as if her heart would break.

"Why, little girl, what's the matter?" asked Dicky, for he was a kind-
hearted boy, and didn't like to see people cry.

She took down her apron and sobbed:--

"Oh, I've lost my darling little brown dog, and I can never get him
back!"

"Why, has somebody poisoned him--is he dead?" said Dicky.

She shook her head.

"No, oh no! The pound-man took him away in his cart--my sweet little
bit of a dog; he has such a cunning little curly tail, and long, silky
ears; he does all kinds of tricks, and they'll never let me in at home
without Bruno."

And then she began to cry harder than ever, so that Dicky hardly knew
what to say to her.

Now the pound, children, is a very large place somewhere near the
city, with a high fence all around it, and inside are kept colts and
horses, the little calves and mother cows, and the sheep and goats
that run away from home, or are picked up by the roadside. The pound-
man rides along the street in a big cart, which has a framework of
slats built over it, so that it looks something like a chicken-coop on
wheels, and in it--some of you have seen him do it--he puts the poor
dogs that haven't collars on, and whose masters haven't paid for them.