“No, that for why man beat him.  He name Generale, and he go spell Sancho all times, and cry when whip fall on him.  Ha! yes! that name true one, not Generale?” and the man nodded, waved his hands and showed his teeth, almost as much excited as the boys.

“It’s Sanch! let’s go and get him, now, right off!” cried Ben, in a fever to be gone.

“A hundred miles away, and no clue but this man’s story?  We must wait a little, Ben, and be sure before we set out,” said Miss Celia, ready to do almost anything, but not so certain as the boys.  “What sort of a dog was it?  A large, curly, white poodle, with a queer tail?” she asked of Giacomo.

“No, Signorina mia, he no curly, no wite, he black, smooth dog, littel tail, small, so,” and the man held up one brown finger with a gesture which suggested a short, wagging tail.

“There, you see how mistaken we were.  Dogs are often named Sancho, especially Spanish poodles, for the original Sancho was a Spaniard, you know.  This dog is not ours, and I’m so sorry.”

The boys faces had fallen dismally as their hope was destroyed; but Ben would not give up, for him there was and could be only one Sancho in the world, and his quick wits suggested an explanation which no one else thought of.

“It may be my dog—­they color ’em as we used to paint over trick horses.  I told you he was a valuable chap, and those that stole him hide him that way, else he’d be no use, don’t you see, because we’d know him.”

“But the black dog had no tail,” began Thorny, longing to be convinced, but still doubtful.

Ben shivered as if the mere thought hurt him, as he said, in a grim tone: 

“They might have cut Sanch’s off.”

“Oh, no! no! they mustn’t, they wouldn’t!”

“How could any one be so wicked?” cried Bab and Betty, horrified at the suggestion.

“You don’t know what such fellows would do to make all safe, so they could use a dog to earn their living for ’em,” said Ben, with mysterious significance, quite forgetting in his wrath that he had just proposed to get his own living in that way himself.

“He no your dog?  Sorry I not find him for you.  Addio, signorina!  Grazia, signor!  Buon giorno, buon giorno,” and, kissing his hand, the Italian shouldered organ and monkey, ready to go.

Miss Celia detained him long enough to give him her address, and beg him to let her know if he met poor Sanch in any of his wanderings, for such itinerant showmen often cross each other’s paths.  Ben and Thorny walked to the school-corner with him, getting more exact information about the black dog and his owner, for they had no intention of giving it up so soon.