The coach approached and the iron gates were flung wide.  Gabriel plainly saw a young girl with troubled eyes sitting alone within, and on the seat opposite an older woman with her back to the horses.

Suddenly, while the carriage still moved slowly outside the gates that clanged behind it, Gabriel started from his hiding-place and swiftly leaped to the step of the coach and looked straight into the young girl’s eyes.

“Princess,” he exclaimed breathlessly, “I know of a golden dog, and they will not let me”—­but by this time the lady-in-waiting was screaming, and the guard, who recognized Gabriel, rushed forth from the gate and, seizing him roughly, jerked the boy from the step.

“Unhand him instantly!” exclaimed the princess, her eyes flashing, for the look Gabriel had given her had reached her heart.  “Stop the horses!”

Instantly the coach came to a standstill.

“I will not fail thee, nor forsake thee,” sounded in Gabriel’s ears amid the roaring in his head, as he found himself free.  He did not wait for further invitation, but jumped back to the coach.

“Stop screaming, Lady Gertrude!” exclaimed the princess.

“But the beggar’s hands are on the satin, your highness!” exclaimed the lady-in-waiting, who had had a hard week and wished there was not a yellow dog in the world.

“Princess, hear me and you will be glad,” declared Gabriel.  “I beg for nothing but to be heard.  I believe I know where your dog is and that he suffers.”

No one could have seen and heard Gabriel as he said this, without believing him.  Tears of excitement sprang to his gray eyes and a pang went through the heart of the princess.  How many times she had wondered if her lost pet had found such love as she gave him!

She at once ordered the door of the coach to be opened and that Gabriel should enter.

“Your highness!” exclaimed Lady Gertrude, nearly fainting.

“You may leave us if you please,” said the princess, with a little smile; but Lady Gertrude held her smelling-salts to her nose and remained in the coach, which the princess ordered to be driven through a secluded wood-road.

Gabriel, sitting beside her on the fine satin cushion, told his story, from the moment when he found the dingy, brown dog in the hands of the teasing boys, to the moment when the organ-grinder bore him away.

The hands of the princess were clasped tightly as she listened.  “You called him Topaz,” she said, when the boy had finished.  “I called him Goldilocks.  Ah, if it should be the same!  If it should!”

“Surely there are not two dogs in the world so beautiful,” said Gabriel.

“That is what I say to myself,” responded the princess.

“Had he been less wonderful, your highness, he would be safe now, for I should have kept him.  He loved me,” said Gabriel simply.

“You are an honest boy,” replied the princess gratefully, “and I will make you glad of it whether Topaz turns out to be Goldilocks or not.  But you say he danced with so much grace?”