PONGO had no difficulty in taking the right road out of London, for he and Mr. Dearly had done much motoring in their bachelor days and often driven to Suffolk. Mile after mile the two dogs ran through the deserted streets, as the December night grew colder. At last London was left behind and, just before dawn, they reached a village in Epping Forest where they hoped to spend the day.

They had decided they must always travel by night and rest during daylight. For they felt sure Mr. Dearly would advertise their loss and the police would be on the lookout for them. There was far less chance of their being seen and caught by night.

They had barely entered the sleeping village when they heard a quiet bark. The next moment a burly Golden Retriever was greeting them.

Pongo and Missis Pongo, I presume? All arrangements were made for you by Late Twilight Barking. Please follow me.

He led them to an old gabled inn and then under an archway to a cobbled yard.

Please drink here, at my own bowl,€ he said. Food awaits you in your sleeping quarters, but water could not be arranged.€

(For no dog can carry a full water-bowl).

Pongo and Missis had had only one drink since they left home, at an old drinking trough for horses, which had a lower trough for dogs. They now gulped thirstily and gratefully.

My pride as an innkeeper tempts me to offer you one of our best bedrooms,€ said the Golden Retriever. They combine old-world charm with all modern conveniences and no charge for breakfast in bed. But it wouldn’t be wise.

No, indeed,€ said Pongo. We might be discovered.€

Exactly. We are putting you in the safest place any of us could think of. Naturally every dog in the village came to the meeting after the Late Barking when we heard this village was to have the honour of receiving you. Step this way.€

At the far end of the yard were some old stables, and in the last stable of all was a broken-down stagecoach.

Just the right place for Dalmatians,€ said Pongo, smiling, for our ancestors were trained to run behind coaches and carriages. Some people still call us Coach Dogs or Carriage Dogs.€

And your run from London has shown you are worthy of your ancestors, said the Golden Retriever. €When I was a pup we sometimes took this old coach out for the school picnic, but no one has bothered with it for years now. You should be quite safe, and some dogs will always be on guard. In case of sudden alarm, you can go out by the back door of the stable and escape across the fields.

There was a deep bed of straw on the floor of the coach, and neatly laid out on the seat were two magnificent chops, half a dozen iced cakes, and a box of peppermint creams.