Poor Frisk had come as a stray dog to Milton, the place where
Harry lived. If he could have told his own story, it would
probably have been a very pitiful one, of kicks and cuffs, of
hunger and foul weather.

Certain it is, he made his appearance at the very door where
Harry was now sitting, in miserable plight, wet, dirty, and half
starved; and there he met Harry, who took a fancy to him, and
Harry's grandmother, who drove him off with a broom.

Harry, at length, obtained permission for the little dog to
remain as a sort of outdoor pensioner, and fed him with stray
bones and cold potatoes, and such things as he could get for him.
He also provided him with a little basket to sleep in, the very
same which, turned up, afterward served Harry for a seat.

After a while, having proved his good qualities by barking away a
set of pilferers, who were making an attack on the great pear
tree, he was admitted into the house, and became one of its most
vigilant and valued inmates. He could fetch or carry either by
land or water; would pick up a thimble or a ball of cotton, if
little Annie should happen to drop them; or take Harry's dinner
to school for him with perfect honesty.

"Beg, Frisk, beg!" said Harry, and gave him, after long waiting,
the expected morsel. Frisk was satisfied, but Harry was not. The
little boy, though a good-humored fellow in the main, had turns
of naughtiness, which were apt to last him all day, and this
promised to prove one of his worst. It was a holidays, and in the
afternoon his cousins, Jane and William, were to come and see him