one side and its bright little
eyes fixed on the big dog. Jan kept very still, and the old man,
sitting across the room, nodded approvingly when the dog allowed the
bird to peck at the plate of food. After tasting Jan's dinner, the bird,
perched on the edge of the dish, lifted its head and sang as though its
throat would burst with music. It finished the song, gave a funny little
shake of its wings, then flew across the room and lit on the shoulder of
the Poundmaster, where it stayed while he kept moving around the room.

"Go home, Cheepsie," said the old man, and the bird at once darted into
a cage hanging at the front window, but the Poundmaster did not shut the
cage door.