Gabriel understood, and patted the silky coat.  It took him some minutes to get rid of the children, who wished to continue to caress and play with Topaz; but at last they were gone and the two weary wanderers could lie down on the sweet hay.  As Topaz nestled into his arms Gabriel felt very thankful to God for their long happy day.  If the master should come to-morrow—­well, the only thing to do was to give up his playfellow, and he should still be grateful for the day and night they had spent together.

Bright sunlight was streaming through the chinks of the rafters when the travelers awoke.  Sounds of men and horses leaving the barn died away, and then Gabriel arose and shook himself.  Topaz jumped about in delight that another day had commenced.  The boy looked at him wistfully.  Was this to be their last morning together?

He felt the little book in his blouse and taking it out, opened it.  It was dark in the barn, but, as ever, this wonderful book had a light of its own, and in tiny letters of flame there appeared this verse:—­

“For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power and of love and of a sound mind.”

Much comforted, Gabriel put the dear book back in its hiding-place, and taking his small bundle, left the barn, the dog bounding after him.

No sooner had the children of the house seen them coming than they ran forth to meet them, singing and whistling and crying upon Topaz to dance, but the dog kept his golden eyes upon his master and noticed no one beside.

The mother came to the door with a much pleasanter face than she had worn yesterday.

“You may go to the pump yonder and wash yourself,” she said; and Gabriel obeyed gladly, wiping his face upon the grass that grew long and rank about the well.

The clean face was such a good one that when the woman saw it she hushed the children.  “Be still until they have had some breakfast,” she said, “then the dog will dance again.”

So Gabriel and Topaz had a comfortable meal which they enjoyed, and afterward the boy whistled and the dog danced with a good heart, and the children danced too, for very pleasure.  They were all so happy that Gabriel for the moment forgot his errand.

“If you will sell your dog I will buy him,” said the woman, at last, for the children had given her no peace when they lay down nor when they rose up, until she had promised to make this offer.

Gabriel looked at her frankly, and a shadow fell over his bright face.  “Alas, madam, he is not mine to sell.”

“Where dwells his master, then?”

“That I know not, for he had strayed and I found him and must restore him if I can.”

“’Tis a fool’s errand,” said the woman, who liked the dog herself, and, moreover, saw that there was money in his nimble feet.  “I will give you as many coppers as you can carry in your cap if you will leave him here and go your way and say nothing about it to any one.”