An older and more prudent person would have waited to make sure before venturing in; but confiding Betty knew little of the danger which she might have run; her heart spoke more quickly than her head, and, not stopping to have the truth proved, she took the brown dog on trust, and found it was indeed dear Sanch.
Sitting on the grass, she hugged him close, careless of tumbled hat, dusty paws on her clean frock, or a row of strange boys staring from the wall.
"Darling doggy, where have you been so long ?" she cried, the great thing sprawling across her lap, as if he could not get near enough to his brave little protector.

"Did they make you black and beat you, dear?
Oh, Sanch, where is your tail--your pretty tail ?" A plaintive growl and a pathetic wag was all the answer he could make to these tender inquiries; for never would the story of his wrongs be known, and never could the glory of his doggish beauty be restored.
Betty was trying to comfort him with pats and praises, when a new face appeared at the gate, and Thorny's authoritative voice called out,-- "Betty Moss, what on earth are you doing in there with that dirty beast ?" "It's Sanch, it's Sanch! Oh, come and see!" shrieked Betty, flying up to lead forth her prize.

But the gate was held fast, for some one said the words, "Mad dog," and Thorny was very naturally alarmed, because he had already seen one.

"Don't stay there another minute.

Get up on that bench and I'll pull you over," directed Thorny, mounting the wall to rescue his charge in hot haste; for the dog did certainly behave queerly, limping hurriedly to and fro, as if anxious to escape.