suppose, that at all events I wasn't dangerous, he crept closer till he
could get a look inside the basket. I never heard a man give such an
unearthly yell in all my life. He stood on one side of the bed and I on
the other. The dog, awakened by the noise, sat up and grinned, first at
one of us and then at the other. I took it to be a bull-pup of about
nine months old, and a fine specimen for its age.

"My child!" he shrieks, with his eyes starting out of his head, "That
thing isn't my child. What's happened? Am I going mad?"

"You're on that way," I says, and so he was. "Calm yourself," I says;
"what did you expect to see?"

"My child," he shrieks again; "my only child--my baby!"

"Do you mean a real child?" I says, "a human child?" Some folks have
such a silly way of talking about their dogs--you never can tell.

"Of course I do," he says; "the prettiest child you ever saw in all your
life, just thirteen weeks old on Sunday. He cut his first tooth
yesterday."

The sight of the dog's face seemed to madden him. He flung himself upon
the basket, and would, I believe, have strangled the poor beast if I
hadn't interposed between them.

"'Tain't the dog's fault," I says; "I daresay he's as sick about the
whole business as you are. He's lost, too. Somebody's been having a
lark with you. They've took your baby out and put this in--that is, if
there ever was a baby there."