Part 93

Phronsie was kneeling down in front of Sinbad's kennel.

"Can't you untie him to-day, Michael?" she asked, a question she had propounded each morning since the boys went back to school.

"Yes, Miss Phronsie, I think I can; he's wonted now, and the other dogs are accustomed to him. Besides, I've locked up Jerry since he fit him."

"I know," said Phronsie sorrowfully; "that was naughty of Jerry when Sinbad had only just come."

Michael scratched his head. He couldn't tell her what was on his mind, that Sinbad was scarcely such a dog as any one would buy, and therefore his presence was not to be relished by the high-bred animals already at home on the place.

"Well, you know, Miss Phronsie," he said at last, "it's kinder difficult like, to expect some dogs to remember their manners; and Jerry ain't like all the others in that respect."

"Please tell him about it," said Phronsie earnestly, "how good Prince is to Sinbad, and then I guess he'll want to be like him." For Phronsie had never swerved in her allegiance to Prince ever since he saved her from the naughty organ man in the little-brown-house days. And in all her conversations with the other dogs she invariably held up Jasper's big black dog, his great friend and companion since pinafore days, as their model.

And just then Dicky ran up breathlessly.

"Dick," announced Phronsie excitedly, "Michael is going to let Sinbad out to-day." And she clasped her hands in delight.

"Jolly!" exclaimed Dick, capering about.

"Now, Master Dick, you must let the dog alone," cried Michael. "It's time to try him with his freedom a bit. He's chafin' at that chain." He looked anxiously at Dick. "Stand off there, both of you," and he slipped the chain off.

Sinbad gave a little wiggle with his hind legs, and stretched his yellow body. It was too good to be true! But it was, though; he was free, and he shot out from his kennel, which was down in the gardener's quarters, and quite removed from the other dogs, and fairly tore--his ragged little tail straight out--across the west lawn.

"Oh, he'll run back to Joel at school," cried Dick, who had heard Joel say he must be tied at first when everything was strange; and he started on a mad run after him.

"You stay still," roared Michael; "that dog is only stretchin' his legs. He'll come back." But as well tell the north wind to stop blowing. Dicky's blouse puffed out with the breeze, as his small legs executed fine speed.

"Oh, Michael!" cried Phronsie in the greatest distress, "make Dicky come back."

"Oh, he'll come back," said Michael reassuringly, though he quaked inwardly. And so Dicky did. But it was now a matter of Sinbad chasing him; for as Michael had said, the dog, after stretching his legs as the mad rush across the lawn enabled him to do, now was very much pleased to return for a little petting at the hands of those people who had given him every reason to expect that he should receive it; and supposing, from Dick's chase after him, that a race was agreeable, he set forth; his ears, as ragged as his tail, pricked up in the fullest enjoyment of the occasion.

But Dick saw nothing in it to enjoy. And exerting all his strength to keep ahead, which he couldn't do as well for the reason that he was screaming fearfully, Sinbad came up with him easily. Dicky, turning his head in mad terror at that instant, stumbled and fell. Sinbad, unable to stop at short notice, or rather no notice at all, rolled over with him in a heap.

This brought all the stable-boys to the scene, besides Mrs. Whitney who had seen some of the affair from her window; and finally, when everything was beginning to be calmed down, Battles reached the lawn.

Sinbad was in Phronsie's lap, who sat on the grass, holding him tightly.

"Oh, Phronsie!" gasped Mrs. Whitney at that. "Michael, do take him away," as she fled by to Dick. One of the stable-boys was brushing off the grime from his sailor suit.

"The dog is all right, ma'am," said Michael, "'twas only play; I s'pose Master Joel has raced with him."

"'Twas only play," repeated little Dick, who, now that he found himself whole, was surprised the idea hadn't occurred to him before. "Hoh! I'm not hurt, and I'm going to race with him again."

"Not to-day, Dicky," said Mrs. Whitney, looking him all over anxiously.

"He's all right, ma'am," declared Michael; "they just rolled over together, 'cause, you see, ma'am, the dog couldn't stop, he was a-goin' so fast, when the youngster turned right in his face."

And Dick, to prove his soundness of body and restoration of mind, ran up to Phronsie, and flung himself down on the grass by her side.

Sinbad received him as a most pleasant acquaintance, cocked up his ragged ears, and tried to wag his poor little scrubby tail, never quite getting it into his head that it wasn't long and graceful. And then he set upon the task of licking Dick's hands all over, and as much of his face as was possible to compass.

"See that now," cried Michael triumphantly, pointing, "that dog mayn't be handsome, but he hain't got a bad bone in his body, if he does look like the Evil One hisself."

This episode absorbing all their attention, nobody heard or saw Alexia Rhys, running lightly up over the terrace. "Oh, my! what are you doing? And where's Polly?" she asked of Mrs. Whitney.