"Saty! Saty! Oh, Saty!" But Satan never heard. On he fled, across
the crisp fields, leaped the fence and struck the road, lickety-
split! for home, while Dinnie dropped sobbing in the snow.

"Hitch up a horse, quick," said Uncle Carey, rushing after Dinnie
and taking her up in his arms. Ten minutes later, Uncle Carey and
Dinnie, both warmly bundled up, were after flying Satan. They
never caught him until they reached the hill on the outskirts of
town, where was the kennel of the kind-hearted people who were
giving painless death to Satan's four-footed kind, and where they
saw him stop and turn from the road. There was divine providence
in Satan's flight for one little dog that Christmas morning; for
Uncle Carey saw the old drunkard staggering down the road without
his little companion, and a moment later, both he and Dinnie saw
Satan nosing a little yellow cur between the palings. Uncle Carey
knew the little cur, and While Dinnie was shrieking for Satan, he
was saying under his breath:

"Well, I swear!--I swear!--I swear!" And while the big man who
came to the door was putting Satan into Dinnie's arms, he said
sharply:

"Who brought that yellow dog here?" The man pointed to the old
drunkard's figure turning a corner at the foot of the hill.

"I thought so; I thought so. He sold him to you for--for a drink
of whiskey."

The man whistled.