“Well, well, I forgives yer, Momus,” said the man again, but this time in a softer voice, and with a coaxing kindliness which the dog seemed to understand. “Come, then, old gal; stand up and make him a bow,” he went on, motioning to the dog with his hand. Dibble’s companion stood up as it had done in the corn-field, bowed gravely to Dibble, and raised a forepaw to its head, like charity school-boys on an inspection day. “You’ve not fed the dawg too much, guvner,” said the man, patting the dog’s head, and addressing Dibble. “I only saw un this afternoon,” said Dibble, “for the first time, and I never see a dog so hungry and so quiet over it, nor one half so funny; I began to be afeared he wor something evil, he acted so much like a Christian, surely,” said Dibble. “Why, he’s been away for this week or more--broken-hearted a’most; and we’ve bin obliged to fall back on the basket trick.” Thomas looked inquiringly at the little man, and wondered why showmen were so addicted to brown velveteen and pearl buttons. “She can do pretty nigh everythin’, can Momus; she was the wife of a clown’s dawg called Momus, so we called her Mistress Momus. Everythin’ she can do pretty nigh, but like a brute I expected her to do somethin’ more nor everythin’; nothin’ would do but she must talk, and she couldn’t do that of course--no dawg could--and so we quarrelled. Didn’t we, old gal?” The dog licked her master’s hands, and looked up into his face. “I wanted her to say ‘Thank ’e, sir.’ Poor lass, she tried hard, but she couldn’t.” Mistress Momus here opened her mouth, and jerked out something very much like “thank,” and wagged her wretched stumpy tail. “Never mind it, old gal; don’t try agin,” said the master, patting the dog’s head. “She couldn’t say ‘thank ’e, sir,’ and I got savage and kicked her, and druv her out, and threw a hammer at her. Poor Momus! She’s sulked before for a day, but allers turned up for the evening performances; but this time she’s been out, as I was a sayin’, about a week--reglar done up, poor old gal, and as thin as a skeleton. Why, you’d do to go with the human skeleton from Brummagem eh, old lass?--eh? They could get up a bit of special business for yer, eh, old wench?” The dog barked, as if the notion was highly entertaining, and laid her head on the showman’s knee. “That’s a new idea, isn’t it, Momus,” he went on; “but never mind, old gal, you shan’t go on as a skeleton. Tip us a tumble, just to show you’ve got the free use of yer limbs, and then you shall have yer supper.” Momus turned a somersault, walked on her fore-legs, danced on her hind-legs, and then made another bow to Mr. Dibble; and that runaway conspirator was so diverted, that he forgot Mrs. Dibble and all his old friends, and called for another pint of beer.