Some movement drew my eyes to the floor; there I saw a boy of my own age on all-fours, fastened by a string to a leg of the table at which the dame was ironing, while--horrible to relate!--a dog, not very big but very ugly, and big enough to be frightened at, lay under the table watching him.

I gazed in utter dismay.
"Ah, you may look!" said the dame.

"If you're not a good boy, that is how you shall be served.

The dog shall have you to look after." I trembled, and was speechless.

After some further confabulation, Mrs.Mitchell took her leave, saying-- "I'll come back for him at one o'clock, and if I don't come, just keep him till I do come." The dame accompanied her to the door, and then I discovered that she was lame, and hobbled very much.