Mr. Littlefield came to see Pollio while he was lame, and brought some fine honey which his wife “Liddy” had sent.

“It is hard for thee to learn the lesson of patience so young; but it will do thee good, my boy,” said he, patting Pollio’s head with a smile.

“Is Dr. Field any ’lation to you, Mr. Littlefield?” asked Pollio anxiously; and was very glad to learn he was not. Pollio loved Mr. Littlefield dearly; but he would never love the doctor on account of his dreadful jokes.

While Mr. Littlefield was at the house, something happened to Beppo which I must tell you about.

Now, Beppo was not only a pleasant playfellow for the children, he was also a dog of very fine character. But he had one fault: he would bark in the night whenever the least noise roused him, and bark so furiously, too, that he waked everybody in the house. For this reason it was thought best that he should sleep in the stable; but even there he sometimes made such a noise as to disturb the family.

The children had often heard their father say he meant to punish Beppo for this; but they did not believe he would ever do it, for he was as gentle-hearted as a woman, and extremely fond of the good dog.

But, on the very night when the Quaker was visiting them, the judge and his wife were wakened by the terrific barking of Beppo. It kept on and on, louder and louder, till the judge grew very nervous.

“Why haven’t I whipped that dog long ago?” said he.

“I think you ought to have done it,” replied his wife. “He is a dear old fellow, but it is our duty to cure him of his faults.”

“I declare I’ve a great mind to go out to the stable this minute,” said the judge.

“Well, if you do go, you won’t whip him, my dear: so I advise you to take brother Rufus with you.”

“Rufus, indeed! Why, I’m not quite a baby,” said the judge, springing out of bed: “if I make up my mind to whip that dog, I can do it.”

I dare say if Mrs. Pitcher had not spoken of calling uncle Rufus, her husband would not have gone, and then Beppo would not have been punished.

I must confess he did not hurt the dog one bit. Beppo did not feel the horse-whip any more than if it had been a wisp of straw; but he hung his head in grief, for it was the first blow he had ever received. When all was over, he gave a side-glance at his master, as if to say, “I’ll never do so again: I won’t bark any more.” And then he lay down very meekly on a cushion of hay; and the judge went back to bed, thinking he had done his duty, but feeling sorry enough to cry.

There was no more noise that night from Beppo; though two or three carriages passed, and he must have heard them, and wanted to bark.

Next morning he lingered about the yard, ashamed to come into the house.

“Poor fellow, he takes it to heart!” said the judge; and then told what happened.

The children looked sober; and Posy gazed through her tears at Pollio, who winked hard, and tried to brave it out. Friend Littlefield was glad to see that they all cared so much for the dog.

But, just as the breakfast-bell rang, Teddy rushed into the parlor, exclaiming,—

“Papa, our pears are stolen!”

“Pears, child! What pears?”

“Why, you know those two trees bending down to the ground,—the nicest pears there are in the world. Well, there isn’t a thing left but just the leaves!”

“And that must have been what Beppo was barking for. No doubt he heard the thieves at work, and was trying to let us know it. The faithful old creature!” said the judge, looking distressed, but thinking much more about the dog than about the pears.

“O papa! And you w’ipped him!” cried Pollio, whirling round and round on the floor.

“Yes,” sighed papa, “I whipped him.”

Pollio didn’t try any longer to brave it out: he swept through the room like a hurricane, to go and have a cry on his dear dog’s neck.

“How’d I feel if my papa had w’ipped me when I wasn’t naughty!” said he. But he couldn’t possibly imagine it; for he had never been punished even by a “love-pat” in his whole little life.

Beppo was hugged half to death by the children; and the judge himself stroked his head, called him “fine fellow,” and fed him from his own hand with broiled beef-steak.

“Does he know you’re sorry, papa?” asked Pollio.

“Well, I think he has some notion of it: at any rate, he knows we’re good friends once more. See, he wags his tail, and looks quite cheerful again.”

“So he does,” laughed Posy, clapping her hands. “Real cheerful! I guess he’ll get over it, don’t you? He won’t think you are a bad man now.”

Posy could not bear to have him think her father a bad man; and it was plain that he did not, for he licked the judge’s hand after finishing the steak, and looked up in his face as if he trusted him with his whole heart.

“Dogs know ’most as much as folks,” said Posy. “I’ll make a chain of flowers, and we’ll put it on his neck, and I guess he’ll like it; don’t you?”

Pollio was sure he would be charmed. And, whether Beppo enjoyed the flowers or not, he must have known he was treated uncommonly well that day; for he had a dish of cream for dessert, and was allowed to spend most of his time in the parlor.

Now, what follows is not a dream or a fairy-story, though I know it will sound very strange. It really happened that morning, while the twins and uncle Rufus were in the parlor, and Beppo was lying on the rug, watching Pollio.

There was nothing remarkable about Beppo, except that he was a large, handsome dog. His eyes just now had an asking look, as if he longed to say something: but you have seen that sort of look in any dog’s eyes; it isn’t at all uncommon.

“Beppo wants to speak, I know he does,” said Pollio to Posy.

The dog wagged his tail, as if to reply, “You understand my feelings, my dear little master.”

“Well, try it: see if you can’t speak.” Beppo raised his eyes, wagged his tail again, and, to the intense surprise of the children, said, or seemed to say, in a fine, piping voice,—

“I was w’ipped last night.”

Pollio rolled over; and Posy sprang up, exclaiming,—

“Who said that?”

“Why, who did?” cried Pollio, almost turning a somerset.

There was no person in the room but themselves and Nunky, who was too busy reading the newspaper to take any notice. Who had spoken? It couldn’t be Beppo!

“Your papa w’ipped me!” said the piping voice again, Beppo still gazing straight at Pollio.

How wonderful! It was exactly the sort of voice a dog would be likely to speak with, if he could speak at all: it was thin and babyish.

“Oh, oh!” cried Posy.

“My sakes!” cried Pollio.

They knew as well as you do that dogs are dumb animals; but here was Beppo looking right up in their faces, and talking. They were greatly excited.

“Uncle Rufus, uncle Ru-fus!”

But they had to run up to him, and pull his sleeve, before he would pay any attention.

“Uncle Ru-fus! Beppo is talking!”

“Oh! is he? Well, why shouldn’t he talk? He has lived so long among chatter-boxes that I should think he might by this time.”

“But you needn’t make fun, Nunky. He did talk just now. I’ll leave it to Posy.”

“That’s so!” replied Beppo, wagging his tail.

“Oh, hear him!” exclaimed Posy, dancing about in a great flutter; while Pollio rolled over and over, and jerked his elbows, crying,—

“I never, never, never! Did you ever, uncle Rufus?”

“Your papa w’ipped me!” repeated Beppo.

Uncle Rufus seemed very much interested now, and watched the dog closely; but he was a man who was seldom surprised at any thing.

“No, I never heard a dog talk before; but what is there so very remarkable about it? Parrots can talk; and parrots don’t know half as much as dogs.”

“O Nunky, Nunky! it is queer,” exclaimed Pollio, astonished at his uncle’s coolness. “Why, he has lived here ever so long, and didn’t ever talk before.”

“No,” said Posy; “no more’n the cat.”

“How did he happen to speak now?”

“Why, I asked him to.”

“Oh! you did, did you?”

“But don’t you think it’s queer, Nunky? don’t you think it’s queer?”

“Well, rather so, perhaps; but I always knew Beppo was a bright dog.—Come here, old fellow, and tell us why you never talked before.”

“Afraid you’d laugh at me,” replied Beppo, looking up in Mr. Gilman’s face rather bashfully.

“Oh, I must tell mamma! I must tell everybody!” burst forth the twins with one voice.

Mamma was busy up stairs with her dressmaker; and nobody was to be found but Teddy, who smiled in the most provoking way when told that Beppo was talking.

“You expect me to believe that story, do you?” said he, entering the parlor with a curling lip.

“Now see!” cried Pollio. “There, Beppo, sir, this is Teddy. Now say, ‘How do you do, Teddy?’”

Beppo held out his paw as he had been taught to do, but said nothing.

“That’s the way he talks, is it?” said Teddy scornfully. “I’ve seen him do as much as that a good many times.”

“Oh! but he did talk, now truly.—We didn’t cheat; did we, Posy?—Talk again, Beppo. Say, ‘Your papa w’ipped me,’ and I’ll give you some cream.”

Beppo rolled his soft brown eyes as if trying to speak, but not a sound passed his lips.

“Say one word; say ‘Teddy,’ and I’ll give you some chicken.”

No answer.

“Well, say some other word. I don’t care what word.”

Still Beppo was speechless.

“Poh! I can’t stop any longer for this: it’s too foolish,” said Teddy.

“Oh! just a minute, Teddy. He did talk before you came in. I’ll leave it to Nunky.—Didn’t Beppo talk?”

Uncle Rufus dropped his newspaper upon his knee with a roguish smile.

“Teddy, will you believe me if I say he did?”

“No, sir: I can’t believe you,” said Teddy stoutly, “because there’s no common sense in saying a dog talks.”

“Then I sha’n’t say it.”

“O Nunky, that’s too, too bad!” cried Posy.

“Up and down mean!” cried Pollio; “for you heard him talk.”

“I, my child? Why, I never heard a dog talk in my life!”

“O Nunky, Nunky Gilman! When you were the very one that sat right there and looked straight at Beppo, and heard him say, ‘Your papa w’ipped me.’”

“I heard him say nothing of the kind,” returned uncle Rufus, rising, and planting himself on the rug, with his arms folded.

“There, there! I knew better all the time,” said Teddy, snapping his fingers.

This was very trying.

“O Nunky, Nunky!” cried angry Pollio, “you’ve told a”—

“You’ve made a little mistake,” struck in Posy, as angry as her brother, but more polite.

“They say ‘little Pitchers have great ears,’” said uncle Rufus, smiling: “perhaps they hear what isn’t to be heard. Think a minute, children, and see if you can’t be wrong. If a dog should talk, it would be a miracle.”

“But we heard him,” said Pollio.

“Did you see his lips move?”

“Oh! I—I don’ know. I didn’t think of that.”

“Well, I want to teach you to think, my boy; and that is why I have teased you a little. Beppo will speak again; and perhaps you’ll watch his lips this time, won’t you?”

“Your papa w’ipped me,” squeaked the fine little voice; but the twins both observed that Beppo never opened his mouth. They saw now that their uncle had been playing a trick upon them.

“Oh, now I know, now I know! Nunky did it himself.”

“Of course he did, you goosie! ’Fore I’d be so silly as you and Posy,” said Teddy, proud of his own wisdom.

“Not so fast, Teddy,” said his uncle. “I could have cheated you in the same way a year or two ago. And I don’t believe now you can tell how I do it. Look at me while I speak so again.”

Teddy did look; but uncle Rufus scarcely stirred his lips, as he said in a voice that seemed to come from the very depths of the cellar,—

“I’m a rat! I’m drowning in the pork-barrel!”

“Oh! how do you do it?” cried Teddy. “How can you make your voice sound way off, and so different from your voice? Do you do it down in your stomach?”

“Yes, I suppose so. It is called ‘ventriloquism.’ I have cheated wiser people than our little Pitchers in this way.”

“Well, you can’t cheat me again,” said little Pollio, deeply mortified.

“No: because next time you will think. But here comes friend Littlefield. Now, Teddy, don’t you tell him about this; please don’t.”

It was well Nunky said that; for Teddy was rather apt to report “the children’s” little mistakes, and they were very sensitive about it.

Pollio had now been lame for several weeks, and everybody thought it might be months before he would get well. But, one morning not long after this, Posy swung open the dining-room door, drawing her brother after her, and saying gleefully,—

“O mamma! O papa! my Pollio can walk!”

Yes, he was actually walking. Never was Napoleon Bonaparte any prouder after a great victory than our little hero as he stalked into that dining-room.

They all rose from the table just as surprised as they had been on the first morning when he couldn’t walk. Then what a clapping of hands, what a shouting! Eliza Potter and Jane Roarty, who were in the kitchen, wondered what could have happened; and so did Ike, who was passing by the dining-room windows.

Ike saw Mrs. Pitcher hugging Pollio as if he were the best boy in the world, just because his legs had stopped feeling like India-rubber boots; and then they hugged him all round, and his father tossed him up to the ceiling.

“Let’s celebrate; let’s have a picnic at Rocky Brook,” said Dick.

“But Pollio can’t walk so far,” objected Edith.

“Why, yes, I can. I can walk all over the world,” exclaimed Pollio, trying to dance, but tipping backward against Teddy.