"Catch who can;" and young Edgar, who played on the flute in summer
twilights, was quite gratified to find Frolic always lying at his
feet, with wistful eyes, and imagined himself a second Orpheus.

But one day, when he had played a most unheard-of melody, Frolic
thought that might possibly be the magical one, and annoyed the young
man so much, by jumping upon him, that he gave the poor creature a
kick, forgetting who it had formerly been. That was a cruel kick;
for, though to appearance but a brown dog, Frolic had the tender
feelings of a little girl, and, shrinking home, passed a most unhappy
night in a dark corner of the garret, thinking every one might be
unkind, now that its good friend, the flute player, had been so. And
in the morning, when the grandmother called, "Frolic, Frolic," it came
very slowly down stairs, and did not once go out all day, but lay on
the rug, looking very much grieved.

Frolic never quite forgot that kick, and sometimes was even afraid to
go among the children, lest one of them might be angry, as the flute
player had been, and felt sadder than ever about being a dog. The
villagers said, "Why, what has come over our Frolic? It used to seem
as merry as a dog could be, scratching at our doors, and stealing our
bones; but now it goes moping about in solitary places, just like
young Edgar, with his long hair. Poor thing! It is certainly a sad
fate, for one who has once been a bright child, the best scholar in
school, winning a medal every week, to be only a barking dog."

A year passed on, and the little dog was still seen about the village;
sometimes merry and frolicking with the children, but more often
walking alone in the fields, or watching over little Zach, who was now
old enough to play in the front yard; when one day, as it was taking a