The next night Jip was called upon for a story. And after thinking a moment he said: "All right, I'll tell you the story of 'The Beggar's Dog.'" And the animals all settled down to listen , because Jip had often told them stories before and they liked his way of telling them.
 
"Some time ago," Jip began, "I knew a dog who was a beggar's dog. We met by chance one day, when a butcher's cart had an accident and got upset. The butcher's boy who was driving the cart was a stupid boy whom all the dogs of that town disliked. So when his cart hit a lamp-post and over-turned, spilling mutton chops and all over the street, we dogs were quickly on the scene and ran off with all his meat before he had time to pick himself up out of the .
 
"It was on this occasion, as I said, that I fell in with the beggar's dog. I found him bolting down the street beside me, with a choice steak flapping merrily around his ears. Myself, I had pinched a string of sausages and the beastly things kept getting up in my legs,—till he came to my rescue and showed me how to coil them up so I could run with them without getting tripped.
 
"After that the beggar's dog and I became great friends. I found that his master had only one leg and was very, very old.
 
"'He's most frightfully poor,' said my friend. 'And he's too old to work, you see—even if he had two legs to get around on. And now he has taken to pavement art. You know what that is—you draw pictures on the pavement in colored chalks and you write under them: "All my own work." And then you sit by the side of them, with your cap in your hand, waiting for people to give you pennies.'
 
"'Oh, yes,' I said, 'I know. I've seen pavement artists before.'
 
"'Well,' said my friend, 'my beggar doesn't get any pennies. And I know the reason why: his pictures aren't good enough—not even for pavement art. Myself, I don't pretend to know much about drawing. But his pictures are just awful—awful. One kind old lady the other day stopped before our stand—wanting to encourage him, you know—and, pointing to one picture, she said, "Oh, what a lovely tree!" The picture was meant to be a lighthouse in the middle of the ocean, with a storm raging around it. That's the kind of an artist my man is. I don't know what to do about him.'
 
"'Well, look here,' I said, 'I have an idea. Since your man can't work for himself, suppose you and I go into the bone-hiring business.'
 
"'What on earth is that?' he asked.
 
"'Well,' I said, 'people hire out bicycles and pianos for rent, don't they? So, why can't you and I rent out bones for dogs to chew? They won't be able to pay us in money of course, so we'll get them to bring us things, instead. Then the beggar can sell the things and get money.'
 
"'That's a good notion,' said he. 'Let's start to-morrow.'"
 
"So the following day we found an empty lot, where people used to dump rubbish, and dug an enormous hole, which was to be our bone shop. Then we went around the back doors of all the richest people's houses early in the morning and picked out the best bones from the garbage cans. We even snatched a few from other dogs who were tied to and couldn't run after us—rather a dirty trick, but we were working in a good cause and were not particular. Then we took all these bones and put them in the hole we had dug. By night we kept them covered up with earth, because we didn't want them stolen—and, besides, some dogs prefer their bones buried a few days before they chew them. It gets them seasoned-like. And then by day we stood over our , calling out to all the dogs that passed by:
 
"'Bones for hire! Beef bones, ham bones, mutton bones, chicken bones! All juicy! Step up, gentlemen, and take your choice! BONES for hire!'
 
"Well, right from the start we did a roaring trade. All the dogs for miles around heard of us and came to hire bones. And we would charge them according to the length of time they wanted to hire them. For instance, you could rent a good ham bone for one day for a candlestick or a hair brush; for three days for a violin or an umbrella. And if you wanted your bone for a whole week you had to bring us a suit of clothes in payment.
 
"Well, for a while our plan worked splendidly. The beggar sold the things that we got in payment from the dogs and he had money to live on.
 
"But we never thought where the dogs might be getting all these things they brought us. The truth is, we didn't bother very much, I'm afraid. Anyway at the end of our first week of brisk trade we noticed a great many people going through the streets as though they were looking for something. And presently these people, seeing our shop in the empty lot, gathered around us, talking to one another. And while they were talking a retriever came up to me with a gold watch and chain in his mouth, which he wanted to exchange for a ham bone.
 
"Well, you should have seen the excitement among the people then! The owner of the watch and chain was there and he raised a terrible row. And then it came out that these dogs had been taking things from their masters' homes to hire bones with. The people were dreadfully annoyed. They closed up our bone shop and put us out of business. But they never discovered that the money we had made had gone to the beggar.
 
"Of course, we hadn't made enough to keep him in comfort for long and very soon he had to become a pavement artist again and was as badly off as he had ever been—and the pictures he drew were worse, if anything, than before.
 
"Now it happened one day, when I was wandering around in the country outside the town, that I met a most spaniel. He passed me with his nose turned up in the air in such a cheeky manner that I said to him, I said: 'What makes you so stuck up?'
 
"'My master has been ordered to paint the portrait of a prince,' he said, putting on no end of .
 
"'Who is your master?' I said. 'Anybody would think you were going to paint the portrait yourself.'
 
"'My master is a very famous artist,' said he.
 
"'What's his name?' I asked.
 
"'George Morland,' said the spaniel.
 
"'George Morland!' I cried. 'Is he in these parts now?'
 
"'Yes,' said the spaniel. 'We are staying at The Royal George. My master is painting some pictures of the country and next week he is going back to London to commence on the portrait of the prince.'
 
"Now, it happened that I had met this George Morland, who was, and is still, perhaps the most famous painter of farm-life pictures the world has ever known. I am proud to be able to say that I knew him. He was especially good at painting horses in stables, pigs in stys, roosters and dogs hanging around kitchen doors, and things like that.
 
"So, without letting the spaniel see that I was following him, I went after him, to see where he was going.
 
"He led me to a lonely old farm out on the hills. And there, myself in some bushes, I watched the great Morland paintin............