Prince wagged his abbreviated tail and yawned. Really, he seemed very little impressed by the tragic fate that overhung him. Perhaps Carolyn May’s feelings would have been less desperate had she been blessed, as Prince was just then, by a full stomach. Nevertheless, the tragedy was all very real to the child. She saw Aunty Rose sitting in one of her stiffest and most straight-backed chairs on the porch, knitting. Carolyn May would not go near her, for she knew she would burst out crying at the first kind word. She had learned to love Aunty Rose. The old lady always waited for Carolyn May to say her prayers now, when bedtime came. And the child had a well-grounded suspicion that before Mrs. Kennedy sought her own bed she crept into Carolyn May’s room and kissed her softly and saw that she was tucked in. She felt that she would be sorry to leave Aunty Rose. And there was the woman whose husband kept the store on the other corner from the Stagg house. _She_ had given Carolyn May a stick of candy one day. “I expect she’ll be sorry not to see me again,” the little girl told herself. “And there’s Mrs. Gormley—and Chet. They’ll think it funny I didn’t bid them good-bye. And, then, there’s Mr. Parlow.” After all, there seemed to be quite a number of people Carolyn May knew—“just to be acquainted with.” But she had never yet seen the fulfilment of her strong desire to become acquainted with the carpenter’s daughter, Miss Amanda Parlow. All these thoughts shuttled back and forth in Carolyn May’s brain. The minutes of that afternoon dragged by in most doleful procession. There was no idea in the little girl’s mind that Uncle Joe might change his intention and Prince be saved from the watery grave promised him. When she saw the hardware dealer come into the yard almost an hour earlier than their usual supper time she was not surprised. Nor did she think of pleading with him for the dog’s life. The little girl watched him askance. Mr. Stagg came directly through the yard, stopping only at the shed for a moment. There he secured a strong potato sack, and with it trailing from his hand went halfway up the knoll to where there was a heap of stones. He stooped down and began to select some of these, putting them in the bag. This was too much for Carolyn May. With a fearful look at Uncle Joe’s uncompromising shoulders, she went to the tree where Prince was chained. Exchanging the chain for the leather leash with which she always led him about, the little girl guided the mongrel across the yard and around the corner of the house. Her last backward glance assured her that the hardware dealer had not observed her. Quickly and silently she led Prince to the front gate, and they went out together into the dusty road. “I—I know we oughtn’t to,” whispered Carolyn May to her canine friend, “but I feel I’ve just _got_ to save you, Prince. I—I can’t see you drownd-ed dead like that!”