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Margy suddenly remembered that when she had seen Bobo before he had been chained right at this little house. Maybe it was his house, although it was bigger than any doghouse she had ever seen before. "We don't want him in here," cried Mun Bun. "There isn't any room for him." Then he cried to the big hound: "Go 'way! You'll spoil our Christmas tree." The big hound came nearer, but more quietly.
The Marionette, being no exception to this rule, slept on peacefully for a few hours till well along toward midnight, when he was awakened by strange whisperings and stealthy sounds coming from the yard. He stuck his nose out of the doghouse and saw four slender, hairy animals. They were Weasels, small animals very fond of both eggs and chickens.
Most of these were thrust into an old room behind the gaol, which had anciently been a malt-house, but was now so decayed that it was scarce fit for a doghouse; and so open it lay, that the prisoners might have gone out at pleasure.
Russ and Rose heard the cries coming from the doghouse, and they knew Mun Bun and Margy were in trouble. They saw Bobo, who had been with them to the swamp, seemingly stuck half way in the doorway of his kennel, and Russ cried: "I guess that's where they are. Hear 'em, Rose? Come on, save Mun Bun and Margy." "I'm afraid of that hound," replied Rose, but she followed her brother just the same.
It has been Melampo's bed for three years, and it will be good enough for you. And if, by any chance, any thieves should come, be sure to bark!" After this last warning, the Farmer went into the house and closed the door and barred it. Poor Pinocchio huddled close to the doghouse more dead than alive from cold, hunger, and fright.
Uncle Wiggily was so tired and worn out after running for milk for the toad family that he couldn't travel very far that day to seek his fortune. He slept that night in a doghouse, where a kind puppy named Towser lived, and Towser covered the old gentleman rabbit up with leaves and straw and kept watch so that no one would hurt him.
I wanted to see the rest of the show, but I'll go." Phil rose reluctantly and followed the guide. "I'll meet you by the ticket wagon if I don't get back here, Teddy," he said. "Where will I find Mr. Sparling?" "In the doghouse." "Where's that?" "Out back of the ticket wagon. It's a little A tent, and we call it the boss's doghouse, because it's only big enough to hold a couple of St. Bernards."
"Oh! What does he want of me?" "Ask him," grinned the attendant, who, it developed, was an usher in the reserved-seat section. "He don't tell us fellows his business. Say, that was a great stunt you did with Emperor." "Oh, I don't know." "I do. There's the doghouse over there. See it?" "Yes, thank you." The attendant leaving him, Phil walked on alone to Mr.
But after I had had him awhile, I made an analysis based on his appearance and character, and concluded that he was mainly blood-hound, shaded with wolf-dog and mastiff, and picked out with touches of bull-dog. The man brought him home for me, and chained him up in an unused wood-shed, for I had no doghouse as yet.
One of them left her companions and, going to the door of the doghouse, said in a sweet voice: "Good evening, Melampo." "My name is not Melampo," answered Pinocchio. "Who are you, then?" "I am Pinocchio." "What are you doing here?" "I'm the watchdog." "But where is Melampo? Where is the old dog who used to live in this house?" "He died this morning." "Died? Poor beast! He was so good!
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