"You mustn't laugh at him," said Joe; "no dog 'ud do anythink ef he
wor laughed at. There now, that's better. I'll soon teach him a trick
or two."
It is to be doubted whether Toby would have put up with the
indignity of being forced to balance himself on the extreme point of
his body were it not for Cecile. Hitherto he had held rather the
position of director of the movements of the little party. He felt
jealous of this big boy, who had come suddenly and taken the
management of everything. When Joe caught him rather roughly by the
front paws, and tried to force him to walk about after a fashion
which certainly nature never intended, he was strongly inclined to
lay angry teeth on his arm. But Cecile's eyes said no, and poor Toby,
like many another before him, submitted tamely because of his love.
He loved Cecile, and for his love he would submit to this indignity.
The small performance over, Joe Barnes, flinging his fiddle over his
shoulder, started to his feet, and the little party of pilgrims, now
augmented to four, commenced their march. They walked for two hours;
Joe, when Maurice was very tired, carrying him part of the way. At
the end of two hours they reached another small village. Here Joe,
taking his fiddle, played dexterously, and soon the village boys and
girls, with their foreign dresses and foreign faces, came flocking out.
"Ef Toby could only dance I'd make a fortune 'ere," whispered Joe to
Cecile.
But even without this valuable addition he did secure enough sous to
pay for his own supper and leave something over for breakfast the
next morning.
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