to find a dog, but in the next room lived a poor glass-blower with whom he had a slight acquaintance; so he went into the man’s apartment and asked: 

 “Where can I find a dog?” 

 “What sort of a dog?” inquired the glass-blower. 

 “A good dog. One that will bark at people and drive them away. One that will be no trouble to keep and won’t expect to be fed. One that has no fleas and is neat in his habits. One that will obey me when I speak to him. In short, a good dog,” said the wizard. 

 “Such a dog is hard to find,” returned the glass-blower, who was busy making a blue glass flower pot with a pink glass rosebush in it, having green glass leaves and yellow glass roses. 

 The wizard watched him thoughtfully. 

 “Why cannot you blow me a dog out of glass?” he asked, presently. 

 “I can,” declared the glass-blower; “but it would not bark at people, you know.” 

 “Oh, I’ll fix that easily enough,” replied the other. “If I could not make a glass dog bark I would be a mighty poor wizard.” 

 “Very well; if you can use a glass dog I’ll be pleased to blow one for you. Only, you must pay for my work.” 

 “Certainly,” agreed the wizard. “But I have none of that horrid stuff you call money. You must take some of my wares in exchange.” 

 The glass-blower considered the matter for a moment. 

 “Could you give me something to cure my rheumatism?” he asked. 

 “Oh, yes; easily.” 

 “Then it’s a bargain. I’ll start the dog at once. What color of glass shall I use?” 

 “Pink is a pretty color,” said the wizard, “and it’s unusual for a dog, isn’t it?” 

 “Very,” answered the glass-blower; “but it shall be pink.” 

 So the wizard went back to his studies and the glass-blower began to make the dog. 

 Next morning he entered the wizard’s room with the glass dog under his arm and set it carefully upon the table. It was a beautiful pink in color, with a fine coat of spun glass, and about 

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