But Mrs. Moss could not keep her promise, for on Monday it still rained, and the little girls paddled off to school like a pair of young ducks, enjoying every puddle they came to, since India rubber boots made wading a delicious possibility.  They took their dinner, and at noon regaled a crowd of comrades with an account of the mysterious dog, who appeared to be haunting the neighborhood, as several of the other children had seen him examining their back yards with interest.  He had begged of them, but to none had he exhibited his accomplishments except Bab and Betty, and they were therefore much set up, and called him “our dog” with an air.  The cake transaction remained a riddle, for Sally Folsom solemnly declared that she was playing tag in Mamie Snow’s barn at that identical time.  No one had been near the old house but the two children, and no one could throw any light upon that singular affair.

It produced a great effect, however; for even “teacher” was interested, and told such amazing tales of a juggler she once saw that doughnuts were left forgotten in dinner-baskets, and wedges of pie remained suspended in the air for several minutes at a time, instead of vanishing with miraculous rapidity as usual.  At afternoon recess, which the girls had first, Bab nearly dislocated every joint of her little body trying to imitate the poodle’s antics.  She had practiced on her bed with great success, but the wood-shed floor was a different thing, as her knees and elbows soon testified.

“It looked just as easy as anything; I don’t see how he did it,” she said, coming down with a bump after vainly attempting to walk on her hands.

“My gracious, there he is this very minute!” cried Betty, who sat on a little wood-pile near the door.

There was a general rush, and sixteen small girls gazed out into the rain as eagerly as if to behold Cinderella’s magic coach, instead of one forlorn dog trotting by through the mud.

“Oh, do call him in and make him dance!” cried the girls, all chirping at once, till it sounded as if a flock of sparrows had taken possession of the shed.

“I will call him, he knows me,” and Bab scrambled up, forgetting how she had chased the poodle and called him names two days ago.

He evidently had not forgotten, for though he paused and looked wistfully at them, he would not approach, but stood dripping in the rain with his frills much bedraggled, while his tasseled tail wagged slowly, and his pink nose pointed suggestively to the pails and baskets, nearly empty now.

“He’s hungry; give him something to eat, and then he’ll see that we don’t want to hurt him,” suggested Sally, starting a contribution with her last bit of bread and butter.

Bab caught up her new pail, and collected all the odds and ends, then tried to beguile the poor beast in to eat and be comforted.  But he only came as far as the door, and sitting up, begged with such imploring eyes that Bab put down the pail and stepped back, saying pitifully: