Brown stepped on the hub of a rear wheel, and, clinging to the post of
the wagon cover, looked down into the box. The creature inside was about
the size of a month old calf.

"It's a--it's a dog," he exclaimed. "A dog, isn't it?"

"Sure, it's a dog. Or he'll be a dog when he grows up. Nothin' but a pup
now, he ain't. Where's Seth?"

"Seth? Oh, Mr. Atkins; he's not here."

"Ain't he? Where's he gone?"

"I don't know."

"Don't ye? When's he comin' back? HUSH UP!" This last was a command to
the prisoner in the box, who paid absolutely no attention to it.

"I don't know when he'll be back. Do you want to see him personally?
Won't I do? I'm in charge here till he returns."

"Be ye? Oh, you're the new assistant from Boston. You'll do. All I want
to do is unload him--Job, I mean--and leave a couple bundles of fly
paper Seth ordered. Here!" lowering the tailboard and climbing into the
wagon, "you catch aholt of t'other end of the box, and I'll shove on this
one. Hush up, Job! Nobody's goin' to eat ye--'less it's the moskeeters.
Now, then, mister, here he comes."

He began pushing the box toward the open end of the wagon. The dog's