LEO.

BY EDWARD I. STEVENSON.

Ford Bonner may live to be a very old man—he is "going on" fifteen now—but it is likely that he will always recollect what occurred upon a certain dark evening in August two years ago. Ford's father and mother were travelling in Europe that summer; hence Ford, who was all the rest of the year a boarding-school-boy of the first water, spent his vacation at his Uncle Pepper's country place.

Ford's chief companion from day to day, as he scrambled among the rocky spurs, was Leo. Leo was a Scotch grayhound, Major Pepper's particular pet. Now one curious trait of his did equal honor to his head and heart. He had been bought at Black's Hollow, a village—if a store, which also was a Post-office, and six or seven dwellings, can be called a village—about two miles further up the road, among the mountains. Regularly once or twice a week would Leo slip innocently off in the morning for a whole day's visiting with any four-legged playmates whose society he had formerly relished at Black's Hollow. On such occasions Ford had to ramble on the heights alone.

Now Amzi Spinner, Major Pepper's hired man, had a brother who kept the Post-office and store at the Hollow. As soon as Amzi discovered Leo's trick of going so frequently thither of his own will, it seemed good to him to teach the dog to carry a letter there with safety and dispatch whenever told to do so. Amzi would tie his missives securely about the bright-eyed, lithe dog's neck, and say in his Yankee drawl:

"Naow, Leo, you jest make tracks for the village, double-quick. Do you understand? That letter'd ought to git to the store. Be off!"

Leo would leap away, barking joyfully, and in an hour return to seek Amzi in field or barn, collared with an answer from Lot Spinner. In this way the dog became, in a limited sense, the messenger and postman of the family when occasion prompted, and a very quick and faithful one.

It was the last Thursday in August when Major Pepper, finishing his second cup of coffee at breakfast, exclaimed to his wife, "There, Helen. I forgot to tell you last night that if you want to go down to the town in the phaeton with me to-day and give this afternoon to picking out those carpets, it'll suit me capitally."

Aunt Pepper laughed. "Why does a man always choose just the wrong day of all others?" she said, merrily. "Amzi and Mira" (Mira was Amzi's wife and Aunt Pepper's cook) "wanted to go to New York to-day to attend that wedding—her sister's, you recollect. They started early (at four o'clock) for the station, and I don't expect them back until long after we're in bed to-night. I can't leave the house and Ford to take care of themselves."

"Oh yes, you can," laughed Uncle Pepper. "Ford might go along if it wouldn't be a hot and stupid day in town for him—we shall be so busy. Leave him a good luncheon, and let him keep house by himself for once. Leo will help him. You wouldn't mind it, eh, Ford?"

Ford laughed too, and said that he rather guessed not.

"We'll not be later in getting back home than six o'clock, I suppose," said Aunt Pepper, reluctantly consenting.

"Oh dear no," replied the Major, "and Ford will just have a fine appetite for a late dinner."

A half-hour later Ford and Leo, the one with his hand and the other with his active if unimportant tail, waved Major and Mrs. Pepper good-by from the broad piazza, and then turned themselves about to begin the work of passing a jolly day together. Ford did not like to leave the house for any length of time.

A wooden swing he was contriving in the garden, the arrangement of his collection of Indian relics, and a letter to his room-mate at the school—one Harry North—took up all the forenoon.

This latter, or letter business, was still on hand, and Ford was scratching away at it in the summer-house, when Leo suddenly growled. Then he sprang up, barking violently. A strange gentleman was leisurely drawing near the pair of friends. Ford rose and stepped out of his retreat.

"I beg pardon for interrupting you, sir," began the stranger, very pleasantly, "but are your father and mother at home to-day?"

"My father and mother are in Europe, sir," replied Ford, "but—"

"Ah—oh—I see," continued the civil stranger. "I had forgotten that my old friends Major and Mrs. Pepper had no children. Is your uncle at home?"

"I'm sorry, sir," replied Ford, "but they have both driven to town this morning, and will not be back till evening. Be quiet, Leo!" for Leo persisted in showing his teeth, and making sundry impolite noises, not to say growls, while he eyed the polite new-comer very much as if he had been a snake.

"A fine dog that," remarked the stranger, carelessly. "Well, since I am unlucky enough to miss your uncle, could I see that excellent man he employs here, Amzi—-Amzi—dear me, I can not just recall his name." The strange gentleman had a clear, rich voice. He was, by-the-way, a stout, well-made young man, with a dark blue cravat.

"Sorry again, sir," returned Ford, "but Amzi and Mira are away too until quite late this evening. It just happens so. Couldn't I take your message for uncle? Leo, be still, I tell you!"

"You're very kind, my dear boy," said the unknown gentleman, looking at his watch, and backing out from the summer-house gracefully, "but I won't trouble you. I should prefer riding over from my place to-morrow evening. Please tell your good uncle that Mr. Alexander Kingbolt—he will remember my name—called on business, and will see him to-morrow evening if possible, at eight. Good-by." And Mr. Alexander Kingbolt, whistling sweetly "There's one more River to Cross," stepped into a light buggy standing without the gate. Another gentleman sat in it, and the two rode away talking rapidly.

The afternoon shadows grew long; twilight closed in; Ford and Leo sat together, the boy with his hand upon the dog's head. Both began to feel somewhat lonely—at least Ford did. Why in the world did not the phaeton come toiling up the steep mountain road? Halloa! a white owl fluttered across the lawn into an acacia.

Ford had long desired to ascertain that particular owl's private address. He dashed after it, and Leo bore him company. Up through the dark garden bird, boy, and dog sped. Presently Ford slipped and fell. He uttered a cry when he rose, and found that he could put his left foot to the ground only with a pain that sickened him, so severely had his fall strained it.

Very slowly and painfully Ford limped into the garden again, his unlucky foot feeling more miserable with each step. All at once he looked through the trees, and saw lights in the dining-room of his uncle's house.

Major Pepper and Aunt Helen were back, doubtless much disturbed to know where in the world Ford and Leo had gone, or since what hour of the day.

As he drew nearer the closed shutters, he caught the sound of low strange voices, the faint clink of a hammer. Could it be possible anything was amiss? Ford was frightened, but prudent. "Leo," said he, very softly, but almost sternly, to the dog, whose ears were on the alert too, "lie down."

Leo obeyed.

Forgetting his painful foot in his breathless excitement, Ford crept down along the back of the house. The strange voices came clearly from within. "And we'd better be quick about it," somebody was saying.

A robbery it surely was. Ford turned the blind and looked within the dining-room. A lamp was lit. The small safe wherein Major Pepper usually kept his papers and any large sum of money he happened to have in the house for a day or so was rolled out to the middle of the room. Over it leaned a tall well-dressed man, impatiently directing another man who knelt before it, and was working at the old-fashioned lock with some tools he had evidently brought for the purpose.

Ford caught sight of a profile, and the sound of "One more River to Cross," whistled very gently. The man working at the safe door was Mr. Alexander Kingbolt. An exceedingly frightened boy was Ford Bonner.

"So then they can't possibly get over the bridge?" said Mr. Kingbolt, plying his chisel.

"All the planks are up, and hid away till we go down, I tell you," replied the other, "and a red lantern hung across it."

"The bridge," Ford knew at once, must mean a narrow rough structure across a stream just before the road from town wound up the mountain.

"They're likely on their way around by the other one. It'll take them till midnight."

There was a pause. Then said Mr. Kingbolt, out of breath, "Where do you suppose that boy and the dog are?"

"Lost on the mountain, I dare say. But if they come back before we get through, we can fix them somehow."

Ford slipped from below the window. The boy understood all. Many houses in the town had been robbed lately. The "gang" had in some way learned that Major Pepper was occasionally obliged to keep large amounts of money in his lonely country house. They had chosen their day carefully, made or else altered their plans that very morning, thanks to Ford's own politeness in answering Mr. Kingbolt's questions. By a trick they had sent Major and Mrs. Pepper around by their longest route for home. The whole thing was a hastily but cleverly planned scheme. And Ford could do nothing—alone; the nearest houses in the village two miles up the mountain; his swollen foot!

Had he forgotten Leo? The thought darted into his confused mind like a flash. He leaned forward into a ray of light, and drew out gently his pencil, and the envelope, still undirected, in which was his letter to Harry North. He managed to control his excitement and terror enough to scrawl upon it: "There are burglars in our house. Come quick, somebody. Ford Bonner."

The envelope was secured by Ford's shoestring to the greyhound's neck. "Be very quiet, Leo," he kept whispering, almost beseechingly, as he led the dog as well as he could down the far side of the garden, along the fence, and some distance up the road, lest Leo should bark.

"Quick, Leo! To the Post-office—to the Post-office!" he cried, tremblingly, pushing and pointing the dog off.

Leo refused to go. He did not understand all this mystery. Ford felt for a stick, and shook it at him. Leo bounded away silently up the steep. Ford half fell, half sat down, in the darkness on the grass.

He never knew how long it was before he was startled from his stupor by hearing stealthy steps approach down the road. He strained his young eyes to make out a dozen tall figures moving noiselessly toward his hiding-place. They were the astonished men from the village, roused from their circle of gossip around the stoop of the store by Leo's advent and extraordinary excitement.

The letter had been discovered at once by Amzi's brother himself, who, like the rest, with stockings drawn over his boots, headed the party. Ford intercepted them, and made his hurried explanation.

"Stay here," said Lot Spinner, "till we call you."

They leaped the garden wall. A few minutes later Ford heard shouts, and the sound of a gun or two, and a struggle on the house piazza.

"They've got 'em!" he exclaimed, delight and relief getting the best of his long fright and pain.

And so they had; for when Lot Spinner came up and carried the boy down to the house, "Mr. Alexander Kingbolt"—afterward put into jail as Dennis Leary—his comrades, and their tools were all secured under rude guardianship together.

Just as Ford was helped into the house, Leo darted up. The dog had been left behind, lest he should warn the burglars of the party coming from the village, but he had contrived to make his escape.

Ford joined in the cheers for him when at eleven o'clock Major and Mrs. Pepper rode hurriedly up to the brightly lit house to hear the end of the story which the village people up the mountain had stopped them hurrying toward home to tell. Soon after arrived Amzi and Mira; more explanations, and much more ado made over Ford and Leo than either of them relished.

"The scamps would have got away with a couple of thousand dollars, Ford," exclaimed the Major again and again. "It was some money that a man was to call here and get to-morrow morning."

Leo wagged his tail complacently.

So much for a brave boy's coolness, and an obedient dog's intelligence.