"That's a sign of death in the family, ain't it, Jabe?" whispered Miss Vilda faintly. "So they say," he answered cheerfully; "but if 't is, I can 'count for it, bein' as how I fertilized the pond lilies with a mess o' four white kittens this afternoon; and as Rags was with me when I done it, he may know what he's bayin' 'bout,--if 't is Rags, 'n' it looks enough like him to be him,--'n' it is him, by Jiminy, 'n' Timothy's sure to be somewheres near. I'll get out 'n' look roun' a little." "You set right still, Jabe, I'll get out myself, for if I find that boy I've got something to say to him that nobody can say for me." As Jabe drew the wagon up beside the fence, Rags bounded out to meet them. He knew Maria, bless your soul, the minute he clapped his eyes on her, and as he approached Miss Vilda's congress boot his quivering whiskers seemed to say, "Now, where have I smelled that boot before? If I mistake not, it has been applied to me more than once. Ha! I have it! Miss Vilda Cummins of the White Farm, owner of the white cat and hash-pan, and companion of the lady with the firm hand, who wields the broom!" whereupon he leaped up on Miss Cummins's black alpaca skirts, and made for her flannel garters in a way that she particularly disliked. "Now," said she, "if he's anything like the dogs you hear tell of, he'll take us right to Timothy." "Wall, I don' know," said Jabe cautiously; "there's so many kinds o' dorg in him you can't hardly tell what he will do. When dorgs is mixed beyond a certain p'int it kind o' muddles up their instincks, 'n' you can't rely on 'em. Still you might try him. Hold still, 'n' see what he'll do." Miss Vilda "held still," and Rags jumped on her skirts. "Now, set down, 'n' see whar he'll go." Miss Vilda sat down, and Rags went into her lap. "Now, make believe start somewheres, 'n' mebbe he'll get ahead 'n' put you on the right track." Miss Vilda did as she was told, and Rags followed close at her heels. "Gorry! I never see sech a fool!--or wait,--I'll tell you what's the matter with him. Mebbe he ain't sech a fool as he looks. You see, he knows Timothy wants to run away and don't want to be found 'n' clapped into a 'sylum, 'n' nuther does he. And not bein' sure o' your intentions, he ain't a-goin' to give hisself away; that's the way I size Mr. Rags up!" "Nice doggy, nice doggy!" shuddered Miss Vilda, as Rags precipitated himself upon her again. "Show me where Timothy is, and then we'll go back home and have some nice bones. Run and find your little master, that's a good doggy!"