“We shall hear from this of course--my mother and I,” said the youth to himself as he gained the street. “Mr. Dorsett will store this up against me, hard. All right--I’ve done my simple duty and I’ll stand by the results.” A minute later, looking back the way he had come, Frank saw Dorsett come threshing out into the street. He kicked a dog out of his path, rudely jostled a pedestrian, jumped into the gig and went tearing down the homeward road plying the whip and venting his cruel rage on the poor animal in the shafts. Frank started back towards Greenville the way he had come. He was greatly pleased at his success, and cheeringly anticipated the good the five dollars would do his mother and himself. As Frank passed the spot where he had noticed the barefooted, mud-bespattered urchin lying asleep by the side of the ditch, he could find no trace of the lad. A little farther on Frank came in sight of the high board fence he had so curiously observed on his way to Riverton. The wind was his way, and as he approached the queer barrier he was somewhat astonished at a great babel of canine barking and howls that greeted his ears. “Sounds like a kennel,” he reflected, “but’s a big one. Why, if there isn’t the little fellow with the package of meat.” Frank wonderingly regarded a tattered, forlorn figure at a distance seeming to be glued right up face forward against the fence. The boy had piled two or three big boulders on top of one another. These he had surmounted, and was peering through a high up crack or knot hole in the fence. On one arm he carried the newspaper package Frank had noticed. Bit by bit he poised its contents, hurling them over the fence. A loud clamor of yelps and barkings would greet this shower of food. Frank drew nearer, mightily interested. The little fellow would throw over a bone and peer inside the enclosure. “Get it, Fido!” Frank heard him shout. “They won’t let him--those big ones,” he wailed. “Oh, you dear, big fellow, help him, help him. No, they won’t let him. Fido, Fido, Oh, my! oh my!” The little fellow slipped down to a seat on the boulders now and began to cry as if his heart would break. Frank approached and pulled at his arm. “Hi, youngster,” he challenged, “what in the world are you up to, anyhow?” CHAPTER IV A BREAK FOR LIBERTY The little ragamuffin addressed by Frank raised his dirt-creased, tear-stained face pathetically. He looked at his questioner for a moment and then went on crying harder than ever. “Well,” said Frank, “this is a queer go. Come, little son, brace up and tell what is the matter with you. Who is Fido--a dog?” “Sure. He’s in there, he’s been in there for two days now, and I cannot get him out.” “There appears to be a good many dogs in there, judging from the racket,” said Frank. “What kind of a place is this, anyhow?” “It’s the pound,” explained the urchin. “Belongs to Riverton, but Sile Stoggs runs it. Know Stoggs?” “I don’t,” answered Frank.