We hunted under the chairs and the lounge, in the closets, in parlor and
dining-room, Carlo fussing round with us, just as if he wanted
dreadfully to find it; but it couldn't be found. So we went out, and
shut the street-door after us, saying, "Well, Carlo, you can't go out to
walk, that's all."

Those who hide know where to find. When Carlo saw, that, without his
bonnet, there was no walk for him, he scampered into the
basement-kitchen, got out the muzzle from a pile of old papers in one of
the closets, carried it up stairs, and laid it down on the dining-room
floor.

But this was not the last time Carlo hid his red bonnet and found it
again. In all sorts of places he would stow it away when he came in from
his walks. And at last he got so used to it that when we said, "Now,
Carlo, go fetch your bonnet," he would dash off and pull it from its
hiding-place, and quietly stand to have it buckled on.

He behaved so well in the streets, that before the dog-season was over,
we used to take his bonnet off, and let him carry it home in his mouth.
One rainy day, when the water was pouring down the open gutters, and I
was hurrying home, I happened to look round, and there was Carlo coming
along behind me; but his pretty red bonnet was bobbing along in the
gutter, where the sly rascal had thrown it, hoping, I suppose, that it
would be carried down to the Delaware River.

B.P.

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