Beyond the pictures were some advertisements.  One was for a farm for sale.  Jonas read the description, and he wished that he was old enough to buy a farm, and then he would go and look at that.

The next advertisement was about some machinery, which a man had invented; and the next was headed, in large letters, Dog Lost. This caught Jonas’s attention immediately.  It was in writing, and he could not read it very easily, it was so high.  So he got a chair, and stood up in it, and read as follows:—­

“’Dog lost.

“’Strayed or stolen from the subscriber, a valuable dog, of large size and black color.’

“I wonder if it isn’t Franco,” said Jonas, interrupting himself in his reading.

“‘He had on a brass collar marked with the owner’s name.’

“No,” said Jonas, “there was no collar.  But then the man that stole him might have taken it off.

“‘Answers to the name of Ney.’

“Ney, Ney,” said Jonas,—­“I never called him Ney.  I wonder if he would answer, if I should call him Ney.

“‘Is kind and docile, and quite intelligent.’

“Yes,” said Jonas, “I verily believe it is Franco.

“’Any person who will return said dog to the subscriber, at his residence at Walton Plain, shall be suitably rewarded.

“‘JAMES EDWARDS.’

“I verily believe it is Franco,” said Jonas, as he slowly got down from the chair,—­“Walton Plain.”

He stood a moment, looking thoughtfully into the fire.

“Yes,” he repeated, “I verily believe it is Franco.  I wonder where Walton Plain is.”

Jonas had learned from Mr. Holiday, that it was never wise to communicate important information relating to private business, unless necessary.  So he said nothing about Franco to any of the people at the tavern, but quietly went to bed; and, after thinking some time what to do, he went to sleep, and slept finely until morning.

About daylight, he arose, and, as he had paid his bill the night before, he went to the barn, harnessed his horses, and set off.  At the first village that he came to after sunrise, he stopped at a store, and inquired whether there was any such town as Walton Plain, in that neighborhood.

“Yes,” said the boy, who stood with a broom in his hand, with which he was sweeping out the store,—­“yes, it is about five miles from here, right on the way you are going.”

Jonas thanked the boy, got into his sleigh, and rode on.

“Poor Franco,” said he, “I am afraid I must lose you.”

He had hoped that Walton Plain would have proved to be off of his road, so that he could have had a good reason for not doing any thing about restoring the dog, until after he had gone home, and reported the facts to the farmer.  But now, as he found that it was on his way, and as he would very probably go directly by Mr. Edwards’s door, he concluded that he ought, at any rate, to call and let him look at Franco, and see whether it was his dog or not.