stopped in front of a house on Washington Street. The young man
leaned his bicycle up against the house, took a quarter from his
pocket and put it in the boy's hand, and lifting me gently in his
arms, went up a lane leading to the back of the house.

There was a small stable there. He went into it, put me down on
the floor and uncovered my body. Some boys were playing about
the stable, and I heard them say, in horrified tones, "Oh, Cousin
Harry, what is the matter with that dog?"

"Hush," he said. "Don't make a fuss. You, Jack, go down to the
kitchen and ask Mary for a basin of warm water and a sponge, and
don't let your mother or Laura hear you."

A few minutes later, the young man had bathed my bleeding ears
and tail, and had rubbed something on them that was cool and
pleasant, and had bandaged them firmly with strips of cotton. I felt
much better and was able to look about me.

I was in a small stable, that was evidently not used for a stable, but
more for a play-room. There were various kinds of toys scattered
about, and a swing and bar, such as boys love to twist about on; in
two different corners. In a box against the wall was a guinea pig,
looking at me in an interested way. This guinea pig's name was
Jeff, and he and I became good friends. A long-haired French
rabbit was hopping about, and a tame white rat was perched on the
shoulder of one of the boys, and kept his foothold there, no matter
how suddenly the boy moved. There were so many boys, and the
stable was so small, that I suppose he was afraid he would get
stepped on if he went on the floor. He stared hard at me with his