She sat puzzling over the situation, when her eyes fell on the little hen pecking industriously around. She jumped to her feet exclaiming: “Of course! Where there is a cackle there must be an egg. I will hunt for it.” She returned to the interior of the shed, hunting among the straw, but nothing came of this. There was a small shelf high up in one corner, Lucie stood on tiptoe to look at it. There were some wisps of straw upon it which well might serve for a nest. She felt sure that it was from this place the hen had flown. She tried to touch the spot but was unable to reach so far. “There is no use in trying to pull down the hay,” she said to herself, “for of what use would a broken egg be, unless Pom Pom should choose to lap it up? If I could only find something to stand on I might reach it.” She tried to clamber up by means of the crannies in the wall, but the shelf was a corner one and in such position that she could get at it no better and was obliged to give up this attempt. Next she went outside and began to look around for a box, a stone, anything which she could stand upon and so come within reach of the coveted prize. At last she managed to get hold of a stone which she laboriously rolled to the spot. She stepped upon it, and began feeling around, but her hand found nothing but the hay; if eggs there were they were still out of reach. This latest disappointment was too much for her. Utterly tired out, faint and distressed, she sat down and began to weep forlornly. These extra efforts had taken all her reserve strength and she felt sick and weak. Meanwhile down the road was trotting Pom Pom who had been on a voyage of discovery. If breakfast would not come to him he must go find the breakfast, was his way of settling matters. So he had started forth as soon as he realized that Lucie was awake and in no present need of his defense. First he scared up a flock of birds but these offered no special inducement, for he was not out for a frolic. Next he scratched madly away at a stone under which a field mouse had hidden, but the mouse was too wary for him, and he gave up this sport. Pretty soon he came to a little pool of water where he refreshed himself and felt better. Once in a while he stopped to look back at the cow shed to make sure that his mistress had not left it. He stood undecided at a turn of the road. If he went farther he would lose sight of the cow shed; if he retraced his steps he was still breakfastless, and it would prove a bootless adventure. He decided to go on. His nose was to be depended upon quite as much as his eyes and his mistress could not get away without his ability to track her. Victor was quite right when he called him a wise little dog, for in course of time he proved himself worthy the praise.