BEAUTIFUL JOE

By Marshall Saunders

 Beautiful Joe an Autobiography By Marshall Saunders With an Introduction By Hezekiah Butterworth Of Youth's Companion Philadelphia

 To George Thorndike Angell President of the American Humane Education Society The Massachusetts Society for the Prevention Of Cruelty to Animals, and the Parent American Band of Mercy 19 Milk St. , Boston. This Book Is Respectfully Dedicated By the Author

PREFACE

BEAUTIFUL JOE is a real dog, and "Beautiful Joe" is his real name. He belonged during the first part of his life to a cruel master, whomutilated him in the manner described in the story. He was rescued fromhim, and is now living in a happy home with pleasant surroundings, andenjoys a wide local celebrity. 

The character of Laura is drawn from life, and to the smallest detailis truthfully depicted. The Morris family has its counterparts in reallife, and nearly all of the incidents of the story are founded on fact. 

THE AUTHOR. 

INTRODUCTION

The wonderfully successful book, entitled "Black Beauty, " came like aliving voice out of the animal kingdom. But it spake for the horse, andmade other books necessary; it led the way. After the ready welcome thatit received, and the good it has accomplished and is doing, it followsnaturally that some one should be inspired to write a book to interpretthe life of a dog to the humane feeling of the world. Such a story wehave in "Beautiful Joe. "

The story speaks not for the dog alone, but for the whole animalkingdom. Through it we enter the animal world, and are made to see asanimals see, and to feel as animals feel. The sympathetic sight of theauthor, in this interpretation, is ethically the strong feature of thebook. 

Such books as this is one of the needs of our progressive system ofeducation. The day-school, the Sunday-school, and all libraries for theyoung, demand the influence that shall teach the reader how to live insympathy with the animal world; how to understand the languages of thecreatures that we have long been accustomed to call "dumb, " and the signlanguage of the lower orders of these dependent beings. The church owesit to her mission to preach and to teach the enforcement of the "bird'snest commandment;" the principle recognized by Moses in the Hebrewworld, and echoed by Cowper in English poetry, and Burns in the "MeadowMouse, " and by our own Longfellow in songs of many keys. 

Kindness to the animal kingdom is the first, or a first principle inthe growth of true philanthropy. Young Lincoln once waded acrossa half-frozen river to rescue a dog, and stopped in a walk with astatesman to put back a bird that had fallen out of its nest. Sucha heart was trained to be a leader of men, and to be crucified for acause. The conscience that runs to the call of an animal in distress isgirding itself with power to do manly work in the world. 

The story of "Beautiful Joe" awakens an intense interest, and sustainsit through a series of vivid incidents and episodes, each of which isa lesson. The story merits the widest circulation, and the universalreading and response accorded to "Black Beauty. " To circulate it isto do good, to help the human heart as well as the creatures of quickfeelings and simple language. 

When, as one of the committee to examine the manuscripts offered forprizes to the Humane Society, I read the story, I felt that the writerhad a higher motive than to compete for a prize; that the story was astream of sympathy that flowed from the heart; that it was genuine;that it only needed a publisher who should be able to command a wideinfluence, to make its merits known, to give it a strong educationalmission. 

I am pleased that the manuscript has found such a publisher, and am surethat the issue of the story will honor the Publication Society. In thedevelopment of the book, I believe that the humane cause has stood aboveany speculative thought or interest. The book comes because it is calledfor; the times demand it. I think that the publishers have a right toask for a little unselfish service on the part of the public in helpingto give it a circulation commensurate with its opportunity, need, andinfluence. 

HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH. 

(Of the committee of readers of the prize stories offered to the HumaneSociety. )

BOSTON, MASS

CONTENTS

 Chapter I. ONLY A CUR Chapter II. THE CRUEL MILKMAN Chapter III. MY KIND DELIVERER AND MISS LAURA Chapter IV. THE MORRIS BOYS ADD TO MY NAME Chapter V. MY NEW HOME AND A SELFISH LADY Chapter VI. THE FOX TERRIER BILLY Chapter VII. TRAINING A PUPPY Chapter VIII. A RUINED DOG Chapter IX. THE PARROT BELLA Chapter X. BILLY'S TRAINING CONTINUED Chapter XI. GOLDFISH AND CANARIES Chapter XII. MALTA THE CAT Chapter XIII. THE BEGINNING OF AN ADVENTURE Chapter XIV. HOW WE CAUGHT THE BURGLAR Chapter XV. OUR JOURNEY TO RIVERDALE Chapter XVI. DINGLEY FARM Chapter XVII. MR. WOOD AND HIS HORSES Chapter XVIII. MRS. WOOD'S POULTRY Chapter XIX. A BAND OF MERCY Chapter XX. STORIES ABOUT ANIMALS Chapter XXI. MR. MAXWELL AND MR. HARRY Chapter XXII. WHAT HAPPENED AT THE TEA TABLE Chapter XXIII. TRAPPING WILD ANIMALS Chapter XXIV. THE RABBIT AND THE HEN Chapter XXV. A HAPPY HORSE Chapter XXVI. THE BOX OF MONEY Chapter XXVII. A NEGLECTED STABLE Chapter XXVIII. THE END OF THE ENGLISHMAN Chapter XXIX. A TALK ABOUT SHEEP Chapter XXX. A JEALOUS OX Chapter XXXI. IN THE COW STABLE Chapter XXXII. OUR RETURN HOME Chapter XXXIII. PERFORMING ANIMALS Chapter XXXIV. A FIRE IN FAIRPORT Chapter XXXV. BILLY AND THE ITALIAN Chapter XXXVI. DANDY THE TRAMP Chapter XXXVII. THE END OF MY STORY

BEAUTIFUL JOE

CHAPTER I ONLY A CUR

MY name is Beautiful Joe, and I am a brown dog of medium size. I am notcalled Beautiful Joe because I am a beauty. Mr. Morris, the clergyman, in whose family I have lived for the last twelve years, says that hethinks I must be called Beautiful Joe for the same reason that hisgrandfather, down South, called a very ugly colored slave-lad Cupid, andhis mother Venus. 

I do not know what he means by that, but when he says it, people alwayslook at me and smile. I know that I am not beautiful, and I know that Iam not a thoroughbred. I am only a cur. 

When my mistress went every year to register me and pay my tax, and theman in the office asked what breed I was, she said part fox-terrier andpart bull-terrier; but he always put me down a cur. I don't think sheliked having him call me a cur; still, I have heard her say that shepreferred curs, for they have more character than well-bred dogs. Herfather said that she liked ugly dogs for the same reason that a noblemanat the court of a certain king did namely, that no one else would. 

I am an old dog now, and am writing, or rather getting a friend towrite, the story of my life. I have seen my mistress laughing and cryingover a little book that she says is a story of a horse's life, andsometimes she puts the book down close to my nose to let me see thepictures. 

I love my dear mistress; I can say no more than that; I love her betterthan any one else in the world; and I think it will please her if Iwrite the story of a dog's life. She loves dumb animals, and it alwaysgrieves her to see them treated cruelly. 

I have heard her say that if all the boys and girls in the world wereto rise up and say that there should be no more cruelty to animals, theycould put a stop to it. Perhaps it will help a little if I tell a story. I am fond of boys and girls, and though I have seen many cruel men andwomen, I have seen few cruel children. I think the more stories thereare written about dumb animals, the better it will be for us. 

In telling my story, I think I had better begin at the first and comeright on to the end. I was born in a stable on the outskirts of a smalltown in Maine called Fairport. The first thing I remember was lyingclose to my mother and being very snug and warm. The next thing Iremember was being always hungry. I had a number of brothers and sisterssix in all and my mother never had enough milk for us. She was alwayshalf starved herself, so she could not feed us properly. 

I am very unwilling to say much about my early life. I have lived solong in a family where there is never a harsh word spoken, and whereno one thinks of ill-treating anybody or anything; that it seems almostwrong even to think or speak of such a matter as hurting a poor dumbbeast. 

The man that owned my mother was a milkman. He kept one horse and threecows, and he had a shaky old cart that he used to put his milk cans in. I don't think there can be a worse man in the world than that milkman. It makes me shudder now to think of him. His name was Jenkins, and I amglad to think that he is getting punished now for his cruelty to poordumb animals and to human beings. If you think it is wrong that I amglad, you must remember that I am only a dog. 

The first notice that he took of me when I was a little puppy, just ableto stagger about, was to give me a kick that sent me into a corner ofthe stable. He used to beat and starve my mother. I have seen him usehis heavy whip to punish her till her body was covered with blood. WhenI got older I asked her why she did not run away. She said she did notwish to; but I soon found out that the reason she did not run away, wasbecause she loved Jenkins. Cruel and savage as he was, she yet lovedhim, and I believe she would have laid down her life for him. 

Now that I am old, I know that there are more men in the world likeJenkins. They are not crazy, they are not drunkards; they simply seem tobe possessed with a spirit of wickedness. There are well-to-do people, yes, and rich people, who will treat animals, and even little children, with such terrible cruelty, that one cannot even mention the things thatthey are guilty of. 

One reason for Jenkins' cruelty was his idleness. After he went hisrounds in the morning with his milk cans, he had nothing to do till latein the afternoon but take care of his stable and yard. If he had keptthem neat, and groomed his horse, and cleaned the cows, and dug up thegarden, it would have taken up all his time; but he never tidied theplace at all, till his yard and stable got so littered up with things hethrew down that he could not make his way about. 

His house and stable stood in the middle of a large field, and they wereat some distance from the road. Passers-by could not see how untidy theplace was. Occasionally, a man came to look at the premises, and seethat they were in good order, but Jenkins always knew when to expecthim, and had things cleaned up a little. 

I used to wish that some of the people that took milk from him wouldcome and look at his cows. In the spring and summer he drove them outto pasture, but during the winter they stood all the time in the dirty, dark stable, where the chinks in the wall were so big that the snowswept through almost in drifts. The ground was always muddy and wet;there was only one small window on the north side, where the sun onlyshone in for a short time in the afternoon. 

They were very unhappy cows, but they stood patiently and nevercomplained, though sometimes I know they must have nearly frozen in thebitter winds that blew through the stable on winter nights. They werelean and poor, and were never in good health. Besides being cold theywere fed on very poor food. 

Jenkins used to come home nearly every afternoon with a great tub inthe back of his cart that was full of what he called "peelings. " It waskitchen stuff that he asked the cooks at the different houses where hedelivered milk, to save for him. They threw rotten vegetables, fruitparings, and scraps from the table into a tub, and gave them to him atthe end of a few days. A sour, nasty mess it always was, and not fit togive any creature. 

Sometimes, when he had not many "peelings, " he would go to town and geta load of decayed vegetables, that grocers were glad to have him takeoff their hands. 

This food, together with poor hay, made the cows give very poor milk, and Jenkins used to put some white powder in it, to give it "body, " ashe said. 

Once a very sad thing happened about the milk, that no one knew aboutbut Jenkins and his wife. She was a poor, unhappy creature, veryfrightened at her husband, and not daring to speak much to him. She wasnot a clean woman, and I never saw a worse-looking house than she kept. 

She used to do very queer things, that I know now no housekeeper shoulddo. I have seen her catch up the broom to pound potatoes in the pot. Shepounded with the handle, and the broom would fly up and down in theair, dropping dust into the pot where the potatoes were. Her pan ofsoft-mixed bread she often left uncovered in the kitchen, and sometimesthe hens walked in and sat in it. 

The children used to play in mud puddles about the door. It was theyoungest of them that sickened with some kind of fever early in thespring, before Jenkins began driving the cows out to pasture. The childwas very ill, and Mrs. Jenkins wanted to send for a doctor, but herhusband would not let her. They made a bed in the kitchen, close to thestove, and Mrs. Jenkins nursed the child as best she could. She did allher work near by, and I saw her several times wiping the child's facewith the cloth that she used for washing her milk pans. 

Nobody knew outside the family that the little girl was ill. Jenkins hadsuch a bad name, that none of the neighbors would visit them. By-and-bythe child got well, and a week or two later Jenkins came home with quitea frightened face, and told his wife that the husband of one of hiscustomers was very ill with typhoid fever. 

After a time the gentleman died, and the cook told Jenkins that thedoctor wondered how he could have taken the fever, for there was not acase in town. 

There was a widow left with three orphans, and they never knew thatthey had to blame a dirty careless milkman for taking a kind husband andfather from them. 

CHAPTER II THE CRUEL MILKMAN

I HAVE said that Jenkins spent most of his days in idleness. He had tostart out very early in the morning, in order to supply his customerswith milk for breakfast. Oh, how ugly he used to be, when he came intothe stable on cold winter mornings, before the sun was up. 

He would hang his lantern on a hook, and get his milking stool, and ifthe cows did not step aside just to suit him, he would seize a broom orfork, and beat them cruelly. 

My mother and I slept on a heap of straw in the corner of the stable, and when she heard his step in the morning she always roused me, so thatwe could run out-doors as soon as he opened the stable door. He alwaysaimed a kick at us as we passed, but my mother taught me how to dodgehim. 

After he finished milking, he took the pails of milk up to the housefor Mrs. Jenkins to strain and put in the cans, and he came back andharnessed his horse to the cart. His horse was called Toby, and a poor, miserable, broken-down creature he was. He was weak in the knees, andweak in the back, and weak all over, and Jenkins had to beat him all thetime, to make him go. He had been a cab horse, and his mouth had beenjerked, and twisted, and sawed at, till one would think there could beno feeling left in it; still I have seen him wince and curl up his lipwhen Jenkins thrust in the frosty bit on a winter's morning. 

Poor old Toby! I used to lie on my straw some times and wonder he didnot cry out with pain. Cold and half starved he always was in the wintertime, and often with raw sores on his body that Jenkins would tryto hide by putting bits of cloth under the harness. But Toby nevermurmured, and he never tried to kick and bite, and he minded the leastword from Jenkins, and if he swore at him Toby would start back, or stepup quickly, he was so anxious to please him. 

After Jenkins put him in the cart, and took in the cans, he set out onhis rounds. My mother, whose name was Jess, always went with him. I usedto ask her why she followed such a brute of a man, and she would hangher head, and say that sometimes she got a bone from the differenthouses they stopped at. But that was not the whole reason. She likedJenkins so much, that she wanted to be with him. 

I had not her sweet and patient disposition, and I would not go withher. I watched her out of sight, and then ran up to the house to see ifMrs. Jenkins had any scraps for me. I nearly always got something, forshe pitied me, and often gave me a kind word or look with the bits offood that she threw to me. 

When Jenkins come home, I often coaxed mother to run about and see someof the neighbors' dogs with me. But she never would, and I would notleave her. So, from morning to night we had to sneak about, keepingout of Jenkins' way as much as we could, and yet trying to keep him insight. He always sauntered about with a pipe in his mouth, and his handsin his pockets, growling first at his wife and children, and then at hisdumb creatures. 

I have not told what became of my brothers and sisters. One rainy day, when we were eight weeks old, Jenkins, followed by two or three of hisragged, dirty children, came into the stable and looked at us. Thenhe began to swear because we were so ugly, and said if we had beengood-looking, he might have sold some of us. Mother watched himanxiously, and fearing some danger to her puppies, ran and jumped in themiddle of us, and looked pleadingly up at him. 

It only made him swear the more. He took one pup after another, andright there, before his children and my poor distracted mother, putan end to their lives. Some of them he seized by the legs and knockedagainst the stalls, till their brains were dashed out, others he killedwith a fork. It was very terrible. My mother ran up and down the stable, screaming with pain, and I lay weak and trembling, and expecting everyinstant that my turn would come next. I don't know why he spared me. Iwas the only one left. 

His children cried, and he sent them out of the stable and went outhimself. Mother picked up all the puppies and brought them to our nestin the straw and licked them, and tried to bring them back to life; butit was of no use, they were quite dead. We had them in our corner ofthe stable for some days, till Jenkins discovered them, and swearinghorribly at us, he took his stable fork and threw them out in the yard, and put some earth over them. 

My mother never seemed the same after this. She was weak and miserable, and though she was only four years old, she seemed like an old dog. Thiswas on account of the poor food she had been fed on. She could not runafter Jenkins, and she lay on our heap of straw, only turning over withher nose the scraps of food I brought her to eat. One day she licked megently, wagged her tail, and died. 

As I sat by her, feeling lonely and miserable. Jenkins came into thestable. I could not bear to look at him. He had killed my mother. Thereshe lay, a little, gaunt, scarred creature, starved and worried to deathby him. Her mouth was half open, her eyes were staring. She would neveragain look kindly at me, or curl up to me at night to keep me warm. Oh, how I hated her murderer! But I sat quietly, even when he went up andturned her over with his foot to see if she was really dead. I think hewas a little sorry, for he turned scornfully toward me and said, "Shewas worth two of you; why didn't you go instead?"

Still I kept quiet till he walked up to me and kicked at me. My heartwas nearly broken, and I could stand no more. I flew at him and gave hima savage bite on the ankle. 

"Oho, " he said, "so you are going to be a fighter, are you? I'll fix youfor that. " His face was red and furious. He seized me by the back ofthe neck and carried me out to the yard where a log lay on the ground. "Bill, " he called to one of his children, "bring me the hatchet. "

He laid my head on the log and pressed one hand on my struggling body. I was now a year old and a full-sized dog. There was a quick, dreadfulpain, and he had cut off my ear, not in the way they cut puppies' ears, but close to my head, so close that he cut off some of the skin beyondit. Then he cut off the other ear, and, turning me swiftly round, cutoff my tail close to my body. 

Then he let me go and stood looking at me as I rolled on the ground andyelped in agony. He was in such a passion that he did not think thatpeople passing by on the road might hear me. 

CHAPTER III. MY KIND DELIVERER AND MISS LAURA

THERE was a young man going by on a bicycle. He heard my screams, andspringing off his bicycle, came hurrying up the path, and stood among usbefore Jenkins caught sight of him. 

In the midst of my pain, I heard him say fiercely, "What have you beendoing to that dog?"

"I've been cuttin' his ears for fightin', my young gentleman, " saidJenkins. "There is no law to prevent that, is there?"

"And there is no law to prevent my giving you a beating, " said the youngman angrily. In a trice he had seized Jenkins by the throat and waspounding him with all his might. Mrs. Jenkins came and stood at thehouse door crying, but making no effort to help her husband. 

"Bring me a towel, " the young man cried to her, after he had stretchedJenkins, bruised and frightened, on the ground. She snatched off herapron and ran down with it, and the young man wrapped me in it, andtaking me carefully in his arms, walked down the path to the gate. Therewere some little boys standing there, watching him, their mouths wideopen with astonishment. "Sonny, " he said to the largest of them, "if youwill come behind and carry this dog, I will give you a quarter. "

The boy took me, and we set out. I was all smothered up in a cloth, andmoaning with pain, but still I looked out occasionally to see which waywe were going. We took the road to the town and stopped in front of ahouse on Washington Street. The young man leaned his bicycle up againstthe house, took a quarter from his pocket and put it in the boy's hand, and lifting me gently in his arms, went up a lane leading to the back ofthe house. 

There was a small stable there. He went into it, put me down on thefloor and uncovered my body. Some boys were playing about the stable, and I heard them say, in horrified tones, "Oh, Cousin Harry, what is thematter with that dog?"

"Hush, " he said. "Don't make a fuss. You, Jack, go down to the kitchenand ask Mary for a basin of warm water and a sponge, and don't let yourmother or Laura hear you. "

A few minutes later, the young man had bathed my bleeding ears and tail, and had rubbed something on them that was cool and pleasant, and hadbandaged them firmly with strips of cotton. I felt much better and wasable to look about me. 

I was in a small stable, that was evidently not used for a stable, butmore for a play-room. There were various kinds of toys scatteredabout, and a swing and bar, such as boys love to twist about on; in twodifferent corners. In a box against the wall was a guinea pig, lookingat me in an interested way. This guinea pig's name was Jeff, and he andI became good friends. A long-haired French rabbit was hopping about, and a tame white rat was perched on the shoulder of one of the boys, and kept his foothold there, no matter how suddenly the boy moved. Therewere so many boys, and the stable was so small, that I suppose he wasafraid he would get stepped on if he went on the floor. He staredhard at me with his little, red eyes, and never even glanced at aqueer-looking, gray cat that was watching me, too, from her bed in theback of the vacant horse stall. Out in the sunny yard, some pigeons werepecking at grain, and a spaniel lay asleep in a corner. 

I had never seen anything like this before, and my wonder at it almostdrove the pain away. Mother and I always chased rats and birds, and oncewe killed a kitten. While I was puzzling over it, one of the boys criedout, "Here is Laura!"

"Take that rag out of the way, " said Mr. Harry, kicking aside the oldapron I had been wrapped in, and that was stained with my blood. One ofthe boys stuffed it into a barrel, and then they all looked toward thehouse. 

A young girl, holding up one hand to shade her eyes from the sun, wascoming up the walk that led from the house to the stable. I thought thenthat I never had seen such a beautiful girl, and I think so still. Shewas tall and slender, and had lovely brown eyes and brown hair, and asweet smile, and just to look at her was enough to make one love her. Istood in the stable door, staring at her with all my might. 

"Why, what a funny dog, " she said, and stopped short to looked at me. Upto this, I had not thought what a queer-looking sight I must be. Now Itwisted round my head, saw the white bandage on my tail, and knowing Iwas not a fit spectacle for a pretty young lady like that, I slunk intoa corner. 

"Poor doggie, have I hurt your feelings?" she said, and with a sweetsmile at the boys, she passed by them and came up to the guinea pig'sbox, behind which I had taken refuge. "What is the matter with yourhead, good dog?" she said, curiously, as she stooped over me. 

"He has a cold in it, " said one of the boys with a laugh; "so we put anightcap on. " She drew back, and turned very pale. "Cousin Harry, thereare drops of blood on this cotton. Who has hurt this dog?"

"Dear Laura, " and the young man coming up, laid his hand on hershoulder, "he got hurt, and I have been bandaging him. "

"Who hurt him?"

"I had rather not tell you. "

"But I wish to know. " Her voice was as gentle as ever, but she spoke sodecidedly that the young man was obliged to tell her everything. All thetime he was speaking, she kept touching me gently with her fingers. When he had finished his account of rescuing me from Jenkins, she said, quietly:

"You will have the man punished?"

"What is the use? That won't stop him from being cruel. "

"It will put a check on his cruelty. "

"I don't think it would do any good, " said the young man, doggedly. 

"Cousin Harry!" and the young girl stood up very straight and tall, herbrown eyes flashing, and one hand pointing at me; "will you let thatpass? That animal has been wronged, it looks to you to right it. Thecoward who has maimed it for life should be punished. A child has avoice to tell its wrong a poor, dumb creature must suffer in silence;in bitter, bitter silence. And, " eagerly, as the young man tried tointerrupt her, "you are doing the man himself an injustice. If he is badenough to ill-treat his dog, he will ill-treat his wife and children. Ifhe is checked and punished now for his cruelty, he may reform. And evenif his wicked heart is not changed, he will be obliged to treat themwith outward kindness, through fear of punishment. "

The young man looked convinced, and almost as ashamed as if he had beenthe one to crop my ears. "What do you want me to do?" he said, slowly, and looking sheepishly at the boys who were staring open-mouthed at himand the young girl. 

The girl pulled a little watch from her belt. "I want you to report thatman immediately. It is now five o'clock. I will go down to the policestation with you, if you like. "

"Very well, " he said, his face brightening, and together they went offto the house. 

CHAPTER IV THE MORRIS BOYS ADD TO MY NAME

THE boys watched them out of sight, then one of them, whose name Iafterward learned was Jack, and who came next to Miss Laura in age, gavea low whistle and said, "Doesn't the old lady come out strong when anyone or anything gets abused? I'll never forget the day she found mesetting Jim on that black cat of the Wilsons. She scolded me, and thenshe cried, till I didn't know where to look. Plague on it, how was Igoing to know he'd kill the old cat? I only wanted to drive it out ofthe yard. Come on, let's look at the dog. "

They all came and bent over me, as I lay on the floor in my corner. Iwasn't much used to boys, and I didn't know how they would treat me. ButI soon found by the way they handled me and talked to me, that they knewa good deal about dogs, and were accustomed to treat them kindly. Itseemed very strange to have them pat me, and call me "good dog. " No onehad ever said that to me before to-day. 

"He's not much of a beauty, is he?" said one of the boys, whom theycalled Tom. 

"Not by a long shot, " said Jack Morris, with a laugh. "Not any nearerthe beauty mark than yourself, Tom. "

Tom flew at him, and they had a scuffle. The other boys paid noattention to them, but went on looking at me. One of them, a little boywith eyes like Miss Laura's, said, "What did Cousin Harry say the dog'sname was?"

"Joe, " answered another boy. "The little chap that carried him home toldhim. "

"We might call him 'Ugly Joe' then, " said a lad with a round, fat face, and laughing eyes. I wondered very much who this boy was, and, later on, I found out that he was another of Miss Laura's brothers, and his namewas Ned. There seemed to be no end to the Morris boys. 

"I don't think Laura would like that, " said Jack Morris, suddenly comingup behind him. He was very hot, and was breathing fast, but his mannerwas as cool as if he had never left the group about me. He had beatenTom, who was sitting on a box, ruefully surveying a hole in his jacket. "You see, " he went on, gaspingly, "if you call him 'Ugly Joe, ' herladyship will say that you are wounding the dear dog's feelings. 'Beautiful Joe, ' would be more to her liking. "

A shout went up from the boys. I didn't wonder that they laughed. Plain-looking I naturally was; but I must have been hideous in thosebandages. 

"'Beautiful Joe, ' then let it be!" they cried, "Let us go and tellmother, and ask her to give us something for our beauty to eat. "

They all trooped out of the stable, and I was very sorry, for when theywere with me, I did not mind so much the tingling in my ears, and theterrible pain in my back. They soon brought me some nice food, but Icould not touch it, so they went away to their play, and I lay in thebox they put me in, trembling with pain, and wishing that the prettyyoung lady was there, to stroke me with her gentle fingers. 

By-and-by it got dark. The boys finished their play, and went into thehouse, and I saw lights twinkling in the windows. I felt lonely andmiserable in this strange place. I would not have gone back to Jenkins'for the world, still it was the only home I had known, and though I feltthat I should be happy here, I had not yet gotten used to the change. Then the pain all through my body was dreadful. My head seemed to be onfire, and there were sharp, darting pains up and down my backbone. Idid not dare to howl, lest I should make the big dog, Jim, angry. He wassleeping in a kennel, out in the yard. 

The stable was very quiet. Up in the loft above, some rabbits that I hadheard running about had now gone to sleep. The guinea pig was nestlingin the corner of his box, and the cat and the tame rat had scamperedinto the house long ago. 

At last I could bear the pain no longer. I sat up in my box and lookedabout me. I felt as if I was going to die, and, though I was very weak, there was something inside me that made me feel as if I wanted to crawlaway somewhere out of sight. I slunk out into the yard, and along thestable wall, where there was a thick clump of raspberry bushes. I creptin among them and lay down in the damp earth. I tried to scratch off mybandages, but they were fastened on too firmly, and I could not do it. I thought about my poor mother, and wished she was here to lick my soreears. Though she was so unhappy herself, she never wanted to see mesuffer. If I had not disobeyed her, I would not now be suffering so muchpain. She had told me again and again not to snap at Jenkins, for itmade him worse. 

In the midst of my trouble I heard a soft voice calling, "Joe! Joe!" Itwas Miss Laura's voice, but I felt as if there were weights on my paws, and I could not go to her. 

"Joe! Joe!" she said, again. She was going up the walk to the stable, holding up a lighted lamp in her hand. She had on a white dress, and Iwatched her till she disappeared in the stable. She did not stay long inthere. She came out and stood on the gravel. "Joe, Joe, Beautiful Joe, where are you? You are hiding somewhere, but I shall find you. " Then shecame right to the spot where I was. "Poor doggie, " she said, stoopingdown and patting me. "Are you very miserable, and did you crawl away todie? I have had dogs do that before, but I am not going to let you die, Joe. " And she set her lamp on the ground, and took me in her arms. 

I was very thin then, not nearly so fat as I am now, still I was quitean armful for her. But she did not seem to find me heavy. She took meright into the house, through the back door, and down a long flight ofsteps, across a hall, and into a snug kitchen. 

"For the land sakes, Miss Laura, " said a woman who was bending over astove, "what have you got there?"

"A poor sick dog, Mary, " said Miss Laura seating herself on a chair. "Will you please warm a little milk for him? And have you a box or abasket down here that he can lie in?"

"I guess so, " said the woman; "but he's awful dirty; you're not going tolet him sleep in the house, are you?"

"Only for to-night. He is very ill. A dreadful thing happened to him, Mary. " And Miss Laura went on to tell her how my ears had been cut off. 

"Oh, that's the dog the boys were talking about, " said the woman. "Poorcreature, he's welcome to all I can do for him. " She opened a closetdoor, and brought out a box, and folded a piece of blanket for me to lieon. Then she heated some milk in a saucepan, and poured it in a saucer, and watched me while Miss Laura went upstairs to get a little bottleof something that would make me sleep. They poured a few drops of thismedicine into the milk and offered it to me. I lapped a little, but Icould not finish it, even though Miss Laura coaxed me very gently to doso. She dipped her finger in the milk and held it out to me and though Idid not want it, I could not be ungrateful enough to refuse to lick herfinger as often as she offered it to me. After the milk was gone, Marylifted up my box, and carried me into the washroom that was off thekitchen. 

I soon fell sound asleep, and could not rouse myself through the night, even though I both smelled and heard some one coming near me severaltimes. The next morning I found out that it was Miss Laura. Wheneverthere was a sick animal in the house, no matter if it was only the tamerat, she would get up two or three times in the night, to see if therewas anything she could do to make it more comfortable. 

CHAPTER V MY NEW HOME AND A SELFISH LADY

I DON'T believe that a dog could have fallen into a happier home than Idid. In a week, thanks to good nursing, good food, and kind words, I wasalmost well. Mr. Harry washed and dressed my sore ears and tail everyday till he went home, and one day, he and the boys gave me a bath outin the stable. They carried out a tub of warm water and stood me in it. I had never been washed before in my life and it felt very queer. MissLaura stood by laughing and encouraging me not to mind the streams ofwater trickling all over me. I couldn't help wondering what Jenkinswould have said if he could have seen me in that tub. 

That reminds me to say, that two days after I arrived at the Morrises', Jack, followed by all the other boys, came running into the stable. He had a newspaper in his hand, and with a great deal of laughing andjoking, read this to me:

"Fairport Daily News, June 3d. In the police court this morning, JamesJenkins, for cruelly torturing and mutilating a dog, fined ten dollarsand costs. "

Then he said, "What do you think of that, Joe? Five dollars apiece foryour ears and your tail thrown in. That's all they're worth in the eyesof the law. Jenkins has had his fun and you'll go through life worthabout three-quarters of a dog. I'd lash rascals like that. Tie themup and flog them till they were scarred and mutilated a little bitthemselves. Just wait till I'm president. But there's some more, oldfellow. Listen: 'Our reporter visited the house of the above-mentionedJenkins, and found a most deplorable state of affairs. The house, yardand stable were indescribably filthy. His horse bears the marks ofill-usage, and is in an emaciated condition. His cows are plastered upwith mud and filth, and are covered with vermin. Where is our healthinspector, that he does not exercise a more watchful supervision overestablishments of this kind? To allow milk from an unclean placelike this to be sold in the town, is endangering the health of itsinhabitants. Upon inquiry, it was found that the man Jenkins bears avery bad character. Steps are being taken to have his wife and childrenremoved from him. '"

Jack threw the paper into my box, and he and the other boys gave threecheers for the Daily News and then ran away. How glad I was! It did notmatter so much for me, for I had escaped him, but now that it had beenfound out what a cruel man he was, there would be a restraint upon him, and poor Toby and the cows would have a happier time. 

I was going to tell about the Morris family. There were Mr. Morris, whowas a clergyman and preached in a church in Fairport; Mrs. Morris, hiswife; Miss Laura, who was the eldest of the family; then Jack, Ned, Carl, and Willie. I think one reason why they were such a good familywas because Mrs. Morris was such a good woman. She loved her husband andchildren, and did everything she could to make them happy. 

Mr. Morris was a very busy man and rarely interfered in householdaffairs. Mrs. Morris was the one who said what was to be done and whatwas not to be done. Even then, when I was a young dog, I used to thinkthat she was very wise. There was never any noise or confusion in thehouse, and though there was a great deal of work to be done, everythingwent on smoothly and pleasantly, and no one ever got angry and scoldedas they did in the Jenkins family. 

Mrs. Morris was very particular about money matters. Whenever theboys came to her for money to get such things as candy and ice cream, expensive toys, and other things that boys often crave, she asked themwhy they wanted them. If it was for some selfish reason, she said, firmly: "No, my children; we are not rich people, and we must save ourmoney for your education. I cannot buy you foolish things. "

If they asked her for money for books or something to make their petanimals more comfortable, or for their outdoor games, she gave it tothem willingly. Her ideas about the bringing up of children I cannotexplain as clearly as she can herself, so I will give part of aconversation that she had with a lady who was calling on her shortlyafter I came to Washington Street. 

I happened to be in the house at the time. Indeed, I used to spend thegreater part of my time in the house. Jack one day looked at me, andexclaimed: "Why does that dog stalk about, first after one and thenafter another, looking at us with such solemn eyes?"

I wished that I could speak to tell him that I had so long been used toseeing animals kicked about and trodden upon, that I could not get usedto the change. It seemed too good to be true. I could scarcely believethat dumb animals had rights; but while it lasted, and human beingswere so kind to me, I wanted to be with them all the time. Miss Lauraunderstood. She drew my head up to her lap, and put her face down to me:"You like to be with us, don't you, Joe? Stay in the house as much asyou like. Jack doesn't mind, though he speaks so sharply. When you gettired of us go out in the garden and have a romp with Jim. "

But I must return to the conversation I referred to. It was one fineJune day, and Mrs. Morris was sewing in a rocking-chair by the window. Iwas beside her, sitting on a hassock, so that I could look out into thestreet. Dogs love variety and excitement, and like to see what is goingon outdoors as well as human beings. A carriage drove up to the door, and a finely-dressed lady got out and came up the steps. 

Mrs. Morris seemed glad to see her, and called her Mrs. Montague. Iwas pleased with her, for she had some kind of perfume about her that Iliked to smell. So I went and sat on the hearth rug quite near her. 

They had a little talk about things I did not understand and then thelady's eyes fell on me. She looked at me through a bit of glass that washanging by a chain from her neck, and pulled away her beautiful dresslest I should touch it. 

I did not care any longer for the perfume, and went away and sat verystraight and stiff at Mrs. Morris' feet. The lady's eyes still followedme. 

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Morris, " she said, "but that is a veryqueer-looking dog you have there. "

"Yes, " said Mrs. Morris, quietly; "he is not a handsome dog. "

"And he is a new one, isn't he?" said Mrs. Montague. 

"Yes. "

"And that makes. "

"Two dogs, a cat, fifteen or twenty rabbits, a rat, about a dozencanaries, and two dozen goldfish, I don't know how many pigeons, a fewbantams, a guinea pig, and well, I don't think there is anything more. "

They both laughed, and Mrs. Montague said: "You have quite a menagerie. My father would never allow one of his children to keep a pet animal. He said it would make his girls rough and noisy to romp about the housewith cats, and his boys would look like rowdies if they went about withdogs at their heels. "

"I have never found that it made my children more rough to play withtheir pets, " said Mrs. Morris. 

"No, I should think not, " said the lady, languidly. "Your boys are themost gentlemanly lads in Fairport, and as for Laura, she is a perfectlittle lady. I like so much to have them come and see Charlie. They wakehim up, and yet don't make him naughty. "

"They enjoyed their last visit very much, " said Mrs. Morris. "By theway, I have heard them talking about getting Charlie a dog. "

"Oh!" cried the lady, with a little shudder, "beg them not to. I cannotsanction that. I hate dogs. "

"Why do you hate them?" asked Mrs. Morris gently. 

"They are such dirty things; they always smell and have vermin on them. "

"A dog, " said Mrs. Morris, "is something like a child. If you want itclean and pleasant, you have got to keep it so. This dog's skin is asclean as yours or mine. Hold still, Joe, " and she brushed the hair on myback the wrong way, and showed Mrs. Montague how pink and free from dustmy skin was. 

Mrs. Montague looked at me more kindly, and even held out the tips ofher fingers to me. I did not lick them. I only smelled them, and shedrew her hand back again. 

"You have never been brought in contact with the lower creation as Ihave, " said Mrs. Morris; "just let me tell you, in a few words, what ahelp dumb animals have been to me in the up-bringing of my childrenmy boys, especially. When I was a young married woman, going about theslums of New York with my husband, I used to come home and look at mytwo babies as they lay in their little cots, and say to him, 'What arewe going to do to keep these children from selfishness the curse of theworld?'

"'Get them to do something for somebody outside themselves, ' he alwayssaid. And I have tried to act on that principle. Laura is naturallyunselfish. With her tiny, baby fingers, she would take food from her ownmouth and put it into Jack's, if we did not watch her. I have neverhad any trouble with her. But the boys were born selfish, tiresomely, disgustingly selfish. They were good boys in many ways. As they grewolder they were respectful, obedient, they were not untidy, and notparticularly rough, but their one thought was for themselves each onefor himself, and they used to quarrel with each other in regard to theirrights. While we were in New York, we had only a small, back yard. Whenwe came here, I said, 'I am going to try an experiment. ' We got thishouse because it had a large garden, and a stable that would do forthe boys to play in. Then I got them together, and had a little serioustalk. I said I was not pleased with the way in which they were living. They did nothing for any one but themselves from morning to night. If Iasked them to do an errand for me, it was done unwillingly. Of course, I knew they had their school for a part of the day, but they had a gooddeal of leisure time when they might do something for some one else. Iasked them if they thought they were going to make real, manly Christianboys at this rate, and they said no. Then I asked them what we should doabout it. They all said, 'You tell us mother, and we'll do as you say. 'I proposed a series of tasks. Each one to do something for somebody, outside and apart from himself, every day of his life. They all agreedto this, and told me to allot the tasks. If I could have afforded it, Iwould have gotten a horse and cow, and had them take charge of them; butI could not do that, so I invested in a pair of rabbits for Jack, a pairof canaries for Carl, pigeons for Ned, and bantams for Willie. I broughtthese creatures home, put them into their hands, and told them toprovide for them. They were delighted with my choice, and it was veryamusing to see them scurrying about to provide food and shelter fortheir pets, and hear their consultations with other boys. The end of itall is, that I am perfectly satisfied with my experiment. My boys, incaring for these dumb creatures, have become unselfish and thoughtful. They had rather go to school without their own breakfast than have theinmates of the stable go hungry. They are getting a humane education, aheart education, added to the intellectual education of their schools. Then it keeps them at home. I used to be worried with the lingeringabout street corners, the dawdling around with other boys, and the idle, often worse than idle, talk indulged in. Now they have something todo, they are men of business. They are always hammering and poundingat boxes and partitions out there in the stable, or cleaning up, and ifthey are sent out on an errand, they do it and come right home. I don'tmean to say that we have deprived them of liberty. They have their daysfor base-ball, and foot-ball, and excursions to the woods, but they haveso much to do at home, that they won't go away unless for a specificpurpose. "

While Mrs. Morris was talking, her visitor leaned forward in herchair, and listened attentively. When she finished, Mrs. Montaguesaid, quietly, "Thank you, I am glad that you told me this. I shall getCharlie a dog. "

"I am glad to hear you say that, " replied Mrs. Morris. "It will be agood thing for your little boy. I should not wish my boys to be withouta good, faithful dog. A child can learn many a lesson from a dog. Thisone, " pointing to me, "might be held up as an example to many a humanbeing. He is patient, quiet, and obedient. My husband says that hereminds him of three words in the Bible 'through much tribulation. '"

"Why does he say that?" asked Mrs. Montague, curiously. 

"Because he came to us from a very unhappy home. " And Mrs. Morris wenton to tell her friend what she knew of my early days. 

When she stopped, Mrs. Montague's face was shocked and pained. "Howdreadful to think that there are such creatures as that man Jenkins inthe world. And you say that he has a wife and children. Mrs. Morris, tell me plainly, are there many such unhappy homes in Fairport?"

Mrs. Morris hesitated for a minute, then she said, earnestly: "My dearfriend, if you could see all the wickedness, and cruelty, and vileness, that is practiced in this little town of ours in one night, you couldnot rest in your bed. "

Mrs. Montague looked dazed. "I did not dream that it was as bad asthat, " she said. "Are we worse than other towns?"

"No; not worse, but bad enough. Over and over again the saying is true, one-half the world does not know how the other half lives. How can allthis misery touch you? You live in your lovely house out of the town. When you come in, you drive about, do your shopping, make calls, and gohome again. You never visit the poorest streets. The people from themnever come to you. You are rich, your people before you were rich, youlive in a state of isolation. "

"But that is not right, " said the lady in a wailing voice. "I have beenthinking about this matter lately. I read a great deal in the papersabout the misery of the lower classes, and I think we richer ones oughtto do something to help them. Mrs. Morris, what can I do?"

The tears came in Mrs. Morris' eyes. She looked at the little, fraillady, and said, simply: "Dear Mrs. Montague, I think the root of thewhole matter lies in this. The Lord made us all one family. We are allbrothers and sisters. The lowest woman is your sister and my sister. Theman lying in the gutter is our brother What should we do to help thesemembers of our common family, who are not as well off as we are? Weshould share our last crust with them. You and I, but for God's grace inplacing us in different surroundings, might be in their places. I thinkit is wicked neglect, criminal neglect in us to ignore this fact. "

"It is, it is, " said Mrs. Montague, in a despairing voice. "I can't helpfeeling it. Tell me something I can do to help some one. "

Mrs. Morris sank back in her chair, her face very sad, and yet withsomething like pleasure in her eyes as she looked at her caller. "Yourwasherwoman, " she said, "has a drunken husband and a cripple boy. I haveoften seen her standing over her tub, washing your delicate muslins andlaces, and dropping tears into the water. "

"I will never send her anything more she shall not be troubled, " saidMrs. Montague, hastily. 

Mrs. Morris could not help smiling. "I have not made myself clear. It isnot the washing that troubles her; it is her husband who beats her, andher boy who worries her. If you and I take our work from her, shewill have that much less money to depend upon, and will suffer inconsequence, She is a hard-working and capable woman, and makes a fairliving. I would not advise you to give her money, for her husband wouldfind it out, and take it from her. It is sympathy that she wants. If youcould visit her occasionally, and show that you are interested inher, by talking or reading to her poor foolish boy or showing him apicture-book, you have no idea how grateful she would be to you, and howit would cheer her on her dreary way. "

"I will go to see her to-morrow, " said Mrs. Montague. "Can you think ofany one else I could visit?"

"A great many, " said Mrs. Morris; "but I don't think you had betterundertake too much at once. I will give you the addresses of three orfour poor families, where an occasional visit would do untold good. That is, it will do them good if you treat them as you do your richerfriends. Don't give them too much money, or too many presents, till youfind out what they need. Try to feel interested in them. Find out theirways of living, and what they are going to do with their children, andhelp them to get situations for them if you can. And be sure to rememberthat poverty does not always take away one's self-respect. "

"I will, I will, " said Mrs. Montague, eagerly. "When can you give methese addresses?"

Mrs. Morris smiled again, and, taking a piece of paper and a pencil fromher work basket wrote a few lines and handed them to Mrs. Montague. 

The lady got up to take her leave. "And in regard to the dog, " said Mrs. Morris, following her to the door, "if you decide to allow Charlie tohave one, you had better let him come in and have a talk with my boysabout it. They seem to know all the dogs that are for sale in the town. "

"Thank you; I shall be most happy to do so. He shall have his dog. Whencan you have him?"

"To-morrow, the next day, any day at all. It makes no difference tome. Let him spend an afternoon and evening with the boys, if you do notobject. "

"It will give me much pleasure, " and the little lady bowed and smiled, and after stooping down to pat me, tripped down the steps, and got intoher carriage and drove away. 

Mrs. Morris stood looking after her with a beaming face, and I began tothink that I should like Mrs. Montague, too, if I knew her long enough. Two days later I was quite sure I should, for I had a proof that shereally liked me. When her little boy Charlie came to the house, hebrought something for me done up in white paper. Mrs. Morris openedit, and there was a handsome nickel-plated collar, with my name on itBeautiful Joe. Wasn't I pleased! They took off the little shabby leatherstrap that the boys had given me when I came, and fastened on my newcollar and then Mrs. Morris held me up to a glass to look at myself. Ifelt so happy. Up to this time I had felt a little ashamed of my croppedears and docked tail, but now that I had a fine new collar I could holdup my head with any dog. 

"Dear old Joe, " said Mrs. Morris, pressing my head tightly between herhands. "You did a good thing the other day in helping me to start thatlittle woman out of her selfish way of living. "

I did not know about that, but I knew that I felt very grateful to Mrs. Montague for my new collar, and ever afterward, when I met her in thestreet, I stopped and looked at her. Sometimes she saw me and stoppedher carriage to speak to me; but I always wagged my tail, or rather mybody, for I had no tail to wag, whenever I saw her, whether she saw meor not. 

Her son got a beautiful Irish setter, called "Brisk. " He had a silkycoat and soft brown eyes, and his young master seemed very fond of him. 

CHAPTER VI THE FOX TERRIER BILLY

WHEN I came to the Morrises, I knew nothing about the proper way ofbringing up a puppy. I once heard of a little boy whose sister beat himso much that he said he was brought up by hand; so I think as Jenkinskicked me so much, I may say that I was brought up by foot. 

Shortly after my arrival in my new home, I had a chance of seeing howone should bring up a little puppy. 

One day I was sitting beside Miss Laura in the parlor, when the dooropened and Jack came in. One of his hands was laid over the other, andhe said to his sister, "Guess what I've got here. "

"A bird, " she said. 

"No. "

"A rat. "

"No. "

"A mouse. "

"No a pup. "

"Oh, Jack, " she said, reprovingly; for she thought he was telling astory. 

He opened his hands and there lay the tiniest morsel of a fox terrierpuppy that I ever saw. He was white, with black and tan markings. Hisbody was pure white, his tail black, with a dash of tan; his ears black, and his face evenly marked with black and tan. We could not tell thecolor of his eyes, as they were not open. Later on, they turned out tobe a pretty brown. His nose was pale pink, and when he got older, itbecame jet black. 

"Why, Jack!" exclaimed Miss Laura, "his eyes aren't open; why did youtake him from his mother?"

"She's dead, " said Jack. "Poisoned left her pups to run about the yardfor a little exercise. Some brute had thrown over a piece of poisonedmeat, and she ate it. Four of the pups died. This is the only one left. Mr. Robinson says his man doesn't understand raising pups without theirmothers, and as he is going away, he wants us to have it, for we alwayshad such luck in nursing sick animals. "

Mr. Robinson I knew was a friend of the Morrises and a gentleman who wasfond of fancy stock, and imported a great deal of it from England. Ifthis puppy came from him, it was sure to be good one. 

Miss Laura took the tiny creature, and went upstairs very thoughtfully. I followed her, and watched her get a little basket and line it withcotton wool. She put the puppy in it and looked at him. Though it wasmidsummer and the house seemed very warm to me, the little creature wasshivering, and making a low murmuring noise. She pulled the wool allover him and put the window down, and set his basket in the sun. 

Then she went to the kitchen and got some warm milk. She dipped herfinger in it, and offered it to the puppy, but he went nosing about itin a stupid way, and wouldn't touch it. "Too young, " Miss Laura said. She got a little piece of muslin, put some bread in it, tied a stringround it, and dipped it in the milk. When she put this to the puppy'smouth, he sucked it greedily. He acted as if he was starving, but MissLaura only let him have a little. 

Every few hours for the rest of the day, she gave him some more milk, and I heard the boys say that for many nights she got up once or twiceand heated milk over a lamp for him. One night the milk got cold beforehe took it, and he swelled up and became so ill that Miss Laura had torouse her mother and get some hot water to plunge him in. That made himwell again, and no one seemed to think it was a great deal of trouble totake for a creature that was nothing but a dog. 

He fully repaid them for all his care, for he turned out to be one ofthe prettiest and most lovable dogs that I ever saw. They called himBilly, and the two events of his early life were the opening of his eyesand the swallowing of his muslin rag. The rag did not seem to hurt him, but Miss Laura said that, as he had got so strong and greedy, he mustlearn to eat like other dogs. 

He was very amusing when he was a puppy. He was full of tricks, and hecrept about in a mischievous way when one did not know he was near. He was a very small puppy and used to climb inside Miss Laura's Jerseysleeve up to her shoulder when he was six weeks old. One day, when thewhole family was in the parlor, Mr. Morris suddenly flung aside hisnewspaper, and began jumping up and down. Mrs. Morris was very muchalarmed, and cried out, "My dear William what is the matter?"

"There's a rat up my leg, " he said, shaking it violently. Just thenlittle Billy fell out on the floor and lay on his back looking up at Mr. Morris with a surprised face. He had felt cold and thought it would bewarm inside Mr. Morris' trouser's leg. 

However, Billy never did any real mischief, thanks to Miss Laura'straining. She began to punish him just as soon as he began to tear andworry things. The first thing he attacked was Mr. Morris' felt hat. Thewind blew it down the hall one day, and Billy came along and began totry it with his teeth. I dare say it felt good to them, for a puppy isvery like a baby and loves something to bite. 

Miss Laura found him, and he rolled his eyes at her quite innocently, not knowing that he was doing wrong. She took the hat away, and pointingfrom it to him, said, "Bad Billy!" Then she gave him two or three slapswith a bootlace. She never struck a little dog with her hand or a stick. She said clubs were for big dogs and switches for little dogs, if onehad to use them. The best way was to scold them, for a good dog feels asevere scolding as much as a whipping. 

Billy was very much ashamed of himself. Nothing would induce him evento look at a hat again. But he thought it was no harm to worry otherthings. He attacked one thing after another, the rugs on the floor, curtains, anything flying or fluttering, and Miss Laura patientlyscolded him for each one, till at last it dawned upon him that he mustnot worry anything but a bone. Then he got to be a very good dog. 

There was one thing that Miss Laura was very particular about, and thatwas to have him fed regularly. We both got three meals a day. We werenever allowed to go into the dining room, and while the family was atthe table, we lay in the hall outside and watched what was going on. 

Dogs take a great interest in what any one gets to eat. It was quiteexciting to see the Morrises' passing each other different dishes, andto smell the nice, hot food. Billy often wished that he could get up onthe table. He said that he would make things fly. When he was growing, he hardly ever got enough to eat. I used to tell him that he would killhimself if he could eat all he wanted to. 

As soon as meals were over, Billy and I scampered after Miss Laura tothe kitchen. We each had our own plate for food. Mary the cook oftenlaughed at Miss Laura, because she would not let her dogs "dish"together. Miss Laura said that if she did, the larger one would get morethan his share, and the little one would starve. 

It was quite a sight to see Billy eat. He spread his legs apart tosteady himself, and gobbled at his food like a duck. When he finished healways looked up for more, and Miss Laura would shake her head and say:"No, Billy: better longing than loathing. I believe that a great manylittle dogs are killed by overfeeding. "

I often heard the Morrises speak of the foolish way in which some peoplestuffed their pets with food, and either kill them by it or keep themin continual ill health. A case occurred in our neighborhood while Billywas a puppy. Some people, called Dobson, who lived only a few doors fromthe Morrises, had a fine bay mare and a little colt called Sam. Theywere very proud of this colt, and Mr. Dobson had promised it to his sonJames. One day Mr. Dobson asked Mr. Morris to come in and see the colt, and I went, too. I watched Mr. Morris while he examined it. It was apretty little creature, and I did not wonder that they thought so muchof it. 

When Mr. Morris went home his wife asked him what he thought of it. 

"I think, " he said, "that it won't live long. "

"Why, papa!" exclaimed Jack, who overheard the remark, "it is as fat asa seal. "

"It would have a better chance for its life if it were lean andscrawny, " said Mr. Morris. "They are over-feeding it, and I told Mr. Dobson so; but he wasn't inclined to believe me. "

Now, Mr. Morris had been brought up in the country, and knew a greatdeal about animals, so I was inclined to think he was right. And sureenough, in a few days, we heard that the colt was dead. 

Poor James Dobson felt very badly. A number of the neighbors' boys wentinto see him, and there he stood gazing at the dead colt, and looking asif he wanted to cry. Jack was there and I was at his heels, and thoughhe said nothing for a time, I knew he was angry with the Dobsons forsacrificing the colt's life. Presently he said, "You won't need to havethat colt stuffed now he's dead, Dobson. "

"What do you mean? Why do you say that?" asked the boy, peevishly. 

"Because you stuffed him while he was alive, " said Jack, saucily. 

Then we had to run for all we were worth, for the Dobson boy was afterus, and as he was a big fellow he would have whipped Jack soundly. 

I must not forget to say that Billy was washed regularly once aweek with nice-smelling soaps and once a month with strong-smelling, disagreeable, carbolic soap. He had his own towels and wash cloths, andafter being rubbed and scrubbed, he was rolled in a blanket and put bythe fire to dry. Miss Laura said that a little dog that has been pettedand kept in the house, and has become tender, should never be washed andallowed to run about with a wet coat, unless the weather was very warm, for he would be sure to take cold. 

Jim and I were more hardy than Billy, and we took our baths in the sea. Every few days the boys took us down to the shore and we went swimmingwith them. 

CHAPTER VII TRAINING A PUPPY

"NED, dear, " said Miss Laura one day, "I wish you would train Billy tofollow and retrieve. He is four months old now, and I shall soon want totake him out in the street. "

"Very well, sister, " said mischievous Ned, and catching up a stick, hesaid, "Come out into the garden, dogs. "

Though he was brandishing his stick very fiercely, I was not at allafraid of him; and as for Billy, he loved Ned. 

The Morris garden was really not a garden but a large piece of groundwith the grass worn bare in many places, a few trees scattered about, and some raspberry and currant bushes along the fence. A lady whoknew that Mr. Morris had not a large salary, said one day when she waslooking out of the dining-room window, "My dear Mrs. Morris, why don'tyou have this garden dug up? You could raise your own vegetables. Itwould be so much cheaper than buying them. "

Mrs. Morris laughed in great amusement. "Think of the hens, and cats, and dogs, and rabbits, and, above all, the boys that I have. What sortof a garden would there be, and do you think it would be fair to taketheir playground from them?"

The lady said, "No, she did not think it would be fair. "

I am sure I don't know what the boys would have done without this stripof ground. Many a frolic and game they had there. In the present case, Ned walked around and around it, with his stick on his shoulder, Billyand I strolling after him. Presently Billy made a dash aside to get abone. Ned turned around and said firmly, "To heel!"

Billy looked at him innocently, not knowing what he meant. "To heel!"exclaimed Ned again. Billy thought he wanted to play, and putting hishead on his paws, he began to bark. Ned laughed; still he kept saying"To heel!" He would not say another word. He knew if he said "Comehere, " or "Follow, " or "Go behind, " it would confuse Billy. 

Finally, as Ned kept saying the words over and over, and pointing tome, it seemed to dawn upon Billy that he wanted him to follow him. Sohe came beside me, and together we followed Ned around the garden, againand again. 

Ned often looked behind with a pleased face, and I felt so proud tothink I was doing well, but suddenly I got dreadfully confused when heturned around and said, "Hie out!"

The Morrises all used the same words in training their dogs, and I hadheard Miss Laura say this, but I had forgotten what it meant. "GoodJoe, " said Ned, turning around and patting me, "you have forgotten. Iwonder where Jim is? He would help us. "

He put his fingers in his mouth and blew a shrill whistle, and soonJim came trotting up the lane from the street. He looked at us withhis large, intelligent eyes, and wagged his tail slowly, as if to say, "Well, what do you want of me?"

"Come and give me a hand at this training business, old Sobersides, "said Ned, with a laugh. "It's too slow to do it alone. Now, younggentlemen, attention! To heel!" He began to march around the gardenagain, and Jim and I followed closely at his heels, while little Billy, seeing that he could not get us to play with him, came lagging behind. 

Soon Ned turned around and said, "Hie out!" Old Jim sprang ahead, andran off in front as if he was after something. Now I remembered what"hie out" meant. We were to have a lovely race wherever we liked. LittleBilly loved this. We ran and scampered hither and thither, and Nedwatched us, laughing at our antics. 

After tea, he called us out in the garden again, and said he hadsomething else to teach us. He turned up a tub on the wooden platform atthe back door, and sat on it, and then called Jim to him. 

He took a small leather strap from his pocket. It had a nice, strongsmell. We all licked it, and each dog wished to have it. "No, Joe andBilly, " said Ned, holding us both by our collars; "you wait a minute. Here, Jim. "

Jim watched him very earnestly, and Ned threw the strap half-way acrossthe garden, and said, "Fetch it. "

Jim never moved till he heard the words, "Fetch it. " Then he ranswiftly, brought the strap, and dropped it in Ned's hand. Ned sent himafter it two or three times, then he said to Jim, "Lie down, " and turnedto me. "Here, Joe; it is your turn. "

He threw the strap under the raspberry bushes, then looked at me andsaid, "Fetch it. " I knew quite well what he meant, and ran joyfullyafter it. I soon found it by the strong smell, but the queerest thinghappened when I got it in my mouth. I began to gnaw it and play with it, and when Ned called out, "fetch it, " I dropped it and ran toward him. Iwas not obstinate, but I was stupid. 

Ned pointed to the place where it was, and spread out his empty hands. That helped me, and I ran quickly and got it. He made me get it for himseveral times. Sometimes I could not find it, and sometimes I droppedit; but he never stirred. He sat still till I brought it to him. 

After a while he tried Billy, but it soon got dark, and we could notsee, so he took Billy and went into the house. 

I stayed out with Jim for a while, and he asked me if I knew why Ned hadthrown a strap for us, instead of a bone or something hard. 

Of course I did not know, so Jim told me it was on his account. He wasa bird dog, and was never allowed to carry anything hard in his mouth, because it would make him hard-mouthed, and he would be apt to bite thebirds when he was bringing them back to any person who was shooting withhim. He said that he had been so carefully trained that he could evencarry three eggs at a time in his mouth. 

I said to him, "Jim, how is it that you never go out shooting? I havealways heard that you were a dog for that, and yet you never leavehome. "

He hung his head a little, and said he did not wish to go, and then, forhe was an honest dog, he gave me the true reason. 

CHAPTER VIII A RUINED DOG

"I WAS a sporting dog, " he said, bitterly, "for the first three years ofmy life. I belonged to a man who keeps a livery stable here in Fairport, and he used to hire me out shooting parties. 

"I was a favorite with all the gentlemen. I was crazy with delight whenI saw the guns brought out, and would jump up and bite at them. I lovedto chase birds and rabbits, and even now when the pigeons come near me, I tremble all over and have to turn away lest I should seize them. Iused often to be in the woods from morning till night. I liked to havea hard search after a bird after it had been shot, and to be praised forbringing it out without biting or injuring it. 

"I never got lost, for I am one of those dogs that can always tell wherehuman beings are. I did not smell them. I would be too far away forthat, but if my master was standing in some place and I took a longround through the woods, I knew exactly where he was, and could make ashort cut back to him without returning in my tracks. 

"But I must tell you about my trouble. One Saturday afternoon a partyof young men came to get me. They had a dog with them, a cocker spanielcalled Bob, but they wanted another. For some reason or other, my masterwas very unwilling to have me go. However, he at last consented, andthey put me in the back of the wagon with Bob and the lunch baskets, andwe drove off into the country. This Bob was a happy, merry-looking dog, and as we went along, he told me of the fine time we should have nextday. The young men would shoot a little, then they would get out theirbaskets and have something to eat and drink, and would play cards and goto sleep under the trees, and we would be able to help ourselves to legsand wings of chickens, and anything we liked from the baskets. 

"I did not like this at all. I was used to working hard through theweek, and I liked to spend my Sundays quietly at home. However, I saidnothing. 

"That night we slept at a country hotel, and drove the next morning tothe banks of a small lake where the young men were told there would beplenty of wild ducks. They were in no hurry to begin their sport. Theysat down in the sun on some flat rocks at the water's edge, and saidthey would have something to drink before setting to work. They got outsome of the bottles from the wagon, and began to take long drinks fromthem. Then they got quarrelsome and mischievous and seemed to forgetall about their shooting. One of them proposed to have some fun with thedogs. They tied us both to a tree, and throwing a stick in the water, told us to get it. Of course we struggled and tried to get free, andchafed our necks with the rope. 

"After a time one of them began to swear at me, and say that he believedI was gun-shy. He staggered to the wagon and got out his fowling piece, and said he was going to try me. 

"He loaded it, went to a little distance, and was going to fire, whenthe young man who owned Bob said he wasn't going to have his dog's legsshot off, and coming up he unfastened him and took him away. You canimagine my feelings, as I stood there tied to the tree, with thatstranger pointing his gun directly at me. He fired close to me, a numberof times over my head and under my body. The earth was cut up all aroundme. I was terribly frightened, and howled and begged to be freed. 

"The other young men, who were sitting laughing at me, thought it suchgood fun that they got their guns, too. I never wish to spend such aterrible hour again. I was sure they would kill me. I dare say theywould have done so, for they were all quite drunk by this time, ifsomething had not happened. 

"Poor Bob, who was almost as frightened as I was, and who lay shiveringunder the wagon, was killed by a shot by his own master, whose hand wasthe most unsteady of all. He gave one loud howl, kicked convulsively, then turned over on his side and lay quite still. It sobered them all. They ran up to him, but he was quite dead. They sat for a while quitesilent, then they threw the rest of the bottles into the lake, dug ashallow grave for Bob, and putting me in the wagon drove slowly back totown. They were not bad young men. I don't think they meant to hurt me, or to kill Bob. It was the nasty stuff in the bottles that took awaytheir reason. 

"I was never the same dog again. I was quite deaf in my right ear, andthough I strove against it, I was so terribly afraid of even the sightof a gun that I would run and hide myself whenever one was shown to me. My master was very angry with those young men, and it seemed as ifhe could not bear the sight of me. One day he took me very kindly andbrought me here, and asked Mr. Morris if he did not want a good-natureddog to play with the children. 

"I have a happy home here and I love the Morris boys; but I often wishthat I could keep from putting my tail between my legs and running homeevery time I hear the sound of a gun. "

"Never mind that, Jim, " I said. "You should not fret over a thing forwhich you are not to blame. I am sure you must be glad for one reasonthat you have left your old life. "

"What is that?" he said. 

"On account of the birds. You know Miss Laura thinks it is wrong to killthe pretty creatures that fly about the woods. "

"So it is, " he said, "unless one kills them at once. I have often feltangry with men for only half killing a bird. I hated to pick up thelittle warm body, and see the bright eye looking so reproachfully at me, and feel the flutter of life. We animals, or rather the most of us, killmercifully. It is only human beings who butcher their prey, and seem, some of them, to rejoice in their agony. I used to be eager to killbirds and rabbits, but I did not want to keep them before me long afterthey were dead. I often stop in the street and look up at fine ladies'bonnets, and wonder how they can wear little dead birds in such dreadfulpositions. Some of them have their heads twisted under their wings andover their shoulders, and looking toward their tails, and their eyes areso horrible that I wish I could take those ladies into the woods and letthem see how easy and pretty a live bird is, and how unlike the stuffedcreatures they wear. Have you ever had a good run in the woods, Joe?"

"No, never, " I said. 

"Some day I will take you, and now it is late and I must go to bed. Areyou going to sleep in the kennel with me, or in the stable?"

"I think I will sleep with you, Jim. Dogs like company, you know, aswell as human beings. " I curled up in the straw beside him and soon wewere fast asleep. 

I have known a good many dogs, but I don't think I ever saw such a goodone as Jim. He was gentle and kind, and so sensitive that a hard wordhurt him more than a blow. He was a great pet with Mrs. Morris, and ashe had been so well trained, he was able to make himself very useful toher. 

When she went shopping, he often carried a parcel in his mouth for her. He would never drop it nor leave it anywhere. One day, she dropped herpurse without knowing it, and Jim picked it up, and brought it home inhis mouth. She did not notice him, for he always walked behind her. Whenshe got to her own door, she missed the purse, and turning around saw itin Jim's mouth. 

Another day, a lady gave Jack Morris a canary cage as a present forCarl. He was bringing it home, when one of the little seed boxes fellout. Jim picked it up and carried it a long way, before Jack discoveredit. 

CHAPTER IX THE PARROT BELLA

I OFTEN used to hear the Morrises speak about vessels that ran betweenFairport and a place called the West Indies, carrying cargoes of lumberand fish, and bringing home molasses, spices, fruit, and other things. On one of these vessels, called the "Mary Jane, " was a cabin boy, whowas a. Friend of the Morris boys, and often brought them presents. 

One day, after I had been with the Morrises' for some months, this boyarrived at the house with a bunch of green bananas in one hand, and aparrot in the other. The boys were delighted with the parrot, and calledtheir mother to see what a pretty bird she was. 

Mrs. Morris seemed very much touched by the boy's thoughtfulness inbringing a present such a long distance to her boys, and thanked himwarmly. The cabin boy became very shy and all he could say was, "Goway!" over and over again, in a very awkward manner. 

Mrs. Morris smiled, and left him with the boys. I think that she thoughthe would be more comfortable with them. 

Jack put me up on the table to look at the parrot. The boy held her by astring tied around one of her legs. She was a gray parrot with a few redfeathers in her tail, and she had bright eyes, and a very knowing air. 

The boy said he had been careful to buy a young one that could notspeak, for he knew the Morris boys would not want one chattering foreigngibberish, nor yet one that would swear. He had kept her in his bunk inthe ship, and had spent all his leisure time in teaching her to talk. Then he looked at her anxiously, and said, "Show off now, can't ye?"

I didn't know what he meant by all this, until afterward. I had neverheard of such a thing as birds talking. I stood on the table staringhard at her, and she stared hard at me. I was just thinking that I wouldnot like to have her sharp little beak fastened in my skin, when I heardsome one say, "Beautiful Joe. " The voice seemed to come from the room, but I knew all the voices there, and this was one I had never heardbefore, so I thought I must be mistaken, and it was some one in thehall. I struggled to get away from Jack to run and see who it was. Buthe held me fast, and laughed with all his might. I looked at the otherboys and they were laughing, too. Presently, I heard again, "BeautifulJoe, Beautiful Joe. " The sound was close by, and yet it did not comefrom the cabin boy, for he was all doubled up laughing, his face as redas a beet. 

"It's the parrot, Joe!" cried Ned. "Look at her, you gaby. " I did lookat her, and with her head on one side, and the sauciest air in theworld, she was saying: "Beau-ti-ful Joe, Beau-ti-ful Joe!"

I had never heard a bird talk before, and I felt so sheepish that Itried to get down and hide myself under the table. Then she began tolaugh at me. "Ha, ha, ha, good dog sic 'em, boy. Rats, rats! Beau-ti-fulJoe, Beau-ti-ful Joe, " she cried, rattling off the words as fast as shecould. 

I never felt so queer before in my life, and the boys were just roaringwith delight at my puzzled face. Then the parrot began calling for Jim. "Where's Jim, where's good old Jim? Poor old dog. Give him a bone. "

The boys brought Jim in the parlor, and when he heard her funny, little, cracked voice calling him, he nearly went crazy: "Jimmy, Jimmy, JamesAugustus!" she said, which was Jim's long name. 

He made a dash out of the room, and the boys screamed so that Mr. Morriscame down from his study to see what the noise meant. As soon as theparrot saw him, she would not utter another word. The boys told himthough what she had been saying, and he seemed much amused to think thatthe cabin boy should have remembered so many sayings his boys made useof, and taught them to the parrot. "Clever Polly, " he said, kindly;"good Polly. "

The cabin boy looked at him shyly, and Jack, who was a very sharp boy, said quickly, "Is not that what you call her, Henry?"

"No, " said the boy; "I call her Bell, short for Bellzebub. "

"I beg your pardon, " said Jack, very politely. 

"Bell short for Bellzebub, " repeated the boy. "Ye see, I thought ye'dlike a name from the Bible, bein' a minister's sons. I hadn't my Biblewith me on this cruise, savin' yer presences an' I couldn't think of anygirls' names out of it: but Eve or Queen of Sheba, an' they didn'tseem very fit, so I asked one of me mates, an' he says, for his part heguessed Bellzebub was as pretty a girl's name as any, so I guv her that. 'Twould 'a been better to let you name her, but ye see 'twouldn't 'abeen handy not to call her somethin', where I was teachin' her everyday. "

Jack turned away and walked to the window, his face a deep scarlet. Iheard him mutter, "Beelzebub, prince of devils, " so I suppose the cabinboy had given his bird a bad name. 

Mr. Morris looked kindly at the cabin boy "Do you ever call the parrotby her whole name?"

"No, sir, " he replied; "I always give her Bell but she calls herselfBella. "

"Bella, " repeated Mr. Morris, "that is a very pretty name. If you keepher, boys, I think you had better stick to that. "

"Yes, father, " they all said; and then Mr. Morris started to go back tohis study. On the doorsill he paused to ask the cabin boy when hisship sailed. Finding that it was to be in a few days, he took out hispocket-book and wrote something in it. The next day he asked Jack to goto town with him, and when they came home, Jack said that his father hadbought an oil-skin coat for Henry Smith, and a handsome Bible, in whichthey were all to write their names. 

After Mr. Morris left the room, the door opened and Miss Laura came in. She knew nothing about the parrot and was very much surprised to see it. Seating herself at the table, she held out her hands to it. She was sofond of pets of all kinds, that she never thought of being afraid ofthem. At the same time, she never laid her hand suddenly on any animal. She held out her fingers and talked gently, so that if it wished to cometo her it could. She looked at the parrot as if she loved it, and thequeer little thing walked right up and nestled its head against thelace in the front of her dress. "Pretty lady, " she said, in a crackedwhisper, "give Bella a kiss. "

The boys were so pleased with this and set up such a shout, that theirmother came into the room and said they had better take the parrotout to the stable. Bella seem to enjoy the fun. "Come on, boys, " shescreamed, as Henry Smith lifted her on his finger. "Ha, ha, ha comeon, let's have some fun. Where's the guinea pig? Where's Davy, therat? Where's pussy? Pussy, pussy, come here. Pussy, pussy, dear, prettypuss. "

Her voice was shrill and distinct, and very like the voice of an oldwoman who came to the house for rags and bones. I followed her out tothe stable, and stayed there until she noticed me and screamed out, "Ha, Joe, Beautiful Joe! Where's your tail? Who cut your ears off?"

I don't think it was kind in the cabin boy to teach her this, and Ithink she knew it teased me, for she said it over and over again, andlaughed and chuckled with delight. I left her and did not see her tillthe next day, when the boys had got a fine, large cage for her. 

The place for her cage was by one of the hall windows; but everybody inthe house got so fond of her that she was moved about from one room toanother. 

She hated her cage, and used to put her head close to the bars andplead, "Let Bella out; Bella will be a good girl. Bella won't run away. "

After a time the Morrises did let her out, and she kept her word andnever tried to get away. Jack put a little handle on her cage door sothat she could open and shut it herself, and it was very amusing to hearher say in the morning. "Clear the track, children! Bella's going totake a walk, " and see her turn the handle with her claw and come outinto the room. She was a very clever bird, and I have never seen anycreature but a human being that could reason as she did. She was sopetted and talked to that she got to know a great many words, and on oneoccasion she saved the Morrises from being robbed. 

It was in the winter time. The family was having tea in the diningroom at the back of the house, and Billy and I were lying in the hallwatching what was going on. There was no one in the front of the house. The hall lamp was lighted, and the hall door closed, but not locked. Some sneak thieves, who had been doing a great deal of mischief inFairport, crept up the steps and into the house, and, opening the doorof the hall closet laid their hands on the boys' winter overcoats. 

They thought no one saw them, but they were mistaken. Bella had beenhaving a nap upstairs and had not come down when the tea bell rang. Now she was hopping down on her way to the dining room, and hearingthe slight noise below, stopped and looked through the railing. Any petcreature that lives in a nice family hates a dirty, shabby person. Bellaknew that those beggar boys had no business in that closet. 

"Bad boys!" she screamed, angrily. "Get out get out! Here, Joe, Joe, Beautiful Joe. Come quick. Billy, Billy, rats Hie out, Jim, sic 'imboys. Where's the police. Call the police!"

Billy and I sprang up and pushed open the door leading to the fronthall. The thieves in a terrible fright were just rushing down the frontsteps. One of them got away, but the other fell, and I caught him by thecoat, till Mr. Morris ran and put his hand on his shoulder. 

He was a young fellow about Jack's age, but not one-half so manly, andhe was sniffling and scolding about "that pesky parrot. " Mr. Morris madehim come back into the house, and had a talk with him. He found out thathe was a poor, ignorant lad, half starved by a drunken father. He andhis brother stole clothes, and sent them to his sister in Boston, whosold them and returned part of the money. 

Mr. Morris asked him if he would not like to get his living in an honestway, and he said he had tried to, but no one would employ him. Mr. Morris told him to go home and take leave of his father and get hisbrother and bring him to Washington street the next day. He told himplainly that if he did not he would send a policeman after him. 

The boy begged Mr. Morris not to do that, and early the next morning heappeared with his brother. Mrs. Morris gave them a good breakfast andfitted them out with clothes, and they were sent off in the train to oneof her brothers, who was a kind farmer in the country, and who had beentelegraphed to that these boys were coming, and wished to be providedwith situations where they would have a chance to make honest men ofthemselves. 

CHAPTER X BILLY'S TRAINING CONTINUED

WHEN Billy was five months old, he had his first walk in the street. Miss Laura knew that he had been well trained, so she did not hesitateto take him into the town. She was not the kind of a young lady to gointo the street with a dog that would not behave himself, and she wasnever willing to attract attention to herself by calling out orders toany of her pets. 

As soon as we got down the front steps, she said, quietly to Billy, "Toheel. " It was very hard for little, playful Billy to keep close to herwhen he saw so many new and wonderful things about him. He had gottenacquainted with everything in the house and garden, but this outsideworld was full of things he wanted to look at and smell of, and he wasfairly crazy to play with some of the pretty dogs he saw running about. But he did just as he was told. 

Soon we came to a shop, and Miss Laura went in to buy some ribbons. Shesaid to me, "Stay out, " but Billy she took in with her. I watched themthrough the glass door, and saw her go to a counter and sit down. Billystood behind her till she said, "Lie down. " Then he curled himself ather feet. 

He lay quietly, even when she left him and went to another counter. Buthe eyed her very anxiously till she came back and said, "Up, " to him. Then he sprang up and followed her out to the street. 

She stood in the shop door, and looked lovingly down on us as we fawnedon her. "Good dogs, " she said, softly; "you shall have a present. "We went behind her again, and she took us to a shop where we both laybeside the counter. When we heard her ask the clerk for solid rubberballs, we could scarcely keep still. We both knew what "ball" meant. 

Taking the parcel in her hand, she came out into the street. She did notdo any more shopping, but turned her face toward the sea. She wasgoing to give us a nice walk along the beach, although it was a dark, disagreeable, cloudy day when most young ladies would have stayed in thehouse. The Morris children never minded the weather. Even in the pouringrain, the boys would put on rubber boots and coats and go out to play. Miss Laura walked along, the high wind blowing her cloak and dressabout, and when we got past the houses, she had a little run with us. 

We jumped, and frisked, and barked, till we were tired; and then wewalked quietly along. 

A little distance ahead of us were some boys throwing sticks in thewater for two Newfoundland dogs. Suddenly a quarrel sprang up betweenthe dogs. They were both powerful creatures, and fairly matched asregarded size. It was terrible to hear their fierce growling, and tosee the way in which they tore at each other's throats. I looked at MissLaura. If she had said a word, I would have run in and helped the dogthat was getting the worst of it. But she told me to keep back, and ranon herself. 

The boys were throwing water on the dogs and pulling their tails, andhurling stones at them, but they could not separate them. Their headsseemed locked together, and they went back and forth over the stones, the boys crowding around them, shouting, and beating, and kicking atthem. 

"Stand back, boys, " said Miss Laura, "I'll stop them. " She pulled alittle parcel from her purse, bent over the dogs, scattered a powderon their noses, and the next instant the dogs were yards apart, nearlysneezing their heads off. 

"I say, Missis, what did you do? What's that stuff? Whew, it's pepper!"the boys exclaimed. 

Miss Laura sat down on a flat rock, and looked at them with a very paleface. "Oh, boys, " she said, "why did you make those dogs fight? It is socruel. They were playing happily till you set them on each other. Just see how they have torn their handsome coats, and how the blood isdripping from them. "

"'Taint my fault, " said one of the lads, sullenly. "Jim Jones theresaid his dog could lick my dog, and I said he couldn't and he couldn't, nuther. "

"Yes, he could, " cried the other boy, "and if you say he couldn't, I'llsmash your head. "

The two boys began sidling up to each other with clenched fists, and athird boy, who had a mischievous face, seized the paper that had had thepepper in it, and running up to them shook it in their faces. 

There was enough left to put all thoughts of fighting out of theirheads. They began to cough, and choke, and splutter, and finally foundthemselves beside the dogs, where the four of them had a lively time. 

The other boys yelled with delight, and pointed their fingers at them. "A sneezing concert. Thank you, gentlemen. Angcore, angcore!"

Miss Laura laughed too, she could not help it, and even Billy and Icurled up our lips. After a while they sobered down, and then findingthat the boys hadn't a handkerchief between them, Miss Laura took herown soft one, and dipping it in a spring of fresh water near by, wipedthe red eyes of the sneezers. 

Their ill humor had gone, and when she turned to leave them, and said, coaxingly, "You won't make those dogs fight any more, will you?" theysaid, "No, sirree, Bob. "

Miss Laura went slowly home, and ever afterward when she met any ofthose boys, they called her "Miss Pepper. "

When we got home we found Willie curled up by the window in the hall, reading a book. He was too fond of reading, and his mother oftentold him to put away his book and run about with the other boys. Thisafternoon Miss Laura laid her hand on his shoulder and said, "I wasgoing to give the dogs a little game of ball, but I'm rather tired. "

"Gammon and spinach, " he replied, shaking off her hand, "you're alwaystired. "

She sat down in a hall chair and looked at him. Then she began to tellhim about the dog fight. He was much interested, and the book slipped tothe floor. When she finished he said, "You're a daisy every day. Go nowand rest yourself. " Then snatching the balls from her, he called us andran down to the basement. But he was not quick enough though to escapeher arm. She caught him to her and kissed him repeatedly. He was thebaby and pet of the family, and he loved her dearly, though he spokeimpatiently to her oftener than either of the other boys. 

We had a grand game with Willie. Miss Laura had trained us to do allkinds of things with balls jumping for them, playing hide-and-seek, andcatching them. 

Billy could do more things than I could. One thing he did which Ithought was very clever. He played ball by himself. He was so crazyabout ball play that he could never get enough of it. Miss Laura playedall she could with him, but she had to help her mother with the sewingand the housework, and do lessons with her father, for she was onlyseventeen years old, and had not left off studying. So Billy would takehis ball and go off by himself. Sometimes he rolled it over the floor, and sometimes he threw it in the air and pushed it through the staircaserailings to the hall below. He always listened till he heard it drop, then he ran down and brought it back and pushed it through again. He didthis till he was tired, and then he brought the ball and laid it at MissLaura's feet. 

We both had been taught a number of tricks. We could sneeze and cough, and be dead dogs, and say our prayers, and stand on our heads, and mounta ladder and say the alphabet, this was the hardest of all, and it tookMiss Laura a long time to teach us. We never began till a book was laidbefore us. Then we stared at it, and Miss Laura said, "Begin, Joe andBilly say A. "

For A, we gave a little squeal. B was louder C was louder still. Webarked for some letters, and growled for others. We always turned asummersault for S. When we got to Z, we gave the book a push and had afrolic around the room. 

When any one came in, and Miss Laura had us show off any of our tricks, the remark always was, "What clever dogs. They are not like other dogs. "

That was a mistake. Billy and I were not any brighter than many amiserable cur that skulked about the streets of Fairport. It waskindness and patience that did it all. When I was with Jenkins hethought I was a very stupid dog. He would have laughed at the ideaof any one teaching me anything. But I was only sullen and obstinate, because I was kicked about so much. If he had been kind to me, I wouldhave done anything for him. 

I loved to wait on Miss Laura and Mrs. Morris and they taught both Billyand me to make ourselves useful about the house. Mrs. Morris didn't likegoing up and down the three long staircases, and sometimes we just racedup and down, waiting on her. 

How often I have heard her go into the hall and say, "Please send medown a clean duster, Laura. Joe, you get it. " I would run gayly up thesteps, and then would come Billy's turn. "Billy, I have forgotten mykeys. Go get them. "

After a time we began to know the names of different articles, and wherethey were kept, and could get them ourselves. On sweeping days we workedvery hard, and enjoyed the fun. If Mrs. Morris was too far away to callto Mary for what she wanted, she wrote the name on a piece of paper, andtold us to take it to her. 

Billy always took the letters from the postman, and carried the morningpaper up to Mr. Morris's study, and I always put away the clean clothes. After they were mended, Mrs. Morris folded each article and gave it tome, mentioning the name of the owner, so that I could lay it on his bed, There was no need for her to tell me the names. I knew by the smell. All human beings have a strong smell to a dog, even though they mayn'tnotice it themselves. Mrs. Morris never knew how she bothered me bygiving away Miss Laura's clothes to poor people. Once, I followed hertrack all through the town, and at last found it was only a pair of herboots on a ragged child in the gutter. 

I must say a word about Billy's tail before I close this chapter. It isthe custom to cut the ends of fox terrier's tails, but leave their earsuntouched. Billy came to Miss Laura so young that his tail had not beencut off, and she would not have it done. 

One day Mr. Robinson came in to see him and he said, "You have made afine-looking dog of him, but his appearance is ruined by the length ofhis tail. "

"Mr. Robinson, " said Mrs. Morris, patting little Billy, who lay onher lap, "don't you think that this little dog has a beautifullyproportioned body?"

"Yes, I do, " said the gentleman. "His points are all correct, save thatone. "

"But, " she said, "if our Creator made that beautiful little body, don'tyou think he is wise enough to know what length of tail would be inproportion to it?"

Mr. Robinson would not answer her. He only laughed and said that hethought she and Miss Laura were both "cranks. "

CHAPTER XI GOLDFISH AND CANARIES

THE Morris boys were all different. Jack was bright and clever, Ned wasa wag, Willie was a book-worm, and Carl was a born trader. 

He was always exchanging toys and books with his schoolmates, and theynever got the better of him in a bargain. He said that when he grew uphe was going to be a merchant, and he had already begun to carry on atrade in canaries and goldfish. He was very fond of what he called "hisyellow pets, " yet he never kept a pair of birds or a goldfish, if he hada good offer for them. 

He slept alone in a large, sunny room at the top of the house. By hisown request, it was barely furnished, and there he raised his canariesand kept his goldfish. 

He was not fond of having visitors coming to his room, because, he said, they frightened the canaries. After Mrs. Morris made his bed in themorning, the door was closed, and no one was supposed to go in till hecame from school. Once Billy and I followed him upstairs without hisknowing it, but as soon as he saw us he sent us down in a great hurry. 

One day Bella walked into his room to inspect the canaries. She wasquite a spoiled bird by this time, and I heard Carl telling the familyafterward that it was as good as a play to see Miss Bella strutting inwith her breast stuck out, and her little, conceited air, and hear hersay, shrilly, "Good morning, birds, good morning! How do you do, Carl?Glad to see you, boy. "

"Well, I'm not glad to see you, " he said decidedly, "and don't you evercome up here again. You'd frighten my canaries to death. " And he senther flying downstairs. 

How cross she was! She came shrieking to Miss Laura. "Bella loves birds. Bella wouldn't hurt birds. Carl's a bad boy. "

Miss Laura petted and soothed her, telling her to go find Davy, and hewould play with her. Bella and the rat were great friends. It was veryfunny to see them going about the house together. From the very firstshe had liked him, and coaxed him into her cage, where he soon becamequite at home, so much so that he always slept there. About nine o'clockevery evening, if he was not with her, she went all over the house, crying, "Davy! Davy! time to go to bed. Come sleep in Bella's cage. "

He was very fond of the nice sweet cakes she got to eat, but she nevercould get him to eat coffee grounds food she liked best. 

Miss Laura spoke to Carl about Bella, and told him he had hurt herfeelings, so he petted her a little to make up for it. Then his mothertold him that she thought he was making a mistake in keeping hiscanaries so much to themselves. They had become so timid, that when shewent into the room they were uneasy till she left it. She told him thatpetted birds or animals are sociable and like company, unless they arekept by themselves, when they become shy. She advised him to let theother boys go into the room, and occasionally to bring some of hispretty singers downstairs, where all the family could enjoy seeing andhearing them, and where they would get used to other people besideshimself. 

Carl looked thoughtful, and his mother went on to say that there was noone in the house, not even the cat, that would harm his birds. 

"You might even charge admission for a day or two, " said Jack, gravely, "and introduce us to them, and make a little money. "

Carl was rather annoyed at this, but his mother calmed him by showinghim a letter she had just gotten from one of her brothers, asking herto let one of her boys spend his Christmas holidays in the country withhim. 

"I want you to go, Carl, " she said. 

He was very much pleased, but looked sober when he thought of his pets. "Laura and I will take care of them, " said his mother, "and start thenew management of them. "

"Very well, " said Carl, "I will go then; I've no young ones now, so youwill not find them much trouble. "

I thought it was a great deal of trouble to take care of them. The firstmorning after Carl left, Billy, and Bella, and Davy, and I followed MissLaura upstairs. She made us sit in a row by the door, lest we shouldstartle the canaries. She had a great many things to do. First, thecanaries had their baths. They had to get them at the same time everymorning. Miss Laura filled the little white dishes with water and putthem in the cages, and then came and sat on a stool by the door. Bella, and Billy, and Davy climbed into her lap, and I stood close by her. Itwas so funny to watch those canaries. They put their heads on one sideand looked first at their little baths and then at us. They knew we werestrangers. Finally, as we were all very quiet, they got into the water;and what a good time they had, fluttering their wings and splashing, andcleaning themselves so nicely. 

Then they got up on their perches and sat in the sun, shaking themselvesand picking at their feathers. 

Miss Laura cleaned each cage, and gave each bird some mixed rape andcanary seed. I heard Carl tell her before he left not to give them muchhemp seed, for that was too fattening. He was very careful about theirfood. During the summer I had often seen him taking up nice green thingsto them: celery, chickweed, tender cabbage, peaches, apples, pears, bananas; and now at Christmas time, he had green stuff growing in potson the window ledge. 

Besides that he gave them crumbs of coarse bread, crackers, lumps ofsugar, cuttle-fish to peck at, and a number of other things. Miss Lauradid everything just as he told her; but I think she talked to the birdsmore than he did. She was very particular about their drinking water, and washed out the little glass cups that held it most carefully. 

After the canaries were clean and comfortable, Miss Laura set theircages in the sun, and turned to the goldfish. They were in large glassglobes on the window-seat. She took a long-handled tin cup, and dippedout the fish from one into a basin of water. Then she washed the globethoroughly and put the fish back, and scattered wafers of fish food onthe top. The fish came up and snapped at it, and acted as if they wereglad to get it. She did each globe and then her work was over for onemorning. 

She went away for a while, but every few hours through the day she ranup to Carl's room to see how the fish and canaries were getting on. Ifthe room was too chilly she turned on more heat; but she did not keep ittoo warm, for that would make the birds tender. 

After a time the canaries got to know her, and hopped gayly around theircages, and chirped and sang whenever they saw her coming. Then she beganto take some of them downstairs, and to let them out of their cages foran hour or two every day. They were very happy little creatures, andchased each other about the room, and flew on Miss Laura's head, andpecked saucily at her face as she sat sewing and watching them. Theywere not at all afraid of me nor of Billy, and it was quite a sight tosee them hopping up to Bella. She looked so large beside them. 

One little bird became ill while Carl was away, and Miss Laura had togive it a great deal of attention. She gave it plenty of hemp seed tomake it fat, and very often the yolk of a hard boiled egg, and kept anail in its drinking water, and gave it a few drops of alcohol in itsbath every morning to keep it from taking cold. The moment the birdfinished taking its bath, Miss Laura took the dish from the cage, forthe alcohol made the water poisonous. Then vermin came on it; and shehad to write to Carl to ask him what do. He told her to hang a muslinbag full of sulphur over the swing, so that the bird would dust it downon her feathers. That cured the little thing, and when Carl came home, he found it quite well again. One day, just after he got back, Mrs. Montague drove up to the house with canary cage carefully done up in ashawl. She said that a bad-tempered housemaid, in cleaning the cage thatmorning, had gotten angry with the bird and struck it, breaking itsleg. She was very much annoyed with the girl for her cruelty, and haddismissed her, and now she wanted Carl to take her bird and nurse it, asshe knew nothing about canaries. 

Carl had just come in from school. He threw down his books, took theshawl from the cage and looked in. The poor little canary was sitting Ina corner. Its eyes were half shut, one leg hung loose, and it was makingfaint chirps of distress. 

Carl was very much interested in it. He got Mrs. Montague to help him, and together they split matches, tore up strips of muslin, and bandagedthe broken leg. He put the little bird back in the cage, and it seemedmore comfortable. "I think he will do now, " he said to Mrs. Montague, "but hadn't you better leave him with me for a few days?"

She gladly agreed to this and went away, after telling him that thebird's name was Dick. 

The next morning at the breakfast table, I heard Carl telling his motherthat as soon as he woke up he sprang out of bed and went to see howhis canary was. During the night, poor, foolish Dick had picked off thesplints from his leg, and now it was as bad as ever. "I shall have toperform a surgical operation. " he said. 

I did not know what he meant, so I watched him when, after breakfast, hebrought the bird down to his mother's room. She held it while he took apair of sharp scissors, and cut its leg right off a little way above thebroken place. Then he put some vaseline on the tiny stump, bound it up, and left Dick in his mother's care. All the morning, as she sat sewing, she watched him to see that he did not pick the bandage away. 

When Carl came home, Dick was so much better that he had managed to flyup on his perch, and was eating seeds quite gayly. "Poor Dick!" saidCarl, "A leg and a stump!" Dick imitated him in a few little chirps, "Aleg and a stump!"

"Why, he is saying it too, " exclaimed Carl, and burst out laughing. 

Dick seemed cheerful enough, but it was very pitiful to see him dragginghis poor little stump around the cage, and resting it against the perchto keep him from falling. When Mrs. Montague came the next day, shecould not bear to look at him. "Oh, dear!" she exclaimed, "I cannot takethat disfigured bird home. "

I could not help thinking how different she was from Miss Laura, wholoved any creature all the more for having some blemish about it. 

"What shall I do?" said Mrs. Montague. "I miss my little bird so much. Ishall have to get a new one. Carl, will you sell me one?"

"I will give you one, Mrs. Montague, " said the boy, eagerly. "I wouldlike to do so. " Mrs. Morris looked pleased to hear Carl say this. Sheused to fear sometimes, that in his love for making money, he wouldbecome selfish. 

Mrs. Montague was very kind to the Morris family, and Carl seemed quitepleased to do her a favor. He took her up to his room, and let herchoose the bird she liked best. She took a handsome, yellow one, calledBarry. He was a good singer, and a great favorite of Carl's. The boy puthim in the cage, wrapped it up well, for it was a cold, snowy day, andcarried it out to Mrs. Montague's sleigh. 

She gave him a pleasant smile, and drove away, and Carl ran up the stepsinto the house. "It's all right, mother, " he said, giving Mrs. Morris ahearty, boyish kiss, as she stood waiting for him. "I don't mind lettingher have it. "

"But you expected to sell that one, didn't you?" she asked. 

"Mrs. Smith said maybe she'd take it when she came home from Boston, butI dare say she'd change her mind and get one there. "

"How much were you going to ask for him?"

"Well, I wouldn't sell Barry for less than ten dollars, or rather, Iwouldn't have sold him, " and he ran out to the stable. 

Mrs. Morris sat on the hall chair, patting me as I rubbed againsther, in rather an absent minded way. Then she got up and went into herhusband's study, and told him what Carl had done. 

Mr. Morris seemed very pleased to hear about it, but when his wife askedhim to do something to make up the loss to the boy, he said: "I hadrather not do that. To encourage a child to do a kind action, and thento reward him for it, is not always a sound principle to go upon. "

But Carl did not go without his reward. That evening, Mrs. Montague'scoachman brought a note to the house addressed to Mr. Carl Morris. Heread it aloud to the family. 

MY DEAR CARL: I am charmed with my little bird, and he has whispered tome one of the secrets of your room. You want fifteen dollars very muchto buy something for it. I am sure you won't be offended with an oldfriend for supplying you the means to get this something. 

ADA MONTAGUE. 

"Just the thing for my stationary tank for the goldfish, " exclaimedCarl. "I've wanted it for a long time; it isn't good to keep them inglobes, but how in the world did she find out? I've never told any one. "

Mrs. Morris smiled, and said; "Barry must have told her;" as she tookthe money from Carl to put away for him. 

Mrs. Montague got to be very fond of her new pet. She took care of himherself, and I have heard her tell Mrs. Morris most wonderful storiesabout him stories so wonderful that I should say they were not true if Idid not how intelligent dumb creatures get to be under kind treatment. 

She only kept him in his cage at night, and when she began looking forhim at bedtime to put him there, he always hid himself. She wouldsearch a short time, and then sit down, and he always came out of hishiding-place, chirping in a saucy way to make her look at him. 

She said that he seemed to take delight in teasing her. Once when he wasin the drawing-room with her, she was called away to speak to some oneat the telephone. When she came back, she found that one of the servantshad come into the room and left the door open leading to a veranda. The trees outside were full of yellow birds, and she was in despair, thinking that Barry had flown out with them. She looked out, but couldnot see him. Then, lest he had not left the room, she got a chair andcarried it about, standing on it to examine the walls, and see if Barrywas hidden among the pictures and bric-a-brac. But no Barry was there. She at last sank down, exhausted, on a sofa. She heard a wicked, littlepeep, and looking up, saw Barry sitting on one of the rounds of thechair that she had been carrying about to look for him. He had beenthere all the time. She was so glad to see him, that she never thoughtof scolding him. 

He was never allowed to fly about the dining room during meals, and thetable maid drove him out before she set the table. It always annoyedhim, and he perched on the staircase, watching the door through therailings. If it was left open for an instant, he flew in. One evening, before tea, he did this. There was a chocolate cake on the sideboard, and he liked the look of it so much that he began to peck at it. Mrs. Montague happened to come in, and drove him back to the hall. 

While she was having tea that evening, with her husband and little boy, Barry flew into the room again. Mrs. Montague told Charlie to send himout, but her husband said, "Wait, he is looking for something. "

He was on the sideboard, peering into every dish, and trying to lookunder the covers. "He is after the chocolate cake, " exclaimed Mrs. Montague. "Here, Charlie; put this on the staircase for him. "

She cut off a little scrap, and when Charlie took it to the hall, Barryflew after him, and ate it up. 

As for poor, little, lame Dick, Carl never sold him, and he became afamily pet. His cage hung in the parlor, and from morning till nighthis cheerful voice was heard, chirping and singing as if he had not atrouble in the world. They took great care of him. He was never allowedto be too hot or too cold. Everybody gave him a cheerful word in passinghis cage, and if his singing was too loud, they gave him a little mirrorto look at himself in. He loved this mirror, and often stood before itfor an hour at a time. 

CHAPTER XII MALTA THE CAT

THE first time I had a good look at the Morris cat, I thought she wasthe queerest-looking animal I had ever seen. She was dark gray just thecolor of a mouse. Her eyes were a yellowish green, and for the first fewdays I was at the Morrises' they looked very unkindly at me. Thenshe got over her dislike and we became very good friends. She was abeautiful cat, and so gentle and affectionate that the whole familyloved her. 

She was three years old, and she had come to Fairport in a vessel withsome sailors, who had gotten her in a far-away place. Her name wasMalta, and she was called a maltese cat. 

I have seen a great many cats, but I never saw one as kind as Malta. Once she had some little kittens and they all died. It almost broke herheart. She cried and cried about the house till it made one feel sad tohear her. Then she ran away to the woods. She came back with a littlesquirrel in her mouth, and putting it in her basket, she nursed it likea mother, till it grew old enough to run away from her. 

She was a very knowing cat, and always came when she was called. MissLaura used to wear a little silver whistle that she blew when she wantedany of her pets. It was a shrill whistle, and we could hear it a longway from home. I have seen her standing at the back door whistling forMalta, and the pretty creature's head would appear somewhere always highup, for she was a great climber, and she would come running along thetop of the fence, saying, "Meow, meow, " in a funny, short way. 

Miss Laura would pet her, or give her something to eat, or walk aroundthe garden carrying her on her shoulder. Malta was a most affectionatecat, and if Miss Laura would not let her lick her face, she licked herhair with her little, rough tongue. Often Malta lay by the fire, lickingmy coat or little Billy's, to show her affection for us. 

Mary, the cook, was very fond of cats, and used to keep Malta in thekitchen as much as she could, but nothing would make her stay down thereif there was any music going on upstairs. The Morris pets were all fondof music. As soon as Miss Laura sat down to the piano to sing or play, we came from all parts of the house. Malta cried to get upstairs, Davy scampered through the hall, and Bella hurried after him. If I wasoutdoors I ran in the house; and Jim got on a box and looked through thewindow. 

Davy's place was on Miss Laura's shoulder, his pink nose run in thecurls at the back of her neck. I sat under the piano beside Maltaand Bella, and we never stirred till the music was over; then we wentquietly away. 

Malta was a beautiful cat there was no doubt about it. While I was withJenkins I thought cats were vermin, like rats, and I chased them everychance I got. Mrs. Jenkins had a cat, a gaunt, long-legged, yellowcreature, that ran whenever we looked at it. 

Malta had been so kindly treated that she never ran from any one, exceptfrom strange dogs. She knew they would be likely to hurt her. If theycame upon her suddenly, she faced them, and she was a pretty goodfighter when she was put to it. I once saw her having a brush with abig mastiff that lived a few blocks from us, and giving him good fright;which just served him right. 

I was shut up in the parlor. Some one had closed the door, and I couldnot get out. I was watching Malta from the window, as she daintilypicked her way across the muddy street. She was such a soft, pretty, amiable-looking cat. She didn't look that way, though, when the mastiffrushed out of the alleyway at her. 

She sprang back and glared at him like a little, fierce tiger. Her tailwas enormous. Her eyes were like balls of fire, and she was spitting andsnarling, as if to say, "If you touch me, I'll tear you to pieces!"

The dog, big as he was, did not dare attack her. He walked around andaround, like a great clumsy elephant, and she turned her small body ashe turned his, and kept up a dreadful hissing and spitting. SuddenlyI saw a Spitz dog hurrying down the street. He was going to help themastiff, and Malta would be badly hurt. I had barked and no one had cometo let me out, so I sprang through the window. 

Just then there was a change. Malta had seen the second dog, and sheknew she must get rid of the mastiff. With an agile bound she sprang onhis back, dug her sharp claws in, till he put his tail between his legsand ran up the street, howling with palm She rode a little way, thensprang off, and ran up the lane to the stable. 

I was very angry and wanted to fight something so I pitched into theSpitz dog. He was a snarly, cross-grained creature, no friend to Jim andme, and he would have been only too glad of a chance to help kill Malta. 

I gave him one of the worst beatings he ever had. I don't suppose itwas quite right for me to do it, for Miss Laura says dogs should neverfight; but he had worried Malta before, and he had no business to do it. She belonged to our family. Jim and I never worried his cat. I had beenlonging to give him a shaking for some time, and now I felt for histhroat through his thick hair and dragged him all around the street. Then I let him go, and he was a civil dog ever afterward. 

Malta was very grateful, and licked a little place where the Spitz bitme. I did not get scolded for the broken window. Mary had seen from thekitchen window, and told Mrs. Morris that I had gone to help Malta. 

Malta was a very wise cat. She knew quite well that she must not harmthe parrot nor the canaries, and she never tried to catch them, eventhough she was left alone in the room with them. 

I have seen her lying in the sun, blinking sleepily, and listening withgreat pleasure to Dick's singing. Miss Laura even taught her not to huntthe birds outside. 

For a long time she had tried to get it into Malta's head that it wascruel to catch the little sparrows that came about the door, and justafter I came, she succeeded in doing so. 

Malta was so fond of Miss Laura, that whenever she caught a bird, shecame and laid it at her feet. Miss Laura always picked up the little, dead creature, pitied it and stroked it, and scolded Malta till shecrept into a corner. Then Miss Laura put the bird on a limb of a tree, and Malta watched her attentively from her corner. 

One day Miss Laura stood at the window, looking out into the garden. Malta was lying on the platform, staring at the sparrows that werepicking up crumbs from the ground. She trembled, and half rose every fewminutes, as if to go after them. Then she lay down again. She was tryingvery hard not to creep on them. Presently a neighbor's cat came stealingalong the fence, keeping one eye on Malta and the other on the sparrows. Malta was so angry! She sprang up and chased her away, and then cameback to the platform, where she lay down again and waited for thesparrows to come back. For a long time she stayed there, and never oncetried to catch them. 

Miss Laura was so pleased. She went to the door, and said, softly, "Comehere, Malta. "

The cat put up her tail, and, meowing gently, came into the house. MissLaura took her up in her arms, and going down to the kitchen, asked Maryto give her a saucer of her very sweetest milk for the best cat in theUnited States of America. 

Malta got great praise for this, and I never knew of her catching a birdafterward. She was well fed in the house, and had no need to hurt suchharmless creatures. 

She was very fond of her home, and never went far away, as Jim and Idid. Once, when Willie was going to spend a few weeks with a littlefriend who lived fifty miles from Fairport, he took it into his headthat Malta should go with him. His mother told him that cats did notlike to go away from home; but he said he would be good to her, andbegged so hard to take her, that at last his mother consented. 

He had been a few days in this place, when he wrote home to say thatMalta had run away. She had seemed very unhappy, and though he had kepther with him all the time, she had acted as if she wanted to get away. 

When the letter was read to Mr. Morris, he said, "Malta is on her wayhome. Cats have a wonderful cleverness in finding their way to their owndwelling. She will be very tired. Let us go out and meet her. "

Willie had gone to this place in a coach. Mr. Morris got a buggy andtook Miss Laura and me with him, and we started out. We went slowlyalong the road. Every little while Miss Laura blew her whistle, andcalled, "Malta, Malta, " and I barked as loudly as I could. Mr. Morrisdrove for several hours, then we stopped at a house, had dinner, andthen set out again. We were going through a thick wood, where there wasa pretty straight road, when I saw a small, dark creature away ahead, trotting toward us. It was Malta. I gave a joyful bark, but she did notknow me, and plunged into the wood. 

I ran in after her, barking and yelping, and Miss Laura blew her whistleas loudly as she could. Soon there was a little gray head peeping at usfrom the bushes, and Malta bounded out, gave me a look of surprise andthen leaped into the buggy on Miss Laura's lap. 

What a happy cat she was! She purred with delight, and licked MissLaura's gloves over and over again. Then she ate the food they hadbrought, and went sound asleep. She was very thin, and for several daysafter getting home she slept the most of the time. 

Malta did not like dogs, but she was very good to cats. One day, whenthere was no one about and the garden was very quiet, I saw her gostealing into the stable, and come out again, followed by a sore-eyed, starved-looking cat, that had been deserted by some people that lived inthe next street. She led this cat up to her catnip bed, and watched herkindly, while she rolled and rubbed herself in it. Then Malta had a rollin it herself, and they both went back to the stable. 

Catnip is a favorite plant with cats, and Miss Laura always kept some ofit growing for Malta. 

For a long time this sick cat had a home in the stable. Malta carriedher food every day and after a time Miss Laura found out about her anddid what she could to make her well. In time she got to be a strong, sturdy-looking cat, and Miss Laura got a home for her with an invalidlady. 

It was nothing new for the Morrises to feed deserted cats. Some summers, Mrs. Morris said that she had a dozen to take care of. Careless andcruel people would go away for the summer, shutting up their houses, and making no provision for the poor cats that had been allowed to sitsnugly by the fire all winter. At last, Mrs. Morris got into the habitof putting a little notice in the Fairport paper, asking people whowere going away for the summer to provide for their cats during theirabsence. 

CHAPTER XIII THE BEGINNING OF AN ADVENTURE

THE first winter I was at the Morrises', I had an adventure. It was aweek before Christmas, and we were having cold, frosty weather. Not muchsnow had fallen, but there was plenty of skating, and the boys were offevery day with their skates on a little lake near Fairport. 

Jim and I often went with them, and we had great fun scampering over theice after them, and slipping at every step. 

On this Saturday night we had just gotten home. It was quite darkoutside, and there was a cold wind blowing, so when we came in the frontdoor, and saw the red light from the big hall stove and the blazing firein the parlor they looked very cheerful. 

I was quite sorry for Jim that he had to go out to his kennel. However, he said he didn't mind. The boys got a plate of nice, warm meat forhim and a bowl of milk, and carried them out, and afterward he went tosleep. Jim's kennel was a very snug one. Being a spaniel, he was not avery large dog, but his kennel was as roomy as if he was a great Dane. He told me that Mr. Morris and the boys made it, and he liked it verymuch, because it was large enough for him to get up in the night andstretch himself, when he got tired of lying in one position. 

It was raised a little from the ground, and it had a thick layer ofstraw over the floor. Above was a broad shelf, wide enough for him tolie on, and covered with an old catskin sleigh robe. Jim always slepthere in cold weather, because it was farther away from the ground. 

To return to this December evening. I can remember yet how hungry Iwas. I could scarcely lie still till Miss Laura finished her tea. Mrs. Morris, knowing that her boys would be very hungry, had Mary broil somebeefsteak and roast some potatoes for them; and didn't they smell good!

They ate all the steak and potatoes. It didn't matter to me, for Iwouldn't have gotten any if they had been left. Mrs. Morris couldnot afford to give to the dogs good meat that she had gotten for herchildren, so she used to get the butcher to send her liver, and bones, and tough meat, and Mary cooked them, and made soup and broth, and mixedporridge with them for us. 

We never got meat three times a day. Miss Laura said it was all verywell to feed hunting dogs on meat, but dogs that are kept about a houseget ill if they are fed too well. So we had meat only once a day, andbread and milk, porridge, or dog biscuits, for our other meals. 

I made a dreadful noise when I was eating. Ever since Jenkins cut myears off, I had had trouble in breathing. The flaps had kept the windand dust from the inside of my ears. Now that they were gone my head wasstuffed up all the time. The cold weather made me worse, and sometimes Ihad such trouble to get my breath that it seemed as if I would choke. If I had opened my mouth, and breathed through it, as I have seen somepeople doing, I would have been more comfortable, but dogs always liketo breathe through their noses. 

"You have taken more cold, " said Miss Laura, this night, as she put myplate of food on the floor for me. "Finish your meat, and then come andsit by the fire with me. What! do you want more?"

I gave a little bark, so she filled my plate for the second time. MissLaura never allowed any one to meddle with us when we were eating. One day she found Willie teasing me by snatching at a bone that I wasgnawing. "Willie, " she said, "what would you do if you were just sittingdown to the table feeling very hungry, and just as you began to eat yourmeat and potatoes, I would come along and snatch the plate from you?"

"I don't know what I'd do, " he said, laughingly; "but I'd want to wallopyou. "

"Well, " she said, "I'm afraid that Joe will 'wallop' you some day if youworry him about his food, for even a gentle dog will sometimes snap atany one who disturbs him at his meals; so you had better not try hispatience too far. "

Willie never teased me after that, and I was very glad, for two or threetimes I had been tempted to snarl at him. 

After I finished my tea, I followed Miss Laura upstairs. She took upa book and sat down in a low chair, and I lay down on the hearth rugbeside her. 

"Do you know, Joe, " she said with a smile, "why you scratch with yourpaws when you lie down, as if to make yourself a hollow bed, and turnaround a great many times before you lie down?"

Of course I did not know, so I only stared at her. "Years and yearsago, " she went on, gazing down at me, "there weren't any dogs living inpeople's houses, as you are, Joe. They were all wild creatures runningabout the woods. They always scratched among the leaves to make acomfortable bed for themselves, and the habit has come down to you, Joe, for you are descended from them. "

This sounded very interesting, and I think she was going to tell me somemore about my wild forefathers, but just then the rest of the familycame in. 

I always thought that this was the snuggest time of the day when thefamily all sat around the fire Mrs. Morris sewing, the boys reading orstudying, and Mr. Morris with his head buried in a newspaper, and Billyand I on the floor at their feet. 

This evening I was feeling very drowsy, and had almost dropped asleep, when Ned gave me a push with his foot. He was a great tease, and hedelighted in getting me to make a simpleton of myself. I tried to keepmy eyes on the fire, but I could not, and just had to turn and look athim. 

He was holding his book up between himself and his mother, and wasopening his mouth as wide as he could and throwing back his head, pretending to howl. 

For the life of me I could not help giving a loud howl. Mrs. Morrislooked up and said, "Bad Joe, keep still. "

The boys were all laughing behind their books, for they knew what Nedwas doing. Presently he started off again, and I was just beginninganother howl that might have made Mrs. Morris send me out of the room, when the door opened, and a young girl called Bessie Drury came in. 

She had a cap on and a shawl thrown over her shoulders, and she had justrun across the street from her father's house. "Oh, Mrs. Morris, " shesaid, "will you let Laura come over and stay with me to-night? Mamma hasjust gotten a telegram from Bangor, saying that her aunt, Mrs. Cole, isvery ill, and she wants to see her, and papa is going to take her thereby tonight's train, and she is afraid I will be lonely if I don't haveLaura. "

"Can you not come and spend the night here?" said Mrs. Morris. 

"No, thank you; I think mamma would rather have me stay in our house. "

"Very well, " said Mrs. Morris, "I think Laura would like to go. "

"Yes, indeed, " said Miss Laura, smiling at her friend. "I will come overin half an hour. "

"Thank you, so much, " said Miss Bessie. And she hurried away. 

After she left, Mr. Morris looked up from his paper. "There will be someone in the house besides those two girls?"

"Oh, yes, " said Mrs. Morris; "Mrs. Drury has her old nurse, who has beenwith her for twenty years, and there are two maids besides, and Donald, the coachman, who sleeps over the stable. So they are well protected. "

"Very good, " said Mr. Morris. And he went back to his paper. 

Of course dumb animals do not understand all that they hear spoken of;but I think human beings would be astonished if they knew how much wecan gather from their looks and voices. I knew that Mr. Morris did notquite like the idea of having his daughter go to the Drury's when themaster and mistress of the house were away, so I made up my mind that Iwould go with her. 

When she came down stairs with her little satchel on her arm, I got upand stood beside her. "Dear, old Joe, " she said, "you must not come. "

I pushed myself out the door beside her after she had kissed her motherand father and the boys. "Go back, Joe, " she said, firmly. 

I had to step back then, but I cried and whined, and she looked at mein astonishment. "I will be back in the morning, Joe, " she said, gently;"don't squeal in that way. " Then she shut the door and went out. 

I felt dreadfully. I walked up and down the floor and ran to the window, and howled without having to look at Ned. Mrs. Morris peered over herglasses at me in utter surprise. "Boys, " she said, "did you ever see Joeact in that way before?"

"No, mother, " they all said. 

Mr. Morris was looking at me very intently. He had always taken morenotice of me than any other creature about the house, and I was veryfond of him. Now I ran up and put my paws on his knees. 

"Mother, " he said, turning to his wife, "let the dog go. "

"Very well, " she said, in a puzzled way. "Jack, just run over withhim, and tell Mrs. Drury how he is acting, and that I will be very muchobliged if she will let him stay all night with Laura. "

Jack sprang up, seized his cap, and raced down the front steps, acrossthe street, through the gate, and up the gravelled walk, where thelittle stones were all hard and fast in the frost. 

The Drurys lived in a large, white house, with trees all around it, and a garden at the back. They were rich people and had a great deal ofcompany. Through the summer I had often seen carriages at the door, and ladies and gentlemen in light clothes walking over the lawn, andsometimes I smelled nice things they were having to eat. They did notkeep any dogs, nor pets of any kind so Jim and I never had an excuse tocall there. 

Jack and I were soon at the front door, and he rang the bell and gaveme in charge of the maid who opened it. The girl listened to his messagefor Mrs. Drury, then she walked upstairs, smiling and looking at me overher shoulder. 

There was a trunk in the upper hall, and an elderly woman was puttingthings in it. A lady stood watching her, and when she saw me, she gavea little scream, "Oh, nurse! look at that horrid dog! Where did he comefrom? Put him out, Susan. "

I stood quite still, and the girl who had brought me upstairs, gave herJack's message. 

"Certainly, certainly, " said the lady, when the maid finished speaking. "If he is one of the Morris dogs, he is sure to be a well-behaved one. Tell the little boy to thank his mamma for letting Laura come over, andsay that we will keep the dog with pleasure. Now, nurse, we must hurry:the cab will be here in five minutes. "

I walked softly into a front room, and there I found my dear MissLaura. Miss Bessie was with her, and they were cramming things into aportmanteau. They both ran out to find out how I came there, and justthen a gentleman came hurriedly upstairs, and said the cab had come. 

There was a scene of great confusion and hurry but in a few minutes itwas all over. The cab had rolled away, and the house was quiet. 

"Nurse, you must be tired, you had better go to bed, " said Miss Bessie, turning to the elderly woman, as we all stood in the hall. "Susan, willyou bring some supper to the dining-room, for Miss Morris and me? Whatwill you have, Laura?"

"What are you going to have?" asked Miss Laura, with a smile. 

"Hot chocolate and tea biscuits. "

"Then I will have the same. "

"Bring some cake too, Susan, " said Miss Bessie, "and something for thedog. I dare say he would like some of that turkey that was left fromdinner. "

If I had had any ears I would have pricked them up at this, for I wasvery fond of fowl, and I never got any at the Morrises', unless it mightbe a stray bone or two. 

What fun we had over our supper! The two girls sat at the big diningtable, and sipped their chocolate, and laughed and talked, and I hadthe skeleton of a whole turkey on a newspaper that Susan spread on thecarpet. I was very careful not to drag it about, and Miss Bessie laughedat me till the tears came in her eyes. "That dog is a gentleman, " shesaid; "see how he holds bones on the paper with his paws, and strips themeat off with his teeth. Oh, Joe, Joe, you are a funny dog! And you arehaving a funny supper. I have heard of quail on toast, but I never heardof turkey on newspaper. "

"Hadn't we better go to bed?" said Miss Laura, when the hall clockstruck eleven. 

"Yes, I suppose we had, " said Miss Bessie. 

"Where is this animal to sleep?"

"I don't know, " said Miss Laura; "he sleeps in the stable at home, or inthe kennel with Jim. "

"Suppose Susan makes him a nice bed by the kitchen stove?" said MissBessie. 

Susan made the bed, but I was not willing to sleep in it. I barked soloudly when they shut me up alone, that they had to let me go upstairswith them. 

Miss Laura was almost angry with me, but I could not help it. I had comeover there to protect her, and I wasn't going to leave her, if I couldhelp it. 

Miss Bessie had a handsomely furnished room with a soft carpet on thefloor, and pretty curtains at the windows. There were two single bedsin it, and the two girls dragged them close together so that they couldtalk after they got in bed. 

Before Miss Bessie put out the light, she told Miss Laura not to bealarmed if she heard any one walking about in the night, for the nursewas sleeping across the hall from them, and she would probably come inonce or twice to see if they were sleeping comfortably. 

The two girls talked for a long time, and then they fell asleep. Justbefore Miss Laura dropped off, she forgave me, and put down her hand forme to lick as I lay on a fur rug close by her bed. 

I was very tired, and I had a very soft and pleasant bed, so I soon fellinto a heavy sleep. But I waked up at the slightest noise. Once MissLaura turned in bed, and another time Miss Bessie laughed in her sleep, and again, there were queer crackling noises in the frosty limbs of thetrees outside, that made me start up quickly out of my sleep. 

There was a big clock in the hall, and every time it struck I waked up. Once, just after it had struck some hour, I jumped up out of a soundnap. I had been dreaming about my early home. Jenkins was after mewith a whip, and my limbs were quivering and trembling as if I had beentrying to get away from him. 

I sprang up and shook myself. Then I took a turn around the room. Thetwo girls were breathing gently; I could scarcely hear them. I walkedto the door and looked out into the hall. There was a dim light burningthere. The door of the nurse's room stood open. I went quietly to it andlooked in. She was breathing heavily and muttering in her sleep. 

I went back to my rug and tried to go to sleep, but I could not. Such anuneasy feeling was upon me that I had to keep walking about. I went outinto the hall again and stood at the head of the staircase. I thought Iwould take a walk through the lower hall, and then go to bed again. 

The Drurys' carpets were all like velvet, and my paws did not make arattling on them as they did on the oil cloth at the Morrises'. I creptdown the stairs like a cat, and walked along the lower hall, smellingunder all the doors, listening as I went. There was no night lightburning down here, and it was quite dark, but if there had been anystrange person about I would have smelled him. 

I was surprised when I got near the farther end of the hall, to seea tiny gleam of light shine for an instant from under the dining-roomdoor. Then it went away again. The dining-room was the place to eat. Surely none of the people in the house would be there after the supperwe had. 

I went and sniffed under the door. There was a smell there; a strongsmell like beggars and poor people. It smelled like Jenkins. It was. 

CHAPTER XIV HOW WE CAUGHT THE BURGLAR

WHAT was the wretch doing in the house with my dear Miss Laura? Ithought I would go crazy. I scratched at the door, and barked andyelped. I sprang up on it, and though I was quite a heavy dog by thistime, I felt as light as a feather. 

It seemed to me that I would go mad if I could not get that door open. Every few seconds I stopped and put my head down to the doorsill tolisten. There was a rushing about inside the room, and a chair fellover, and some one seemed to be getting out of the window. 

This made me worse than ever. I did not stop to think that I was only amedium-sized dog, and that Jenkins would probably kill me, if he gothis hands on me. I was so furious that I thought only of getting hold ofhim. 

In the midst of the noise that I made, there was a screaming and arushing to and fro upstairs. I ran up and down the hall, and half-wayup the steps and back again. I did not want Miss Laura to come down, but how was I to make her understand? There she was, in her white gown, leaning over the railing, and holding back her long hair, her face apicture of surprise and alarm. 

"The dog has gone mad, " screamed Miss Bessie. "Nurse, pour a pitcher ofwater on him. "

The nurse was more sensible. She ran downstairs, her night-cap flying, and a blanket that she had seized from her bed, trailing behind her. "There are thieves in the house, " she shouted at the top of her voice, "and the dog has found it out. "

She did not go near the dining-room door, but threw open the front one, crying, "Policeman! Policeman! help, help, thieves, murder!"

Such a screaming as that old woman made! She was worse than I was. Idashed by her, out through the hall door, and away down to the gate, where I heard some one running. I gave a few loud yelps to call Jim, andleaped the gate as the man before me had done. 

There was something savage in me that night. I think it must have beenthe smell of Jenkins. I felt as if I could tear him to pieces. I havenever felt so wicked since. I was hunting him, as he had hunted me andmy mother, and the thought gave me pleasure. 

Old Jim soon caught up with me, and I gave him a push with my nose, tolet him know I was glad he had come. We rushed swiftly on, and at thecorner caught up with the miserable man who was running away from us. 

I gave an angry growl, and jumping up, bit at his leg. He turned around, and though it was not a very bright night, there was light enough for meto see the ugly face of my old master. 

He seemed so angry to think that Jim and I dared to snap at him. Hecaught up a handful of stones, and with some bad words threw them at us. Just then, away in front of us, was a queer whistle, and then anotherone like it behind us. Jenkins made a strange noise in his throat, andstarted to run down a side street, away from the direction of the twowhistles. 

I was afraid that he was going to get away, and though I could not holdhim, I kept springing up on him, and once I tripped him up. Oh, howfurious he was! He kicked me against the side of a wall, and gave me twoor three hard blows with a stick that he caught up, and kept throwingstones at me. 

I would not give up, though I could scarcely see him for the blood thatwas running over my eyes. Old Jim got so angry whenever Jenkins touchedme, that he ran up behind and nipped his calves, to make him turn onhim. 

Soon Jenkins came to a high wall, where he stopped, and with a hurriedlook behind, began to climb over it. The wall was too high for me tojump. He was going to escape. What shall I do? I barked as loudly as Icould for some one to come, and then sprang up and held him by the legas he was getting over. 

I had such a grip, that I went over the wall with him, and left Jim onthe other side. Jenkins fell on his face in the earth. Then he got up, and with a look of deadly hatred on his face, pounced upon me. If helphad not come, I think he would have dashed out my brains against thewall, as he dashed out my poor little brothers' against the horse'sstall. But just then there was a running sound. Two men came down thestreet and sprang upon the wall, just where Jim was leaping up and downand barking in distress. 

I saw at once by their uniform and the clubs in their hands, that theywere policemen. In one short instant they had hold of Jenkins. He gaveup then, but he stood snarling at me like an ugly dog. "If it hadn'tbeen for that cur, I'd never a been caught. Why, " and he staggered backand uttered a bad word, "it's me own dog. "

"More shame to you, " said one of the policemen, sternly; "what haveyou been up to at this time of night, to have your own dog and a quietminister's spaniel dog a chasing you through the street?"

Jenkins began to swear and would not tell them anything. There was ahouse in the garden, and just at this minute some one opened a windowand called out: "Hallo, there, what are you doing?"

"We're catching a thief, sir, " said one of the policemen, "leastwiseI think that's what he's been up to. Could you throw us down a bit ofrope? We've no handcuffs here, and one of us has to go to the lock-upand the other to Washington street, where there's a woman yelling bluemurder; and hurry up, please, sir. "

The gentleman threw down a rope, and in two minutes Jenkins' wrists weretied together, and he was walked through the gate, saying bad words asfast as he could to the policeman who was leading him. "Good dogs, "said the other policeman to Jim and me. Then he ran up the street and wefollowed him. 

As we hurried along Washington street, and came near our house, we sawlights gleaming through the darkness, and heard people running to andfro. The nurse's shrieking had alarmed the neighborhood. The Morris boyswere all out in the street only half clad and shivering with cold, andthe Drurys' coachman, with no hat on, and his hair sticking up all overhis head, was running about with a lantern. 

The neighbors' houses were all lighted up, and a good many people werehanging out of their windows and opening their doors, and calling toeach other to know what all this noise meant. 

When the policeman appeared with Jim and me at his heels, quite a crowdgathered around him to hear his part of the story. Jim and I dropped onthe ground panting as hard as we could, and with little streams of waterrunning from our tongues. We were both pretty well used up. Jim's backwas bleeding in several places from the stones that Jenkins had thrownat him. , and I was a mass of bruises. 

Presently we were discovered, and then what a fuss was made over us. "Brave dogs! noble dogs!" everybody said, and patted and praised us. Wewere very proud and happy, and stood up and wagged our tails, at leastJim did, and I wagged what I could. Then they found what a state we werein. Mrs. Morris cried, and catching me up in her arms, ran in the housewith me, and Jack followed with old Jim. 

We all went into the parlor. There was a good fire there, and Miss Lauraand Miss Bessie were sitting over it. They sprang up when they saw us, and right there in the parlor washed our wounds, and made us lie down bythe fire. 

"You saved our silver, brave Joe, " said Miss Bessie; "just wait till mypapa and mamma come home, and see what they will say. Well, Jack, whatis the latest?" as the Morris boys came trooping into the room. 

"The policeman has been questioning your nurse, and examining thedining-room, and has gone down to the station to make his report, and doyou know what he has found out?" said Jack, excitedly. 

"No what?" asked Miss Bessie. 

"Why that villain was going to burn your house. "

Miss Bessie gave a little shriek. "Why, what do you mean?"

"Well, " said Jack, "they think by what they discovered, that he plannedto pack his bag with silver, and carry it off; but just before he did sohe would pour oil around the room, and set fire to it, so people wouldnot find out that he had been robbing you. "

"Why we might have all been burned to death, " said Miss Bessie. "Hecouldn't burn the dining-room without setting fire to the rest of thehouse. 

"Certainly not, " said Jack, "that shows what a villain he is. "

"Do they know this for certain, Jack?" asked Miss Laura. 

"Well, they suppose so; they found some bottles of oil along with thebag he had for the silver. "

"How horrible! You darling old Joe, perhaps you saved our lives, " andpretty Miss Bessie kissed my ugly, swollen head. I could do nothing butlick her little hand, but always after that I thought a great deal ofher. 

It is now some years since all this happened, and I might as well tellthe end of it. The next day the Drurys came home, and everything wasfound out about Jenkins. The night they left Fairport he had beenhanging about the station. He knew just who were left in the house, forhe had once supplied them with milk, and knew all about their family. Hehad no customers at this time, for after Mr. Harry rescued me, and thatpiece came out in the paper about him, he found that no one would takemilk from him. His wife died, and some kind people put his childrenin an asylum, and he was obliged to sell Toby and the cows. Insteadof learning a lesson from all this, and leading a better life, he keptsinking lower. 

He was, therefore, ready for any kind of mischief that turned up, andwhen he saw the Drurys going away in the train, he thought he wouldsteal a bag of silver from their sideboard, then set fire to the house, and run away and hide the silver. After a time he would take it to somecity and sell it. 

He was made to confess all this. Then for his wickedness he was sent toprison for ten years, and I hope he will get to be a better man there, and be one after he comes out. 

I was sore and stiff for a long time, and one day Mrs. Drury came overto see me. She did not love dogs as the Morrises did. She tried to, butshe could not. 

Dogs can see fun in things as well as people can, and I buried my muzzlein the hearth-rug, so that she would not see how I was curling up my lipand smiling at her. 

"You are a good dog, " she said, slowly. "You are" then she stopped, andcould not think of anything else to say to me. I got up and stood infront of her, for a well-bred dog should not lie down when a ladyspeaks to him. I wagged my body a little, and I would gladly have saidsomething to help her out of her difficulty, but I couldn't. If she hadstroked me it might have helped her; but she didn't want to touch me, and I knew she didn't want me to touch her, so I just stood looking ather. 

"Mrs. Morris, " she said, turning from me with a puzzled face, "I don'tlike animals, and I can't pretend to, for they always find me out; butcan't you let that dog know that I shall feel eternally grateful to himfor saving not only our property for that is a trifle but my darlingdaughter from fright and annoyance, and a possible injury or loss oflife?"

"I think he understands, " said Mrs. Morris. "He is a very wise dog. " Andsmiling in great amusement, she called me to her and put my paws onher lap. "Look at that lady, Joe. She is pleased with you for drivingJenkins away from her house. You remember Jenkins?"

I barked angrily and limped to the window. 

"How intelligent he is, " said Mrs. Drury. "My husband has sent to NewYork for a watchdog, and he says that from this on our house shall neverbe without one. Now I must go. Your dog is happy, Mrs. Morris, and I cando nothing for him, except to say that I shall never forget him, and Iwish he would come over occasionally to see us. Perhaps when we getour dog he will. I shall tell my cook whenever she sees him to give himsomething to eat. This is a souvenir for Laura of that dreadful night. Ifeel under a deep obligation to you, so I am sure you will allow her toaccept it. " Then she gave Mrs. Morris a little box and went away. 

When Miss Laura came in, she opened the box, and found in it a handsomediamond ring. On the inside of it was engraved: "Laura, in memory ofDecember 20th, 18. From her grateful friend, Bessie. "

The diamond was worth hundreds of dollars, and Mrs. Morris told MissLaura that she had rather she would not wear it then, while she was ayoung girl. It was not suitable for her, and she knew Mrs. Drury did notexpect her to do so. She wished to give her a valuable present, and thiswould always be worth a great deal of money. 

CHAPTER XV OUR JOURNEY TO RIVERDALE

EVERY other summer, the Morris children were sent to some place in thecountry, so that they could have a change of air, and see what countrylife was like. As there were so many of them they usually went differentways. 

The summer after I came to them, Jack and Carl went to an uncle inVermont, Miss Laura went to another in New Hampshire, and Ned and Williewent to visit a maiden aunt who lived in the White Mountains. 

Mr. And Mrs. Morris stayed at home. Fairport was a lovely place insummer, and many people came there to visit. 

The children took some of their pets with them, and the others they leftat home for their mother to take care of. She never allowed them to takea pet animal anywhere, unless she knew it would be perfectly welcome. "Don't let your pets be a worry to other people, " she often said tothem, "or they will dislike them and you too. "

Miss Laura went away earlier than the others, for she had run downthrough the spring, and was pale and thin. One day, early in June, weset out. I say "we, " for after my adventure with Jenkins, Miss Laurasaid that I should never be parted from her. If any one invited her tocome and see them and didn't want me, she would stay at home. 

The whole family went to the station to see us off. They put a chain onmy collar and took me to the baggage office and got two tickets for me. One was tied to my collar and the other Miss Laura put in her purse. Then I was put in a baggage car and chained in a corner. I heard Mr. Morris say that as we were only going a short distance, it was not worthwhile to get an express ticket for me. 

There was a dreadful noise and bustle at the station. Whistles wereblowing and people were rushing up and down the platform. Some men weretumbling baggage so fast into the car where I was, that I was afraidsome of it would fall on me. 

For a few minutes Miss Laura stood by the door and looked in, but soonthe men had piled up so many boxes and trunks that she could not see me. Then she went away. Mr. Morris asked one of the men to see that I didnot get hurt, and I heard some money rattle. Then he went away too. 

It was the beginning of June and the weather had suddenly become veryhot. We had a long, cold spring, and not being used to the heat, itseemed very hard to bear. 

Before the train started, the doors of the baggage car were closed, andit became quite dark inside. The darkness, and the heat, and the closesmell, and the noise, as we went rushing along, made me feel sick andfrightened. 

I did not dare to lie down, but sat up trembling and wishing that wemight soon come to Riverdale Station. But we did not get there for sometime, and I was to have a great fright. 

I was thinking of all the stories that I knew of animals traveling. InFebruary, the Drurys' Newfoundland watch-dog, Pluto, had arrived fromNew York, and he told Jim and me that he had a miserable journey. 

A gentleman friend of Mr. Drury's had brought him from New York. He sawhim chained up in his car, and he went into his Pullman, first tippingthe baggage-master handsomely to look after him. Pluto said that thebaggage-master had a very red nose, and he was always getting drinksfor himself when they stopped at a station, but he never once gave him adrink or anything to eat, from the time they left New York till theygot to Fairport. When the train stopped there, and Pluto's chain wasunfastened, he sprang out on the platform and nearly knocked Mr. Drurydown. He saw some snow that had sifted through the station roof and hewas so thirsty that he began to lick it up. When the snow was all gone, he jumped up and licked the frost on the windows. 

Mr. Drury's friend was so angry. He found the baggage-master, and saidto him: "What did you mean, by coming into my car every few hours, totell me that the dog was fed, and watered, and comfortable? I shallreport you. "

He went into the office at the station, and complained of the man, andwas told that he was a drinking man, and was going to be dismissed. 

I was not afraid of suffering like Pluto, because it was only going totake us a few hours to get to Riverdale. I found that we always wentslowly before we came in to a station, and one time when we began toslacken speed I thought that surely we must be at our journey's end. However, it was not Riverdale. The car gave a kind of jump, then therewas a crashing sound ahead, and we stopped. 

I heard men shouting and running up and down, and I wondered what hadhappened. It was all dark and still in the car, and nobody came in, butthe noise kept up outside, and I knew something had gone wrong with thetrain. Perhaps Miss Laura had got hurt. Something must have happened toher or she would come to me. 

I barked and pulled at my chain till my neck was sore, but for a long, long time I was there alone. The men running about outside must haveheard me. If ever I hear a man in trouble and crying for help I go tohim and see what he wants. 

After such a long time that it seemed to me it must be the middle of thenight, the door at the end of the car opened, and a man looked in "Thisis all through baggage for New York, miss, " I heard him say; "theywouldn't put your dog in here. "

"Yes, they did I am sure this is the car, " I heard in the voice Iknew so well, "and won't you get him out, please? He must be terriblyfrightened. "

The man stooped down and unfastened my chain, grumbling to himselfbecause I had not been put in another car. "Some folks tumble a doground as if he was a chunk of coal, " he said, patting me kindly. 

I was nearly wild with delight to get with Miss Laura again, but I hadbarked so much, and pressed my neck so hard with my collar that my voicewas all gone. I fawned on her, and wagged myself about, and opened andshut my mouth, but no sound came out of it. 

It made Miss Laura nervous. She tried to laugh and cry at the same time, and then bit her lip hard, and said: "Oh, Joe, don't. "

"He's lost his bark, hasn't he?" said the man, looking at me curiously. 

"It is a wicked thing to confine an animal in a dark and closed car, "said Miss Laura, trying to see her way down the steps through her tears. 

The man put out his hand and helped her. "He's not suffered much, miss, "he said; "don't you distress yourself. Now if you'd been a brakeman on aChicago train, as I was a few years ago, and seen the animals run in forthe stock yards, you might talk about cruelty. Cars that ought to holda certain number of pigs, or sheep, or cattle, jammed full with twiceas many, and half of 'em thrown out choked and smothered to death. I'veseen a man running up and down, raging and swearing because the railwaypeople hadn't let him get in to tend to his pigs on the road. "

Miss Laura turned and looked at the man with a very white face. "Is itlike that now?" she asked. 

"No, no, " he said, hastily. "It's better now. They've got newregulations about taking care of the stock; but mind you, miss, thecruelty to animals isn't all done on the railways. There's a great lotof dumb creatures suffering all round everywhere, and if they couldspeak 'twould be a hard showing for some other people besides therailway men. "

He lifted his cap and hurried down the platform, and Miss Laura, herface very much troubled, picked her way among the bits of coal and woodscattered about the platform, and went into the waiting room of thelittle station. 

She took me up to the filter and let some water run in her hand, andgave it to me to lap. Then she sat down and I leaned my head against herknees, and she stroked my throat gently. 

There were some people sitting about the room, and, from their talk, Ifound out what had taken place. There had been a freight train on aside track at this station, waiting for us to get by. The switchman hadcarelessly left the switch open after this train went by, and when wecame along afterward, our train, instead of running in by the platform, went crashing into the freight train. If we had been going fast, greatdamage might have been done. As it was, our engine was smashed so badlythat it could not take us on; the passengers were frightened; and wewere having a tedious time waiting for another engine to come and takeus to Riverdale. 

After the accident, the trainmen were so busy that Miss Laura could getno one to release me. 

While I sat by her, I noticed an old gentleman staring at us. He wassuch a queer-looking old gentleman. He looked like a poodle. He hadbright brown eyes, and a pointed face, and a shock of white hair that heshook every few minutes. He sat with his hands clasped on the top of hiscane, and he scarcely took his eyes from Miss Laura's face. Suddenly hejumped up and came and sat down beside her. 

"An ugly dog, that, " he said, pointing to me. 

Most young ladies would have resented this, but Miss Laura only lookedamused. "He seems beautiful to me, " she said, gently. 

"H'm, because he's your dog, " said the old man, darting a sharp look atme. "What's the matter with him?"

"This is his first journey by rail, and he's a little frightened. "

"No wonder. The Lord only knows the suffering of animals intransportation, " said the old gentleman. "My dear young lady, if youcould see what I have seen, you'd never eat another bit of meat all thedays of your life. "

Miss Laura wrinkled her forehead. "I know I have heard, " she faltered. "It must be terrible. "

"Terrible it's awful, " said the gentleman. "Think of the cattle on thewestern plains. Choked with thirst in summer, and starved and frozen inwinter. Dehorned and goaded on to trains and steamers. Tossed about andwounded and suffering on voyages. Many of them dying and beingthrown into the sea. Others landed sick and frightened. Some of themslaughtered on docks and wharves to keep them from dropping dead intheir tracks. What kind of food does their flesh make? It's rank poison. Three of my family have died of cancer. I am a vegetarian. "

The strange old gentleman darted from his seat, and began to pace up anddown the room. I was very glad he had gone, for Miss Laura hated to hearof cruelty of any kind, and her tears were dropping thick and fast on mybrown coat. 

The gentleman had spoken very loudly, and every one in the room hadlistened to what he said. Among them, was a very young man, with a cold, handsome face. He looked as if he was annoyed that the older man shouldhave made Miss Laura cry. 

"Don't you think, sir, " he said, as the old gentleman passed near himin walking up and down the floor, "that there is a great deal of mocksentiment about this business of taking care of the dumb creation? Theywere made for us. They've got to suffer and be killed to supply ourwants. The cattle and sheep, and other animals would over-run the earth, if we didn't kill them. "

"Granted, " said the old man, stopping right in front of him. "Granted, young man, if you take out that word suffer. The Lord made the sheep, and the cattle, and the pigs. They are his creatures just as much as weare. We can kill them, but we've no right to make them suffer. "

"But we can't help it, sir. "

"Yes, we can, my young man. It's a possible thing to raise healthystock, treat it kindly, kill it mercifully, eat it decently. When men dothat I, for one, will cease to be a vegetarian. You're only a boy. Youhaven't traveled as I have. I've been from one end of this country tothe other. Up north, down south, and out west, I've seen sights thatmade me shudder, and I tell you the Lord will punish this great Americannation if it doesn't change its treatment of the dumb animals committedto its care. "

The young man looked thoughtful, and did not reply. A very sweet-facedold lady sitting near him answered the old gentleman. I don't think Ihave ever seen such a fine-looking old lady as she was. Her hair wassnowy white, and her face was deeply wrinkled, yet she was tall andstately, and her expression was as pleasing as my dear Miss Laura's. 

"I do not think we are a wicked nation, " she said, softly. "We are ayounger nation than many of the nations of the earth, and I think thatmany of our sins arise from ignorance and thoughtlessness. "

"Yes, madame, yes, madame, " said the fiery old gentleman, staring hardat her. "I agree with you there. "

She smiled very pleasantly at him and went on. "I, too, have been atraveler, and I have talked to a great many wise and good people on thesubject of the cruel treatment of animals, and I find that many of themhave never thought about it. They, themselves, never knowingly ill-treata dumb creature, and when they are told stories of inhuman conduct, theysay in surprise, 'Why, these things surely can't exist!' You see theyhave never been brought in contact with them. As soon as they learnabout them, they begin to agitate and say, 'We must have this thingstopped. Where is the remedy?'"

"And what is it, what is it, madame, in your opinion?" said the oldgentleman, pawing the floor with impatience. 

"Just the remedy that I would propose for the great evil ofintemperance, " said the old lady, smiling at him. "Legislation andeducation. Legislation for the old and hardened, and education forthe young and tender. I would tell the schoolboys and schoolgirls thatalcohol will destroy the framework of their beautiful bodies, and thatcruelty to any of God's living creatures will blight and destroy theirinnocent young souls. "

The young man spoke again. "Don't you think, " he said, "that youtemperance and humane people lay too much stress upon the education ofour youth in all lofty and noble sentiments? The human heart will alwaysbe wicked. Your Bible tells you that, doesn't it? You can't educate allthe badness out of children. "

"We don't expect to do that, " said the old lady, turning her pleasantface toward him; "but even if the human heart is desperately wicked, shouldn't that make us much more eager to try to educate, to ennoble, and restrain? However, as far as my experience goes, and I have lived inthis wicked world for seventy-five years, I find that the human heart, though wicked and cruel, as you say, has yet some soft and tender spots, and the impressions made upon it in youth are never, never effaced. Doyou not remember better than anything else, standing at your mother'sknee the pressure of her hand, her kiss on your forehead?"

By this time our engine had arrived. A whistle was blowing, and nearlyevery one was rushing from the room, the impatient old gentleman amongthe first. Miss Laura was hurriedly trying to do up her shawl strap, andI was standing by, wishing that I could help her. The old lady and theyoung man were the only other people in the room, and we could not helphearing what they said. 

"Yes, I do, " he said in a thick voice, and his face got very red. "Sheis dead now I have no mother. "

"Poor boy!" and the old lady laid her hand on his shoulder. They werestanding up, and she was taller than he was. "May God bless you. I knowyou have a kind heart. I have four stalwart boys, and you remind me ofthe youngest. If you are ever in Washington come to see me. " She gavehim some name, and he lifted his hat and looked as if he was astonishedto find out who she was. Then he, too, went away, and she turned to MissLaura. "Shall I help you, my dear?"

"If you please, " said my young mistress. "I can't fasten this strap. "

In a few seconds the bundle was done up, and we were joyfully hasteningto the train. It was only a few miles to Riverdale, so the conductor letme stay in the car with Miss Laura. She spread her coat out on the seatin front of her, and I sat on it and looked out of the car window aswe sped along through a lovely country, all green and fresh in the Junesunlight. How light and pleasant this car was so different from thebaggage car. What frightens an animal most of all things, is not to seewhere it is going, not to know what is going to happen to it. I thinkthat they are very like human beings in this respect. 

The lady had taken a seat beside Miss Laura, and as we went along, shetoo looked out of the window and said in a low voice:

 "What is so rare as a day in June, Then, if ever, come perfect days. "

"That is very true, " said Miss Laura; "how sad that the autumn mustcome, and the cold winter. "

"No, my dear, not sad. It is but a preparation for another summer. "

"Yes, I suppose it is, " said Miss Laura. Then she continued a littleshyly, as her companion leaned over to stroke my cropped ears, "You seemvery fond of animals. "

"I am, my dear. I have four horses, two cows, a tame squirrel, threedogs, and a cat. "

"You should be a happy woman, " said Miss Laura, with a smile. 

"I think I am. I must not forget my horned toad, Diego, that I got inCalifornia. I keep him in the green-house, and he is very happy catchingflies and holding his horny head to be scratched whenever any one comesnear. "

"I don't see how any one can be unkind to animals, " said Miss Laura, thoughtfully. 

"Nor I, my dear child. It has always caused me intense pain to witnessthe torture of dumb animals. Nearly seventy years ago, when I was alittle girl walking the streets of Boston, I would tremble and growfaint at the cruelty of drivers to over-loaded horses. I was timid anddid not dare speak to them. Very often, I ran home and flung myself inmy mother's arms with a burst of tears, and asked her if nothing couldbe done to help the poor animals. With mistaken, motherly kindness, shetried to put the subject out of my thoughts. I was carefully guardedfrom seeing or hearing of any instances of cruelty. But the animalswent on suffering just the same, and when I became a woman, I saw mycowardice. I agitated the matter among my friends, and told themthat our whole dumb creation was groaning together in pain, and wouldcontinue to groan, unless merciful human beings were willing to helpthem. I was able to assist in the formation of several societies for theprevention of cruelty to animals, and they have done good service. Goodservice not only to the horses and cows, but to the nobler animal, man. I believe that in saying to a cruel man, 'You shall not overwork, torture, mutilate, nor kill your animal, or neglect to provide it withproper food and shelter, ' we are making him a little nearer the kingdomof heaven than he was before. For 'Whatsoever a man soweth, that shallhe also reap. ' If he sows seeds of unkindness and cruelty to man andbeast, no one knows what the blackness of the harvest will be. His poorhorse, quivering under a blow, is not the worst sufferer. Oh, if peoplewould only understand that their unkind deeds will recoil upon theirown heads with tenfold force but, my dear child, I am fancying that Iam addressing a drawing-room meeting and here we are at your station. Good-bye; keep your happy face and gentle ways. I hope that we may meetagain some day. " She pressed Miss Laura's hand, gave me a farewell pat, and the next minute we were outside on the platform, and she was smilingthrough the window at us. 

CHAPTER XVI DINGLEY FARM

"MY dear niece, " and a stout, middle-aged woman, with a red, livelyface, threw both her arms around Miss Laura. "How glad I am to see you, and this is the dog. Good Joe, I have a bone waiting for you. Here isUncle John. "

A tall, good-looking man stepped up and put out a big hand, in which mymistress' little fingers were quite swallowed up. "I am glad to see you, Laura. Well, Joe, how d'ye do, old boy? I've heard about you. "

It made me feel very welcome to have them both notice me, and I was soglad to be out of the train that I frisked for joy around their feet aswe went to the wagon. It was a big double one, with an awning over itto shelter it from the sun's rays, and the horses were drawn up in theshade of a spreading tree. They were two powerful black horses, and asthey had no blinders on, they could see us coming. Their faces lightedup and they moved their ears and pawed the ground, and whinnied when Mr. Wood went up to them. They tried to rub their heads against him, andI saw plainly that they loved him. "Steady there, Cleve and Pacer, " hesaid; "now back, back up. "

By this time, Mrs. Wood, Miss Laura and I were in the wagon. Then Mr. Wood jumped in, took up the reins, and off we went. How the two blackhorses did spin along! I sat on the seat beside Mr. Wood, and sniffed inthe delicious air, and the lovely smell of flowers and grass. How gladI was to be in the country! What long races I should have in the greenfields. I wished that I had another dog to run with me, and wonderedvery much whether Mr. Wood kept one. I knew I should soon find out, for whenever Miss Laura went to a place she wanted to know what animalsthere were about. 

We drove a little more than a mile along a country road where there werescattered houses. Miss Laura answered questions about her family, andasked questions about Mr. Harry, who was away at college and hadn't gothome. I don't think I have said before that Mr. Harry was Mrs. Wood'sson. She was a widow with one son when she married Mr. Wood, so thatMr. Harry, though the Morrises called him cousin, was not really theircousin. 

I was very glad to hear them say that he was soon coming home, for I hadnever forgotten that but for him I should never have known Miss Lauraand gotten into my pleasant home. 

By-and-by, I heard Miss Laura say: "Uncle John, have you a dog?"

"Yes, Laura, " he said; "I have one to-day, but I sha'n't have oneto-morrow. "

"Oh, uncle, what do you mean?" she asked. 

"Well, Laura, " he replied, "you know animals are pretty much likepeople. There are some good ones and some bad ones. Now, this dog is asnarling, cross-grained, cantankerous beast, and when I heard Joe wascoming, I said: 'Now we'll have a good dog about the place, and here'san end to the bad one. ' So I tied Bruno up, and to-morrow I shall shoothim. Something's got to be done, or he'll be biting some one. "

"Uncle, " said Miss Laura, "people don't always die when they are bittenby dogs, do they?"

"No, certainly not, " replied Mr. Wood. "In my humble opinion there's agreat lot of nonsense talked about the poison of a dog's bite and peopledying of hydrophobia. Ever since I was born I've had dogs snap at meand stick their teeth in my flesh; and I've never had a symptom ofhydrophobia, and never intend to have. I believe half the people thatare bitten by dogs frighten themselves into thinking they are fatallypoisoned. I was reading the other day about the policemen in a big cityin England that have to catch stray dogs, and dogs supposed to be mad, and all kinds of dogs, and they get bitten over and over again, andnever think anything about it. But let a lady or a gentleman walkingalong the street have a dog bite them, and they worry themselves tilltheir blood is in a fever, and they have to hurry across to France toget Pasteur to cure them. They imagine they've got hydrophobia, and they've got it because they imagine it. I believe if I fixed myattention on that right thumb of mine, and thought I had a sore there, and picked at it and worried it, in a short time a sore would come, andI'd be off to the doctor to have it cured. At the same time dogs have nobusiness to bite, and I don't recommend any one to get bitten. "

"But, uncle, " said Miss Laura, "isn't there such a thing ashydrophobia?"

"Oh, yes; I dare say there is. I believe that a careful examination ofthe records of death reported in Boston from hydrophobia for the spaceof thirty-two years, shows that two people actually died from it. Dogsare like all other animals. They're liable to sickness, and they'vegot to be watched. I think my horses would go mad if I starved them, orover-fed them, or over-worked them, or let them stand in laziness, or kept them dirty, or didn't give them water enough. They'd get somedisease, anyway. If a person owns an animal, let him take care of it, and it's all right. If it shows signs of sickness, shut it up and watchit. If the sickness is incurable, kill it. Here's a sure way to preventhydrophobia. Kill off all ownerless and vicious dogs. If you can't dothat, have plenty of water where they can get at it. A dog that hasall the water he wants, will never go mad. This dog of mine has not onesingle thing the matter with him but pure ugliness. Yet, if I let himloose, and he ran through the village with his tongue out, I'll warrantyou there'd be a cry of 'mad dog!' However, I'm going to kill him. I'veno use for a bad dog. Have plenty of animals, I say, and treat themkindly, but if there's a vicious one among them, put it out of the way, for it is a constant danger to man and beast. It's queer how ugly somepeople are about their dogs. They'll keep them no matter how they worryother people, and even when they're snatching the bread out of theirneighbors' mouths. But I say that is not the fault of the four-leggeddog. A human dog is the worst of all. There's a band of sheep-killingdogs here in Riverdale, that their owners can't, or won't, keep out ofmischief. Meek-looking fellows some of them are. The owners go to bed atnight, and the dogs pretend to go, too; but when the house is quiet andthe family asleep, off goes Rover or Fido to worry poor, defenselesscreatures that can't defend themselves. Their taste for sheep's blood islike the taste for liquor in men, and the dogs will travel as far to gettheir fun, as the men will travel for theirs. They've got it in them, and you can't get it out. "

"Mr. Windham cured his dog, " said Mrs. Wood. 

Mr. Wood burst into a hearty laugh. "So he did, so he did. I must tellLaura about that. Windham is a neighbor of ours, and last summer I kepttelling him that his collie was worrying my Shropshires. He wouldn'tbelieve me, but I knew I was right, and one night when Harry was home, he lay in wait for the dog and lassoed him. I tied him up and sent forWindham. You should have seen his face, and the dog's face. He said twowords, 'You scoundrel!' and the dog cowered at his feet as if he hadbeen shot. He was a fine dog, but he'd got corrupted by evil companions. Then Windham asked me where my sheep were. I told him in the pasture. He asked me if I still had my old ram Bolton. I said yes, and then hewanted eight or ten feet of rope. I gave it to him, and wondered whaton earth he was going to do with it. He tied one end of it to the dog'scollar, and holding the other in his hand, set out for the pasture. Heasked us to go with him, and when he got there, he told Harry he'd liketo see him catch Bolton. There wasn't any need to catch him, he'd cometo us like a dog. Harry whistled, and when Bolton came up, Windhamfastened the rope's end to his horns, and let him go. The ram wasfrightened and ran, dragging the dog with him. We let them out of thepasture into an open field, and for a few minutes there was such aracing and chasing over that field as I never saw before. Harry leanedup against the bars and laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks. Then Bolton got mad, and began to make battle with the dog, pitchinginto him with his horns. We soon stopped that, for the spirit had allgone out of Dash. Windham unfastened the rope, and told him to get home, and if ever I saw a dog run, that one did. Mrs. Windham set great storeby him, and her husband didn't want to kill him. But he said Dash hadgot to give up his sheep-killing, if he wanted to live. That cured him. He's never worried a sheep from that day to this, and if you offer hima bit of sheep's wool now, he tucks his tail between his legs, and runsfor home. Now, I must stop my talk, for we're in sight of the farm. Yonder's our boundary line, and there's the house. You'll see adifference in the trees since you were here before. "

We had come to a turn in the road where the ground sloped gently upward. We turned in at the gate, and drove between rows of trees up to a long, low; red house, with a veranda all round it. There was a wide lawn infront, and away on our right were the farm buildings. They too, werepainted red, and there were some trees by them that Mr. Wood called hiswindbreak, because they kept the snow from drifting in the winter time. 

I thought it was a beautiful place. Miss Laura had been here before, butnot for some years, so she, too, was looking about quite eagerly. 

"Welcome to Dingley Farm, Joe, " said Mrs. Wood, with her jolly laugh, asshe watched me jump from the carriage seat to the ground. "Come in, andI'll introduce you to pussy. "

"Aunt Hattie, why is the farm called Dingley Farm?" said Miss Laura, aswe went into the house. "It ought to be Wood Farm. "

"Dingley is made out of 'dingle, ' Laura. You know that pretty hollowback of the pasture? It is what they call a 'dingle. ' So this farm wascalled Dingle Farm till the people around about got saying 'Dingley'instead. I suppose they found it easier. Why, here is Lolo coming to seeJoe. "

Walking along the wide hall that ran through the house was a largetortoise-shell cat. She had a prettily marked face, and she was wavingher large tail like a flag, and mewing kindly to greet her mistress. Butwhen she saw me what a face she made. She flew on the hall table, andputting up her back till it almost lifted her feet from the ground, began to spit at me and bristle with rage. 

"Poor Lolo, " said Mrs. Wood, going up to her. "Joe is a good dog, andnot like Bruno. He won't hurt you. "

I wagged myself about a little, and looked kindly at her, but she didnothing but say bad words to me. It was weeks and weeks before I madefriends with that cat. She was a young thing, and had known only onedog, and he was a bad one, so she supposed all dogs were like him. 

There was a number of rooms opening off the hall, and one of them wasthe dining room where they had tea. I lay on a rug outside the door andwatched them. There was a small table spread with a white cloth, and ithad pretty dishes and glassware on it, and a good many different kindsof things to eat. A little French girl, called Adele, kept coming andgoing from the kitchen to give them hot cakes, and fried eggs, and hotcoffee. As soon as they finished their tea, Mrs. Wood gave me one of thebest meals that I ever had in my life. 

CHAPTER XVII MR. WOOD AND HIS HORSES

THE morning after we arrived in Riverdale, I was up very early andwalking around the house. I slept in the woodshed, and could runoutdoors whenever I liked. 

The woodshed was at the back of the house and near it was the toolshed. Then there was a carriage house, and a plank walk leading to thebarnyard. 

I ran up this walk, and looked into the first building I came to. It wasthe horse stable. A door stood open, and the morning sun was glancingin. There were several horses there, some with their heads toward me, and some with their tails. I saw that instead of being tied up, therewere gates outside their stalls, and they could stand in any way theyliked. 

There was a man moving about at the other end of the stable, and longbefore he saw me, I knew that it was Mr. Wood. What a nice, clean stablehe had! There was always a foul smell coming out of Jenkins's stable, but here the air seemed as pure inside as outside. There was a numberof little gratings in the wall to let in the fresh air, and they were soplaced that drafts would not blow on the horses. Mr. Wood was going fromone horse to another, giving them hay, and talking to them in a cheerfulvoice. At last he spied me, and cried out, "The top of the morning toyou, Joe! You are up early. Don't come too near the horses, good dog, "as I walked in beside him; "they might think you are another Bruno, andgive you a sly bite or kick. I should have shot him long ago. 'Tishard to make a good dog suffer for a bad one, but that's the way of theworld. Well, old fellow, what do you think of my horse stable? Prettyfair, isn't it?" And Mr. Wood went on talking to me as he fed andgroomed his horses, till I soon found out that his chief pride was inthem. 

I like to have human beings talk to me. Mr. Morris often reads hissermons to me, and Miss Laura tells me secrets that I don't think shewould tell to any one else. 

I watched Mr. Wood carefully, while he groomed a huge, gray cart-horse, that he called Dutchman. He took a brush in his right hand, and acurry-comb in his left, and he curried and brushed every part of thehorse's skin, and afterward wiped him with a cloth. "A good grooming isequal to two quarts of oats, Joe, " he said to me. 

Then he stooped down and examined the horse's hoofs. "Your shoes aretoo heavy, Dutchman, " he said; "but that pig-headed blacksmith thinks heknows more about horses than I do. 'Don't cut the sole nor the frog, 'I say to him. 'Don't pare the hoof so much, and don't rasp it; and fityour shoe to the foot, and not the foot to the shoe, ' and he looks as ifhe wanted to say, 'Mind your own business. ' We'll not go to him again. ''Tis hard to teach an old dog new tricks. ' I got you to work for me, not to wear out your strength in lifting about his weighty shoes. "

Mr. Wood stopped talking for a few minutes, and whistled a tune. Thenhe began again. "I've made a study of horses, Joe. Over forty years I'vestudied them, and it's my opinion that the average horse knows more thanthe average man that drives him. When I think of the stupid fools thatare goading patient horses about, beating them and misunderstandingthem, and thinking they are only clods of earth with a little life inthem, I'd like to take their horses out of the shafts and harness themin, and I'd trot them off at a pace, and slash them, and jerk them, till I guess they'd come out with a little less patience than the animaldoes. 

"Look at this Dutchman see the size of him. You'd think he hadn't anymore nerves than a bit of granite. Yet he's got a skin as sensitive as agirl's. See how he quivers if I run the curry comb too harshly over him. The idiot I got him from didn't know what was the matter with him. He'dbought him for a reliable horse, and there he was, kicking and stampingwhenever the boy went near him. 'Your boy's got too heavy a hand, DeaconJones, ' said I, when he described the horse's actions to me. 'You maydepend upon it, a four-legged creature, unlike a two-legged one, has areason for everything he does. ' 'But he's only a draught horse, ' saidDeacon Jones. 'Draught horse or no draught horse, ' said I, 'you'redescribing a horse with a tender skin to me, and I don't care if he's asbig as an elephant. ' Well, the old man grumbled and said he didn'twant any thoroughbred airs in his stable, so I bought you, didn't I, Dutchman?" and Mr. Wood stroked him kindly and went to the next stall. 

In each stall was a small tank of water with a sliding cover, and Ifound out afterward that these covers were put on when a horse came intoo heated to have a drink. At any other time, he could drink all heliked. Mr. Wood believed in having plenty of pure water for all hisanimals and they all had their own place to get a drink. 

Even I had a little bowl of water in the woodshed, though I could easilyhave run up to the barnyard when I wanted a drink. As soon as I came, Mrs. Wood asked Adele to keep it there for me and when I looked upgratefully at her, she said: "Every animal should have its own feedingplace and its own sleeping place, Joe; that is only fair. "

The next horses Mr. Wood groomed were the black ones, Cleve and Pacer. Pacer had something wrong with his mouth, and Mr. Wood turned back hislips and examined it carefully. This he was able to do, for there werelarge windows in the stable and it was as light as Mr. Wood's house was. 

"No dark corners here, eh Joe!" said Mr. Wood, as he came out of thestall and passed me to get a bottle from a shelf. "When this stable wasbuilt, I said no dirt holes for careless men here. I want the sun toshine in the corners, and I don't want my horses to smell bad smells, for they hate them, and I don't want them starting when they go intothe light of day, just because they've been kept in a black hole of astable, and I've never had a. Sick horse yet. "

He poured something from a bottle into a saucer and went back to Pacerwith it. I followed him and stood outside. Mr. Wood seemed to be washinga sore in the horse's mouth. Pacer winced a little, and Mr. Wood said:"Steady, steady, my beauty; 'twill soon be over. "

The horse fixed his intelligent eyes on his master and looked as if heknew that he was trying to do him good. 

"Just look at these lips, Joe, " said Mr. Wood "delicate and fine likeour own, and yet there are brutes that will jerk them as if they weremade of iron. I wish the Lord would give horses voices just for oneweek. I tell you they'd scare some of us. Now, Pacer, that's over. I'mnot going to dose you much, for I don't believe in it. If a horse hasgot a serious trouble, get a good horse doctor, say I. If it's a simplething, try a simple remedy. There's been many a good horse drugged anddosed to death. Well, Scamp, my beauty, how are you, this morning?"

In the stall next to Pacer, was a small, jet-black mare, with a leanhead, slender legs, and a curious restless manner. She was a regulargreyhound of a horse, no spare flesh, yet wiry and able to do a greatdeal of work. She was a wicked looking little thing, so I thought I hadbetter keep at a safe distance from her heels. 

Mr. Wood petted her a great deal and I saw that she was his favorite. "Saucebox, " he exclaimed, when she pretended to bite him, "you know ifyou bite me, I'll bite back again. I think I've conquered you, " he said, proudly, as he stroked her glossy neck; "but what a dance you led me. Do you remember how I bought you for a mere song, because you had abad habit of turning around like a flash in front of anything thatfrightened you, and bolting off the other way? And how did I cure you, my beauty? Beat you and make you stubborn? Not I. I let you go round andround; I turned you and twisted you, the oftener the better for me, tillat last I got it into your pretty head that turning and twisting wasaddling your brains, and you had better let me be master. 

"You've minded me from that day, haven't you? Horse, or man, or dogaren't much good till they learn to obey, and I've thrown you down andI'll do it again if you bite me, so take care. "

Scamp tossed her pretty head, and took little pieces of Mr. Wood's shirtsleeve in her mouth, keeping her cunning brown eye on him as if to seehow far she could go. But she did not bite him. I think she loved him, for when he left her she whinnied shrilly, and he had to go back andstroke and caress her. 

After that I often used to watch her as she went about the farm. Shealways seemed to be tugging and striving at her load, and trying to stepout fast and do a great deal of work. Mr. Wood was usually drivingher. The men didn't like her, and couldn't manage her. She had not beenproperly broken in. 

After Mr. Wood finished his work he went and stood in the doorway. Therewere six horses altogether: Dutchman, Cleve, Pacer, Scamp, a bay marecalled Ruby, and a young horse belonging to Mr. Harry, whose name wasFleetfoot. 

"What do you think of them all?" said Mr. Wood, looking down at me. "A pretty fine-looking lot of horses, aren't they? Not a thoroughbredthere, but worth as much to me as if each had pedigree as long as thisplank walk. There's a lot of humbug about this pedigree business inhorses. Mine have their manes and tails anyway, and the proper use oftheir eyes, which is more liberty than some thoroughbreds get. 

"I'd like to see the man that would persuade me to put blinders orcheck-reins or any other instrument of torture on my horses. Don't thesimpletons know that blinders are the cause of well, I wouldn't like tosay how many of our accidents, Joe, for fear you'd think me extravagant. And the check-rein drags up a horse's head out of its fine naturalcurve and presses sinews, bones, and joints together, till the horse iswell-nigh mad. Ah, Joe, this is a cruel world for man or beast. You'rea standing token of that, with your missing ears and tail. And nowI've got to go and be cruel, and shoot that dog. He must be disposed ofbefore anyone else is astir. How I hate to take life. "

He sauntered down the walk to the tool shed, went in and soon came outleading a large, brown dog by a chain. This was Bruno. He was snappingand snarling and biting at his chain as he went along, though Mr. Woodled him very kindly, and when he saw me he acted as if he could havetorn me to pieces. After Mr. Wood took him behind the barn, he came backand got his gun. I ran away so that I would not hear the sound of it, for I could not help feeling sorry for Bruno. 

Miss Laura's room was on one side of the house, and in the second story. There was a little balcony outside it, and when I got near I saw thatshe was standing out on it wrapped in a shawl. Her hair was streamingover her shoulders, and she was looking down into the garden where therewere a great many white and yellow flowers in bloom. 

I barked, and she looked at me. "Dear old Joe, I will get dressed andcome down. "

She hurried into her room, and I lay on the veranda till I heard herstep. Then I jumped up. She unlocked the front door, and we went fora walk down the lane to the road until we heard the breakfast bell. Assoon as we heard it we ran back to the house, and Miss Laura had such anappetite for her breakfast that her aunt said the country had done hergood already. 

CHAPTER XVIII MRS. WOOD'S POULTRY

AFTER breakfast, Mrs. Wood put on a large apron, and going into thekitchen, said: "Have you any scraps for the hens, Adele? Be sure and notgive me anything salty. "

The French girl gave her a dish of food, then Mrs. Wood asked Miss Laurato go and see her chickens, and away we went to the poultry house. 

On the way we saw Mr. Wood. He was sitting on the step of the tool shedcleaning his gun "Is the dog dead?" asked Miss Laura. 

"Yes, " he said. 

She sighed and said: "Poor creature, I am sorry he had to be killed. Uncle, what is the most merciful way to kill a dog? Sometimes, when theyget old, they should be put out of the way. "

"You can shoot them, " he said, "or you can poison them. I shot Brunothrough his head into his neck. There's a right place to aim at. It's alittle one side of the top of the skull. If you'll remind me I'll showyou a circular I have in the house. It tells the proper way to killanimals. The American Humane Education Society in Boston puts it out, and it's a merciful thing. 

"You don't know anything about the slaughtering of animals, Laura, andit's well you don't. There's an awful amount of cruelty practiced, andpracticed by some people that think themselves pretty good. I wouldn'thave my lambs killed the way my father had his for a kingdom. I'll neverforget the first one I saw butchered. I wouldn't feel worse at a hangingnow. And that white ox, Hattie you remember my telling you about him. Hehad to be killed, and father sent for the butcher. I was only a lad, and I was all of a shudder to have the life of the creature I had knowntaken from him. The butcher, stupid clown, gave him eight blows beforehe struck the right place. The ox bellowed, and turned his great blackeyes on my father, and I fell in a faint. "

Miss Laura turned away, and Mrs. Wood followed her, saying: "If ever youwant to kill a cat, Laura, give it cyanide of potassium. I killed a poorold sick cat for Mrs. Windham the other day. We put half a teaspoonfulof pure cyanide of potassium in a long-handled wooden spoon, and droppedit on the cat's tongue, as near the throat as we could. Poor pussy shedied in a few seconds. Do you know, I was reading such a funny thing theother day about giving cats medicine. They hate it, and one can scarcelyforce it into their mouths on account of their sharp teeth. The way is, to smear it on their sides, and they lick it off. A good idea, isn't it?Here we are at the hen douse, or rather one of the hen houses. "

"Don't you keep your hens all together?" asked Miss Laura. 

"Only in the winter time, " said Mrs. Wood, "I divide my flock in thespring. Part of them stay here and part go to the orchard to live inlittle movable houses that we put about in different places. I feed eachflock morning and evening at their own little house. They know they'llget no food even if they come to my house, so they stay at home. Andthey know they'll get no food between times, so all day long they pickand scratch in the orchard, and destroy so many bugs and insects that itmore than pays for the trouble of keeping them there. "

"Doesn't this flock want to mix up with the other?" asked Miss Laura, asshe stepped into the little wooden house. 

"No; they seem to understand. I keep my eye on them for a while atfirst, and they soon find out that they're not to fly either over thegarden fence or the orchard fence. They roam over the farm and pick upwhat they can get. There's a good deal of sense in hens, if one managesthem properly. I love them because they are such good mothers. "

We were in the little wooden house by this time, and I looked around itwith surprise. It was better than some of the poor people's houses inFairport. The walls were white and clean, so were the little laddersthat led up to different kinds of roosts, where the fowls sat at night. Some roosts were thin and round, and some were broad and flat. Mrs. Woodsaid that the broad ones were for a heavy fowl called the Brahma. Everypart of the little house was almost as light as it was outdoors, onaccount of the large windows. 

Miss Laura spoke of it. "Why, auntie, I never saw such a light henhouse. "

Mrs. Wood was diving into a partly shut-in place, where it was not solight, and where the nests were. She straightened herself up, her faceredder than ever, and looked at the windows with a pleased smile. 

"Yes, there's not a hen house in New Hampshire with such big windows. Whenever I look at them, I think of my mother's hens, and wish that theycould have had a place like this. They would have thought themselves ina hen's paradise. When I was a girl we didn't know that hens loved lightand heat, and all winter they used to sit in a dark hencoop, and thecold was so bad that their combs would freeze stiff, and the tops ofthem would drop off. We never thought about it. If we'd had any sense, we might have watched them on a fine day go and sit on the compost heapand sun themselves, and then have concluded that if they liked lightand heat outside, they'd like it inside. Poor biddies, they were so coldthat they wouldn't lay us any eggs in winter. "

"You take a great interest in your poultry, don't you, auntie?" saidMiss Laura. 

"Yes, indeed, and well I may. I'll show you my brown Leghorn, Jenny, that lay eggs enough in a year to pay for the newspapers I take to keepmyself posted in poultry matters. I buy all my own clothes with my henmoney, and lately I've started a bank account, for I want to save upenough to start a few stands of bees. Even if I didn't want to be kindto my hens, it would pay me to be so for sake of the profit they yield. Of course they're quite a lot of trouble. Sometimes they get vermin onthem, and I have to grease them and dust carbolic acid on them, and trysome of my numerous cures. Then I must keep ashes and dust wallows forthem and be very particular about my eggs when hens are sitting, and seethat the hens come off regularly for food and exercise. Oh, there area hundred things I have to think of, but I always say to any one thatthinks of raising poultry: 'If you are going into the business for thepurpose of making money, it pays to take care of them. '"

"There's one thing I notice, " said Miss Laura, "and that is that yourdrinking fountains must be a great deal better than the shallow pansthat I have seen some people give their hens water in. "

"Dirty things they are, " said Mrs. Wood; "I wouldn't use one of them. Idon't think there is anything worse for hens than drinking dirty water. My hens must have as clean water as I drink myself, and in winter I heatit for them. If it's poured boiling into the fountains in the morning, it keeps warm till night. Speaking of shallow drinking dishes, Iwouldn't use them, even before I ever heard of a drinking fountain. Johnmade me something that we read about. He used to take a powder keg andbore a little hole in the side, about an inch from the top, then fillit with water, and cover with a pan a little larger round than the keg. Then he turned the keg upside down, without taking away the pan. Thewater ran into the pan only as far as the hole in the keg, and it wouldhave to be used before more would flow in. Now let us go and see mybeautiful, bronze turkeys. They don't need any houses, for they roost inthe trees the year round. "

We found the flock of turkeys, and Miss Laura admired their changeablecolors very much. Some of them were very large, and I did not like them, for the gobblers ran at me, and made a dreadful noise in their throats. 

Afterward, Mrs. Wood showed us some ducks that she had shut up in ayard. She said that she was feeding them on vegetable food, to givetheir flesh a pure flavor, and by-and-by she would send them to marketand get a high price for them. 

Every place she took us to was as clean as possible. "No one can besuccessful in raising poultry in large numbers, " she said, "unless theykeep their quarters clean and comfortable. "

As yet we had seen no hens, except a few on the nests, and Miss Laurasaid, "Where are they? I should like to see them. "

"They are coming, " said Mrs. Wood. "It is just their breakfast time, andthey are as punctual as clockwork. They go off early in the morning, toscratch about a little for themselves first. "

As she spoke she stepped off the plank walk and looked off towards thefields. 

Miss Laura burst out laughing. Away beyond the barns the hens werecoming. Seeing Mrs. Wood standing there, they thought they werelate, and began to run and fly, jumping over each other's backs, andstretching out their necks, in a state of great excitement. Some oftheir legs seemed slicking straight out behind. It was very funny to seethem. 

They were a fine-looking lot of poultry, mostly white, with glossyfeathers and bright eyes. They greedily ate the food scattered to themand Mrs. Wood said, "They think I've changed their breakfast time, andto-morrow they'll come a good bit earlier. And yet some people say henshave no sense. "

CHAPTER XIX A BAND OF MERCY

A FEW evenings after we came to Dingley Farm, Mrs. Wood and Miss Laurawere sitting out on the veranda, and I was lying at their feet. 

"Auntie, " said Miss Laura, "What do those letters mean on that silverpin that you wear with that piece of ribbon?"

"You know what the white ribbon means, don't you?" asked Mrs. Wood. 

"Yes; that you are a temperance woman, doesn't it?"

"It does; and the star pin means that I am a member of a Band of Mercy. Do you know what a Band of Mercy is?"

"No, " said Miss Laura. 

"How strange! I should think that you would have several in Fairport. Acripple boy, the son of a Boston artist, started this one here. It hasdone a great deal of good. There is a meeting to-morrow, and I will takeyou to it if you like. "

It was on Monday that Mrs. Wood had this talk with Miss Laura, and thenext afternoon, after all the work was done, they got ready to go to thevillage. 

"May Joe go?" asked Miss Laura. 

"Certainly, " said Mrs. Wood; "he is such good dog that he won't be anytrouble. "

I was very glad to hear this, and trotted along by them down the lane tothe road. The lane was a very cool and pleasant place. There were talltrees growing on each side, and under them, among the grass, pretty wildflowers were peeping out to look at us as we went by. 

Mrs. Wood and Miss Laura talked all the way about the Band of Mercy. Miss Laura was much interested, and said that she would like to startone in Fairport. 

"It is a very simple thing, " said Mrs. Wood. "All you have to do is towrite the pledge at the top of a piece of paper: 'I will try to be kindto all harmless living creatures, and try to protect them from cruelusage, ' and get thirty people to sign it. That makes a band. 

"I have formed two or three bands by keeping slips of paper ready, and getting people that come to visit me to sign them. I call them'Corresponding Bands, ' for they are too far apart to meet. I send themembers 'Band of Mercy' papers, and I get such nice letters from them, telling me of kind things they do for animals. 

"A Band of Mercy in a place is a splendid thing. There's the greatestdifference in Riverdale since this one was started. A few years ago, when a man beat or raced his horse, and any one interfered, he said:'This horse is mine; I'll do what I like with him. ' Most people thoughthe was right, but now they're all for the poor horse, and there isn't aman anywhere around who would dare to abuse any animal. 

"It's all the children. They're doing a grand work, and I say it's agood thing for them. Since we've studied this subject, it's enough tofrighten one to read what is sent us about our American boys andgirls. Do you know, Laura, that with all our brag about our schools andcolleges, that really are wonderful, we're turning out more criminalsthan any other civilized country in the world, except Spain and Italy?The cause of it is said to be lack of proper training for the youth ofour land. Immigration has something to do with it, too. We're thinkingtoo much about educating the mind, and forgetting about the heart andsoul. So I say now, while we've got all our future population in ourschools, saints and sinners, good people and bad people, let us try toslip in something between the geography, and history, and grammar thatwill go a little deeper, and touch them so much, that when they aregrown up and go out in the world, they will carry with them lessons oflove and good-will to men. 

"A little child is such a tender thing. You can bend it anyway you like. Speaking of this heart education of children, as set over against mindeducation, I see that many school-teachers say that there is nothingbetter than to give them lessons on kindness to animals. Children whoare taught to love and protect dumb creature, will be kind to theirfellow-men when they grow up. "

I was very much pleased with this talk between Mrs. Wood and Miss Laura, and kept close to them so that I would not miss a word. 

As we went along, houses began to appear here and there, set back fromthe road among the trees. Soon they got quite close together, and I sawsome shops. 

This was the village of Riverdale, and nearly all the buildings werealong this winding street. The river was away back of the village. Wehad already driven there several times. 

We passed the school on our way. It was a square, white building, standing in the middle of a large yard. Boys and girls, with their armsfull of books, were hurrying down the steps and coming into the street. Two quite big boys came behind us, and Mrs. Wood turned around and spoketo them, and asked if they were going to the Band of Mercy. 

"Oh, yes, ma'am, " said the younger one "I've got a recitation, don't youremember?"

"Yes, yes; excuse me for forgetting, " said Mrs. Wood, with her jollylaugh. "And here are Dolly, and Jennie, and Martha, " she went on, assome little girls came running out of a house that we were passing. 

The little girls joined us and looked so hard at my head and stump of atail, and my fine collar, that I felt quite shy, and walked with my headagainst Miss Laura's dress. 

She stooped down and patted me, and then I felt as if I didn't care howmuch they stared. Miss Laura never forgot me. No matter how earnestlyshe was talking, or playing a game, or doing anything, she alwaysstopped occasionally to give me word or look, to show that she knew Iwas near. 

Mrs. Wood paused in front of a building on the main street. A great manyboys and girls were going in, and we went with them. We found ourselvesin a large room, with a platform at one end of it. There were somechairs on this platform and a small table. 

A boy stood by this table with his hand on a bell. Presently he rang it, and then every one kept still. Mrs. Wood whispered to Miss Laura thatthis boy was the president of the band, and the young man with thepale face and curly hair who sat in front of him was Mr. Maxwell, theartist's son, who had formed this Band of Mercy. 

The lad who presided had a ringing, pleasant voice. He said they wouldbegin their meeting by singing a hymn. There was an organ near theplatform and a young girl played on it, while all the other boys andgirls stood up, and sang very sweetly and clearly. 

After they had sung the hymn, the president asked for the report oftheir last meeting. 

A little girl, blushing and hanging her head, came forward, and readwhat was written on a paper that she held in her hand. 

The president made some remarks after she had finished, and then everyone had to vote. It was just like a meeting of grown people, and I wassurprised to see how good those children were. They did not frolic norlaugh, but all seemed sober and listened attentively. 

After the voting was over, the president called upon John Turner to givea recitation This was the boy whom we saw on the way there. He walkedup to the platform, made a bow, and said that he had learned two storiesfor his recitation, out of the paper, "Dumb Animals. " One story wasabout a horse, and the other was about a dog, and he thought that theywere two of the best animal stories on record. He would tell the horsestory first. 

"A man in Missouri had to go to Nebraska to see about some land. He wenton horseback, on a horse that he had trained himself, and that came athis whistle like a dog. On getting into Nebraska, he came to a placewhere there were two roads. One went by a river, and the other went overthe hill. The man saw that the travel went over the hill, but thoughthe'd take the river road. He didn't know that there was a quicksandacross it, and that people couldn't use it in spring and summer. Thereused to be a sign board to tell strangers about it, but it had beentaken away. The man got off his horse to let him graze, and walked alongtill he got so far ahead of the horse that he had to sit down and waitfor him. Suddenly he found that he was on a quicksand. His feet had sunkin the sand, and he could not get them out. He threw himself down, andwhistled for his horse, and shouted for help, but no one came. He couldhear some young people singing out on the river, but they could nothear him. The terrible sand drew him in almost to his shoulders, and hethought he was lost. At that moment the horse came running up, and stoodby his master. The man was too low down to get hold of the saddle orbridle, so he took hold of the horse's tail, and told him to go. Thehorse gave an awful pull, and landed his master on safe ground. "

Everybody clapped his hands, and stamped when this story was finished, and called out: "The dog story the dog story!"

The boy bowed and smiled, and began again. "You all know what a'round-up' of cattle is, so I need not explain. Once a man down southwas going to have one, and he and his boys and friends were talkingit over. There was an ugly, black steer in the herd, and they werewondering whether their old yellow dog would be able to manage him. Thedog's name was Tige, and he lay and listened wisely to their talk. Thenext day there was a scene of great confusion. The steer raged and toreabout, and would allow no one to come within whip touch of him. Tige, who had always been brave, skulked about for a while, and then, as ifhe had got up a little spirit, he made a run at the steer. The steersighted him, gave a bellow, and, lowering his horns, ran at him. Tigeturned tail, and the young men that owned him were frantic. They'd beenpraising him, and thought they were going to have it proven false. Theirfather called out: 'Don't shoot Tige, till you see where he's runningto. ' The dog ran right to the cattle pen. The steer was so enragedthat he never noticed where he was going, and dashed in after him. Tigeleaped the wall, and came back to the gate, barking and yelping for themen to come and shut the steer in. They shut the gate and petted Tige, and bought him a collar with a silver plate. "

The boy was loudly cheered, and went to his seat. The president said hewould like to have remarks made about these two stories. 

Several children put up their hands, and he asked each one to speakin turn. One said that if that man's horse had had a docked tail, hismaster wouldn't have been able to reach it, and would have perished. Another said that if the man hadn't treated his horse kindly, he neverwould have come at his whistle, and stood over him to see what he coulddo to help him. A third child said that the people on the river weren'tas quick at hearing the voice of the man in trouble as the horse was. 

When this talk was over, the president called for some stories offoreign animals. 

Another boy came forward, made his bow, and said, in a short, abruptvoice, "My uncle's name is Henry Worthington. He is an Englishman, and once he was a soldier in India. One day when he was hunting in thePunjab, he saw a mother monkey carrying a little dead baby monkey. Sixmonths after, he was in the same jungle. Saw same monkey still carryingdead baby monkey, all shriveled up. Mother monkey loved her baby monkey, and wouldn't give it up. "

The boy went to his seat, and the president, with a queer look in hisface, said, "That's a very good story, Ronald if it is true. "

None of the children laughed, but Mrs. Wood's face got like a red poppy, and Miss Laura bit her lip, and Mr. Maxwell buried his head in his arms, his whole frame shaking. 

The boy who told the story looked very angry. He jumped up again. "Myuncle's a true man, Phil Dodge, and never told a lie in his life. "

The president remained standing, his face a deep scarlet, and a tall boyat the back of the room got up and said, "Mr. President, what wouldbe impossible in this climate, might be possible in a hot country likeIndia. Doesn't heat sometimes draw up and preserve things?"

The president's face cleared. "Thank you for the suggestion, " he said. "I don't want to hurt anybody's feelings; but you know there is a rulein the band that only true stories are to be told here. We have fivemore minutes for foreign stories. Has any one else one?"

CHAPTER XX STORIES ABOUT ANIMALS

A SMALL girl, with twinkling eyes and a merry face, got up, just behindMiss Laura, and made her way to the front. "My dranfadder says, " shebegan, in a piping little voice, "dat when he was a little boy hisfadder brought him a little monkey from de West Indies. De naughty boysin de village used to tease de little monkey, and he runned up a treeone day. Dey was drowing stones at him, and a man dat was paintin' dehouse druv 'em away. De monkey runned down de tree, and shook hands widde man. My dranfadder saw him, " she said, with a shake of her head atthe president, as if she was afraid he would doubt her. 

There was great laughing and clapping of hands when this little girltook her seat, and she hopped right up again and ran back. "Oh, Ifordot, " she went on, in her squeaky, little voice, "dat my dranfaddersays dat afterward de monkey upset de painter's can of oil, and rolledin it, and den jumped down in my dranfadder's flour barrel. "

The president looked very much amused, and said, "We have had some goodstories about monkeys, now let us have some more about our home animals. Who can tell us another story about a horse?"

Three or four boys jumped up, but the president said they would take oneat a time. The first one was this: A Riverdale boy was walking alongthe bank of a canal in Hoytville. He saw a boy driving two horses, whichwere towing a canal-boat. The first horse was lazy, and the boy gotangry and struck him several times over the head with his whip. TheRiverdale boy shouted across to him, begging him not to be so cruel;but the boy paid no attention. Suddenly the horse turned, seized histormentor by the shoulder, and pushed him into the canal. The water wasnot deep, and the boy, after floundering about for a few seconds, cameout dripping with mud and filth, and sat down on the tow path, andlooked at the horse with such a comical expression, that the Riverdaleboy had to stuff his handkerchief in his mouth to keep from laughing. 

"It is to be hoped that he would learn a lesson, " said the president, "and be kinder to his horse in the future. Now, Bernard Howe, yourstory. "

The boy was a brother to the little girl who had told the monkey story, and he, too, had evidently been talking to his grandfather. He told twostories, and Miss Laura listened eagerly, for they were about Fairport. 

The boy said that when his grandfather was young, he lived in Fairport, Maine. On a certain day he stood in the market square to see their firststage-coach put together. It had come from Boston in pieces, for therewas no one in Fairport that could make one. The coach went away up intothe country one day, and came back the next. For a long time no oneunderstood driving the horses properly, and they came in day after daywith the blood streaming from them. The whiffletree would swing roundand hit them, and when their collars were taken off, their necks wouldbe raw and bloody. After a time, the men got to understand how to drivea coach, and the horses did not suffer so much. 

The other story was about a team-boat, not a steamboat. More thanseventy years ago, they had no steamers running between Fairport and theisland opposite where people went for the summer, but they had what theycalled a team-boat, that is, a boat with machinery to make it go, thatcould be worked by horses. There were eight horses that went around andaround, and made the boat go. One afternoon, two dancing masters, whowere wicked fellows, that played the fiddle, and never went to church onSundays, got on the boat, and sat just where the horses had to pass themas they went around. 

Every time the horses went by, they jabbed them with their penknives. The man who was driving the horses at last saw the blood dripping fromthem, and the dancing masters were found out. Some young men on the boatwere so angry that they caught up a rope's end, and gave the dancingmasters a lashing, and then threw them into the water and made them swimto the island. 

When this boy took a seat, a young girl read some verses that she hadclipped from a newspaper:

 "Don't kill the toads, the ugly toads, That hop around your door; Each meal the little toad doth eat A hundred bugs or more. 

 "He sits around with aspect meek, Until the bug hath neared, Then shoots he forth his little tongue Like lightning double-geared. 

 "And then he soberly doth wink, And shut his ugly mug, And patiently doth wait until There comes another bug. "

Mr. Maxwell told a good dog story after this. He said the president neednot have any fears as to its truth, for it had happened in his boardinghouse in the village, and he had seen it himself. Monday, the daybefore, being wash-day, his landlady lady had put out a large washing. Among the clothes on the line was a gray flannel shirt belonging to herhusband. The young dog belonging to the house had pulled the shirt fromthe line and torn it to pieces. The woman put it aside and told himmaster would beat him. When the man came home to his dinner, he showedthe dog the pieces of the shirt, and gave him a severe whipping. The dogran away, visited all the clothes lines in the village, till he found agray shirt very like his master's. He seized it and ran home, laying itat his master's; feet, joyfully wagging his tail meanwhile. 

Mr. Maxwell's story done, a bright-faced boy, called Simon Grey, got upand said, "You all know our old gray horse Ned. Last week fathersold him to a man in Hoytville, and I went to the station when he wasshipped. He was put in a box car. The doors were left a little open togive him air, and were locked in that way. There was a narrow, slidingdoor, four feet from the floor of the car, and, in some way or other, old Ned pushed this door open, crawled through it, and tumbled out onthe ground. When I was coming from school, I saw him walking along thetrack. He hadn't hurt himself, except for a few cuts. He was glad to seeme, and followed me home. He must have gotten off the train when it wasgoing full speed, for he hadn't been seen at any of the stations, andthe trainmen were astonished to find the doors locked and the car empty, when they got to Hoytville. Father got the man who bought him to releasehim from his bargain, for he says if Ned is so fond of Riverdale, heshall stay here. "

The president asked the boys and girls to give three cheers for old Ned, and then they had some more singing. After all had taken their seats, hesaid he would like to know what the members had been doing for animalsduring the past fortnight. 

One girl had kept her brother from shooting two owls that came abouttheir barnyard. She told him that the owls would destroy the rats andmice that bothered him in the barn, but if he hunted them, they would goto the woods. 

A boy said that he had persuaded some of his friends who were goingfishing, to put their bait worms into a dish of boiling water to killthem before they started, and also to promise him that as soon as theytook their fish out of the water, they would kill them by a sharp blowon the back of the head. They were all the more ready to do this, whenhe told them that their fish would taste better when cooked, if they hadbeen killed as soon as they were taken from the water into the air. 

A little girl had gotten her mother to say that she would never againput lobsters into cold water and slowly boil them to death. She had alsostopped a man in the street who was carrying a pair of fowls with theirheads down, and asked him if he would kindly reverse their position. The man told her that the fowls didn't mind, and she pursed up hersmall mouth and showed the band how she said to him, "I would preferthe opinion of the hens. " Then she said he had laughed at her, and said, "Certainly, little lady, " and had gone off carrying them as she wantedhim to. She had also reasoned with different boys outside the villagewho were throwing stones at birds and frogs, and sticking butterflies, and had invited them to come to the Band of Mercy. 

This child seemed to have done more than any one else for dumb animals. She had taken around a petition to the village boys, asking them not tosearch for birds' eggs, and she had even gone into her father's stable, and asked him to hold her up, so that she could look into the horses'mouths to see if their teeth wanted filing or were decayed. When herfather laughed at her, she told him that horses often suffer terriblepain from their teeth, and that sometimes a runaway is caused by a metalbit striking against the exposed nerve in the tooth of a horse that hasbecome almost frantic with pain. 

She was a very gentle girl, and I think by the way that she spoke thather father loved her dearly, for she told how much trouble he had takento make some tiny houses for her that she wanted for the wrens that cameabout their farm, She told him that those little birds are so good atcatching insects that they ought to give all their time to it, and nothave any worry about making houses. Her father made their homes verysmall, so that the English sparrows could not get in and crowd them out. 

A boy said that he had gotten a pot of paint, and painted in largeletters on the fences around his father's farm: "Spare the toads, don'tkill the birds. Every bird killed is a loss to the country. "

"That reminds me, " said the president, "to ask the girls what they havedone about the millinery business. "

"I have told my mother, " said a tall, serious faced girl, "that I thinkit is wrong to wear bird feathers, and she has promised to give upwearing any of them except ostrich plumes. "

Mrs. Wood asked permission to say a few words just here, and thepresident said: "Certainly, we are always glad to hear from you. "

She went up on the platform, and faced the roomful of children. "Dearboys and girls, " she began, "I have had some papers sent me from Boston, giving some facts about the killing of our birds, and I want to state afew of them to you: You all know that nearly every tree and plant thatgrows swarms with insect life, and that they couldn't grow if the birdsdidn't eat the insects that would devour their foliage. All day long, the little beaks of the birds are busy. The dear little rose-breastedgross-beak carefully examines the potato plants, and picks off thebeetles, the martins destroy weevil, the quail and grouse family eatsthe chinchbug, the woodpeckers dig the worms from the trees, and manyother birds eat the flies and gnats and mosquitoes that torment us so. No flying or crawling creature escapes their sharp little eyes. A greatFrenchman says that if it weren't for the birds human beings wouldperish from the face of the earth. They are doing all this for us, andhow are we rewarding them? All over America they are hunted and killed. Five million birds must be caught every year for American women to wearin their hats and bonnets. Just think of it, girls. Isn't it dreadful?Five million innocent, hard-working, beautiful birds killed, thatthoughtless girls and women may ornament themselves with their littledead bodies. One million bobolinks have been killed in one month nearPhiladelphia. Seventy song-birds were sent from one Long Island villageto New York milliners. 

"In Florida, cruel men shoot the mother bird on their nests while theyare rearing their young, because their plumage is prettiest at thattime. The little ones cry pitifully, and starve to death. Every birdof the rarer kinds that is killed, such as humming birds, orioles andkingfishers, means the death of several others that is, the young thatstarve to death, the wounded that fly away to die, and those whoseplumage is so torn that it is not fit to put in a fine lady's bonnet. Insome cases where birds have gay wings, and the hunters do not wish therest of the body, they tear off the wings from the living bird, andthrow it away to die. 

"I am sorry to tell you such painful things, but I think you ought toknow them. You will soon be men and women. Do what you can to stopthis horrid trade. Our beautiful birds are being taken from us, and theinsect pests are increasing. The State of Massachusetts has lost overone hundred thousand dollars because it did not protect its birds. Thegypsy moth stripped the trees near Boston, and the State had to pay outall this money, and even then could not get rid of the moths. The birdscould have done it better than the State, but they were all gone. Mylast words to you are, 'Protect the birds. '" Mrs. Wood went to herseat, and though the boys and girls had listened very attentively, noneof them cheered her. Their faces looked sad, and they kept very quietfor a few minutes. I saw one or two little girls wiping their eyes. Ithink they felt sorry for the birds. 

"Has any boy done anything about blinders and check-reins?" asked thepresident, after a time. 

A brown-faced boy stood up. "I had a picnic last Monday, " he said;"father let me cut all the blinders off our head-stalls with mypenknife. "

"How did you get him to consent to that?" asked the president. 

"I told him, " said the boy, "that I couldn't get to sleep for thinkingof him. You know he drives a good deal late at night. I told him thatevery dark night he came from Sudbury I thought of the deep ditchalongside the road, and wished his horses hadn't blinders on. And everynight he comes from the Junction, and has to drive along the river bankwhere the water has washed away the earth till the wheels of the wagonare within a foot or two of the edge, I wished again that his horsescould see each side of them, for I knew they'd have sense enough to keepout of danger if they could see it. Father said that might be very true, and yet his horses had been broken in with blinders, and didn't I thinkthey would be inclined to shy if he took them off; and wouldn't they befrightened to look around and see the wagon wheels so near. I toldhim that for every accident that happened to a horse without blinders, several happened to a horse with them; and then I gave him Mr. Wood'sopinion Mr. Wood out at Dingley Farm. He says that the worst thingagainst blinders is that a frightened horse never knows when he haspassed the thing that scared him. He always thinks it is behind him. Theblinders are there and he can't see that he has passed it, and he can'tturn his head to have a good look at it. So often he goes tearing madlyon; and sometimes lives are lost all on account of a little bit ofleather fastened over a beautiful eye that ought to look out full andfree at the world. That finished father. He said he'd take off hisblinders, and if he had an accident, he'd send the bill for damages toMr. Wood. But we've had no accident. The horses did act rather queerlyat first, and started a little; but they soon got over it, and now theygo as steady without blinders as they ever did with them. "

The boy sat down, and the president said: "I think it is time that thewhole nation threw off this foolishness of half covering their horses'eyes. Just put your hands up to your eyes, members of the band. Halfcover them, and see how shut in you will feel; and how curious you willbe to know what is going on beside you. Suppose a girl saw a mouse withher eyes half covered, wouldn't she run?"

Everybody laughed, and the president asked some one to tell him whoinvented blinders. 

"An English nobleman, " shouted a boy, "who had a wall-eyed horse! Hewanted to cover up the defect, and I think it is a great shame that allthe American horses have to suffer because that English one had an uglyeye. "

"So do I, " said the president. "Three groans for blinders, boys. "

And the children in the room made three dreadful noises away down intheir throats. Then they had another good laugh, and the presidentbecame sober again. "Seven more minutes, " he said; "this meeting has gotto be let out at five sharp. "

A tall girl at the back of the room rose, and said: "My little cousinhas two stories that she would like to tell the band. "

"Very well, " said the president; "bring her right along. "

The big girl came forward, leading a tiny child that she placed infront of the boys and girls. The child stared up into her cousin's face, turning and twisting her white pinafore through her fingers. Every timethe big girl took her pinafore away from her, she picked it up again. "Begin, Nannie, " said the big girl, kindly. 

"Well, Cousin Eleanor, " said the child, "you know Topsy, Graham's pony. Well, Topsy would run away, and a big, big man came out to papa and saidhe would train Topsy. So he drove her every day, and beat her, and beather, till he was tired, but still Topsy would run away. Then papa saidhe would not have the poor pony whipped so much, and he took her outa piece of bread every day, and he petted her and now Topsy is verygentle, and never runs away. "

"Tell about Tiger, " said the girl. 

"Well, Cousin Eleanor, " said the child, "you know Tiger, our big dog. He used to be a bad dog, and when Dr. Fairchild drove up to the house hejumped up and bit at him. Dr. Fairchild used to speak kindly to him, andthrow out bits of meat, and now when he comes, Tiger follows behind andwags his tail. Now, give me a kiss. "

The girl had to give her a kiss, right up there before every one, andwhat a stamping the boys made. The larger girl blushed and hurried backto her seat, with the child clinging to her hand. 

There was one more story, about a brave Newfoundland dog, that savedeight lives by swimming out to a wrecked sailing vessel, and getting arope by which the men came ashore, and then a lad got up whom they allgreeted with cheers, and cries of, "The Poet! the Poet!" I didn't knowwhat they meant, till Mrs. Wood whispered to Miss Laura that he was aboy who made rhymes, and the children had rather hear him speak thanany one else in the room. 

He had a snub nose and freckles, and I think he was the plainest boythere, but that didn't matter, if the other children loved him. Hesauntered up to the front, with his hands behind his back, and a verygrand manner. 

"The beautiful poetry recited here to-day, " he drawled, "put some versesin my mind that I never had till I came here to-day. " Every one presentcheered wildly, and he began in a sing song voice:

 "I am a Band of Mercy boy, I would not hurt a fly, I always speak to dogs and cats, When'er I pass them by. 

 "I always let the birdies sing, I never throw a stone, I always give a hungry dog A nice, fat, meaty bone. 

 "I wouldn't drive a bob-tailed horse, Nor hurry up a cow, I"

Then he forgot the rest. The boys and girls were so sorry. They calledout, "Pig, " "Goat, " "Calf, " "Sheep, " "Hens, " "Ducks, " and all the otheranimals' names they could think of, but none of them was right, and asthe boy had just made up the poetry, no one knew what the next could be. He stood for a long time staring at the ceiling, then he said, "I guessI'll have to give it up. "

The children looked dreadfully disappointed. "Perhaps you will rememberit by our next meeting, " said the president, anxiously. 

"Possibly, " said the boy, "but probably not. I think it is gone forever. "And he went to his seat. 

The next thing was to call for new members. Miss Laura got up and saidshe would like to join their Band of Mercy. I followed her up to theplatform, while they pinned a little badge on her, and every one laughedat me. Then they sang, "God Bless our Native Land, " and the presidenttold us that we might all go home. 

It seemed to me a lovely thing for those children to meet together totalk about kindness to animals. They all had bright and good faces, andmany of them stopped to pat me as I came out. One little girl gave me abiscuit from her school bag. 

Mrs. Wood waited at the door till Mr. Maxwell came limping out on hiscrutches. She introduced him to Miss Laura, and asked him if he wouldn'tgo and take tea with them. He said he would be very happy to do so, and then Mrs. Wood laughed; and asked him if he hadn't better empty hispockets first. She didn't want a little toad jumping over her tea table, as one did the last time he was there. 

CHAPTER XXI MR. MAXWELL AND MR. HARRY

MR. MAXWELL wore a coat with loose pockets, and while she was speaking, he rested on his crutches, and began to slap them with his hands. "No;there's nothing here to-day, " he said; "I think I emptied my pocketsbefore I went to the meeting. "

Just as he said that there was a loud squeal: "Oh, my guinea pig, " heexclaimed; "I forgot him, " and he pulled out a little spotted creaturea few inches long. "Poor Derry, did I hurt you?" and he soothed it verytenderly. 

I stood and looked at Mr. Maxwell, for I had never seen any one likehim. He had thick curly hair and a white face, and he looked just like agirl. While I was staring at him, something peeped up out of one of hispockets and ran out its tongue at me so fast that I could scarcely seeit, and then drew back again. I was thunderstruck. I had never seensuch a creature before. It was long and thin like a boy's cane, and ofa bright green color like grass, and it had queer shiny eyes. But itstongue was the strangest part of it. It came and went like lightning. Iwas uneasy about it, and began to bark. 

"What's the matter, Joe?" said Mrs. Wood; "the pig won't hurt you. "

But it wasn't the pig I was afraid of, and I kept on barking. And allthe time that strange live thing kept sticking up its head and puttingout its tongue at me, and neither of them noticed it. 

"It's getting on toward six, " said Mrs. Wood; "we must be going home. Come, Mr. Maxwell. "

The young man put the guinea pig in his pocket, picked up his crutches, and we started down the sunny village street. He left his guinea pig athis boarding house as he went by, but he said nothing about the othercreature, so I knew he did not know it was there. 

I was very much taken with Mr. Maxwell. He seemed so bright and happy, in spite of his lameness, which kept him from running about like otheryoung men. He looked a little older than Miss Laura, and one day, a weekor two later, when they were sitting on the veranda, I heard him tellher that he was just nineteen. He told her, too, that his lameness madehim love animals. They never laughed at him, or slighted him, or gotimpatient, because he could not walk quickly. They were always good tohim, and he said he loved all animals while he liked very few people. 

On this day as he was limping along, he said to Mrs. Wood: "I am gettingmore absent-minded every day. Have you heard of my latest escapade?"

"No, " she said. 

"I am glad, " he replied. "I was afraid that it would be all over thevillage by this time. I went to church last Sunday with my poor guineapig in my pocket. He hasn't been well, and I was attending to himbefore church, and put him in there to get warm, and forgot about him. Unfortunately I was late, and the back seats were all full, so I had tosit farther up than I usually do. During the first hymn I happened tostrike Piggy against the side of the seat. Such an ear-splitting squealas he set up. It sounded as if I was murdering him. The people staredand stared, and I had to leave the church, overwhelmed with confusion. "

Mrs. Wood and Miss Laura laughed, and then they got talking about othermatters that were not interesting to me, so I did not listen. But I keptclose to Miss Laura, for I was afraid that green thing might hurt her. Iwondered very much what its name was. I don't think I should have fearedit so much if I had known what it was. 

"There's something the matter with Joe, " said Miss Laura, when we gotinto the lane. "What is it, dear old fellow?" She put down her littlehand, and I licked it, and wished so much that I could speak. 

Sometimes I wish very much that I had the gift of speech, and then atother times I see how little it would profit me, and how many foolishthings I should often say. And I don't believe human beings would loveanimals as well, if they could speak. 

When we reached the house, we got a joyful surprise. There was a trunkstanding on the veranda, and as soon as Mrs. Wood saw it, she gave alittle shriek: "My dear boy!"

Mr. Harry was there, sure enough, and stepped out through the open door. He took his mother in his arms and kissed her, then he shook hands withMiss Laura and Mr. Maxwell, who seemed to be an old friend of his. Theyall sat down on the veranda and talked, and I lay at Miss Laura's feetand looked at Mr. Harry. He was such a handsome young man, and had sucha noble face. He was older and graver looking than when I saw him last, and he had a light, brown mustache that he did not have when he was inFairport. 

He seemed very fond of his mother and of Miss Laura, and however gravehis face might be when he was looking at Mr. Maxwell, it always lightedup when he turned to them. "What dog is that?" he said at last, with apuzzled face, and pointing to me. 

"Why, Harry, " exclaimed Miss Laura, "don't you know Beautiful Joe, thatyou rescued from that wretched milkman?"

"Is it possible, " he said, "that this well-conditioned creature is thebundle of dirty skin and bones that we nursed in Fairport? Come here, sir. Do you remember me?"

Indeed I did remember him, and I licked his hands and looked upgratefully into his face. "You're almost handsome now, " he said, caressing me with a firm, kind hand, "and of a solid build, too. Youlook like a fighter but I suppose you wouldn't let him fight, even if hewanted to, Laura, " and he smiled and glanced at her. 

"No, " she said; "I don't think I should; but he can fight when theoccasion requires it. " And she told him about our night with Jenkins. 

All the time she was speaking, Mr. Harry held me by the paws, andstroked my body over and over again. When she finished, he put his headdown to me, and murmured, "Good dog, " and I saw that his eyes were redand shining. 

"That's a capital story, we must have it at the Band of Mercy, " said Mr. Maxwell. Mrs. Wood had gone to help prepare the tea, so the two youngmen were alone with Miss Laura. When they had done talking about me, sheasked Mr. Harry a number of questions about his college life, and histrip to New York, for he had not been studying all the time that he wasaway. 

"What are you going to do with yourself, Gray, when your college courseis ended?" asked Mr. Maxwell. 

"I am going to settle right down here, " said Mr. Harry. 

"What, be a farmer?" asked his friend. 

"Yes; why not?"

"Nothing, only I imagined that you would take a profession. "

"The professions are overstocked, and we have not farmers enough for thegood of the country. There is nothing like farming, to my mind. In noother employment have you a surer living. I do not like the cities. The heat and dust, and crowds of people, and buildings overtopping oneanother, and the rush of living, take my breath away. Suppose I didgo to a city. I would sell out my share of the farm, and have a fewthousand dollars. You know I am not an intellectual giant. I wouldnever distinguish myself in any profession. I would be a poor lawyer ordoctor, living in a back street all the days of my life, and never watcha tree or flower grow, or tend an animal, or have a drive unless I paidfor it. No, thank you. I agree with President Eliot, of Harvard. Hesays scarcely one person in ten thousand betters himself permanently byleaving his rural home and settling in a city. If one is a millionaire, city life is agreeable enough, for one can always get away from it; butI am beginning to think that it is a dangerous thing, in more ways thanone, to be a millionaire. I believe the safety of the country lies inthe hands of the farmers; for they are seldom very poor or very rich. Westand between the two dangerous classes the wealthy and the paupers. "

"But most farmers lead such a dog's life, " said Mr. Maxwell. 

"So they do; farming isn't made one-half as attractive as it should be, "said Mr. Harry. 

Mr. Maxwell smiled. "Attractive farming. Just sketch an outline of that, will you, Gray?"

"In the first place, " said Mr. Harry, "I would like to tear out of theheart of the farmer the thing that is as firmly implanted in him as itis in the heart of his city brother the thing that is doing more to harmour nation than anything else under the sun. "

"What is that?" asked Mr. Maxwell, curiously. 

"The thirst for gold. The farmer wants to get rich, and he works so hardto do it that he wears himself out soul and body, and the young peoplearound him get so disgusted with that way of getting rich, that theygo off to the cities to find out some other way, or at least to enjoythemselves, for I don't think many young people are animated by a desireto heap up money. "

Mr. Maxwell looked amused. "There is certainly a great exodus fromcountry places cityward, " he said. "What would be your plan for checkingit?"

"I would make the farm so pleasant, that you couldn't hire the boys andgirls to leave it. I would have them work, and work hard, too, but whentheir work was over, I would let them have some fun. That is what theygo to the city for. They want amusement and society, and to get intosome kind of a crowd when their work is done. The young men and youngwomen want to get together, as is only natural. Now that could be donein the country. If farmers would be contented with smaller profits andsmaller farms, their houses could be nearer together. Their childrenwould have opportunities of social intercourse, there could be societiesand clubs, and that would tend to a distribution of literature. A farmerought to take five or six papers and two or three magazines. He wouldfind it would pay him in the long run, and there ought to be a law made, compelling him to go to the post office once a day. "

Mr. Maxwell burst out laughing. "And another to make him mend his roadsas well as mend his ways. I tell you Gray, the bad roads would put anend to all these fine schemes of yours. Imagine farmers calling on eachother on a dark evening after a spring freshet. I can see them mired andbogged, and the house a mile ahead of them. "

"That is true, " said Mr. Harry, "the road question is a serious one. Doyou know how father and I settle it?"

"No, " said Mr. Maxwell. 

"We got so tired of the whole business, and the farmers around herespent so much time in discussing the art of roadmaking, as to whetherit should be viewed from the engineering point of view, or the farmers'practical point of view, and whether we would require this number ofstump extractors or that number, and how many shovels and crushers andditchers would be necessary to keep our roads in order, and so on, thatwe simply withdrew. We keep our own roads in order. Once a year, fathergets a gang of men and tackles every section of the road that bordersupon our land, and our roads are the best around here. I wish thegovernment would take up this matter of making roads and settle it. Ifwe had good, smooth, country roads, such as they have in some parts ofEurope, we would be able to travel comfortably over them all through theyear, and our draught animals would last longer, for they would not haveto expend so much energy in drawing their loads. "

CHAPTER XXII WHAT HAPPENED AT THE TEA TABLE

FROM my station under Miss Laura's chair, I could see that all the timeMr. Harry was speaking, Mr. Maxwell, although he spoke rather as if hewas laughing at him, was yet glancing at him admiringly. 

When Mr. Harry was silent, he exclaimed, "You are right, you are right, Gray. With your smooth highways, and plenty of schools, and churches, and libraries, and meetings for young people, you would make countrylife a paradise, and I tell you what you would do, too; you would emptythe slums of the cities. It is the slowness and dullness of countrylife, and not their poverty alone, that keep the poor in dirty lanesand tenement houses. They want stir and amusement, too, poor souls, whentheir day's work is over. I believe they would come to the country if itwere made more pleasant for them. "

"That is another question, " said Mr. Harry, "a burning question in mymind the labor and capital one. When I was in New York, Maxwell, I wasin a hospital, and saw a number of men who had been day laborers. Someof them were old and feeble, and others were young men, broken down inthe prime of life. Their limbs were shrunken and drawn. They had beendigging in the earth, and working on high buildings, and confined indingy basements, and had done all kinds of hard labor for other men. They had given their lives and strength for others, and this was the endof it to die poor and forsaken. I looked at them, and they reminded meof the martyrs of old. Ground down, living from hand to mouth, separatedfrom their families in many cases they had had a bitter lot. They hadnever had a chance to get away from their fate, and had to work tillthey dropped. I tell you there is something wrong. We don't do enoughfor the people that slave and toil for us. We should take better careof them, we should not herd them together like cattle, and when we getrich, we should carry them along with us, and give them a part of ourgains, for without them we would be as poor as they are. "

"Good, Harry I'm with you there, " said voice behind him, and lookingaround, we saw Mr. Wood standing in the doorway, gazing down proudly athis step-son. 

Mr. Harry smiled, and getting up, said, "Won't you have my chair, sir?"

"No, thank you; your mother wishes us to come to tea. There are muffins, and you know they won't improve with keeping. "

They all went to the dining-room, and I followed them. On the way, Mr. Wood said, "Right on top of that talk of yours, Harry, I've got to tellyou of another person who is going to Boston to live. "

"Who is it?" said Mr. Harry. 

"Lazy Dan Wilson. I've been to see him this afternoon. You know his wifeis sick, and they're half starved. He says he is going to the city, forhe hates to chop wood and work, and he thinks maybe he'll get some lightjob there. "

Mr. Harry looked grave, and Mr. Maxwell said, "He will starve, that'swhat he will do. "

"Precisely, " said Mr. Wood, spreading out his hard, brown hands, ashe sat down at the table. "I don't know why it is, but the presentgeneration has a marvelous way of skimming around any kind of work withtheir hands. They'll work their brains till they haven't got any morebackbone than a caterpillar, but as for manual labor, it's old-timey andout of fashion. I wonder how these farms would ever have been carvedout of the backwoods, if the old Puritans had sat down on the rocks withtheir noses in a lot of books, and tried to figure out just how littlework they could do, and yet exist. "

"Now, father, " said Mrs. Wood, "you are trying to insinuate that thepresent generation is lazy, and I'm sure it isn't. Look at Harry. Heworks as hard as you do. "

"Isn't that like a woman?" said Mr. Wood, with a good-natured laugh. "The present generation consists of her son, and the past of herhusband. I don't think all our young people are lazy, Hattie; but howin creation, unless the Lord rains down a few farmers, are we going tosupport all our young lawyers and doctors? They say the world is gettinghealthier and better, but we've got to fight a little more, and raisesome more criminals, and we've got to take to eating pies and doughnutsfor breakfast again, or some of our young sprouts from the colleges willgo a begging. "

"You don't mean to undervalue the advantages of a good education, doyou, Mr. Wood?" said Mr. Maxwell. 

"No, no; look at Harry there. Isn't he pegging away at his studies withmy hearty approval? and he's going to be nothing but a plain, commonfarmer. But he'll be a better one than I've been though, because he'sgot a trained mind. I found that out when he was a lad going to thevillage school. He'd lay out his little garden by geometry, and dig hisditches by algebra. Education's a help to any man. What I am trying toget at is this, that in some way or other we're running more to brainsand less to hard work than our forefathers did. "

Mr. Wood was beating on the table with his forefinger while hetalked, and every one was laughing at him. "When you've quite finishedspeechifying, John, " said Mrs. Wood, "perhaps you'll serve the berriesand pass the cream and sugar Do you get yellow cream like this in thevillage, Mr. Maxwell?"

"No, Mrs. Wood, " he said; "ours is a much paler yellow, " and then therewas a great tinkling of china, and passing of dishes, and talking andlaughing, and no one noticed that I was not in my usual place in thehall. I could not get over my dread of the green creature, and I hadcrept under the table, so that if it came out and frightened Miss Laura, I could jump up and catch it. 

When tea was half over, she gave a little cry. I sprang up on her lap, and there, gliding over the table toward her, was the wicked-lookinggreen thing. I stepped on the table, and had it by the middle beforeit could get to her. My hind legs were in a dish of jelly, and my frontones were in a plate of cake, and I was very uncomfortable. The tail ofthe green thing hung in a milk pitcher, and its tongue was still goingat me, but I held it firmly and stood quite still. 

"Drop it, drop it!" cried Miss Laura, in tones of distress, andMr. Maxwell struck me on the back, so I let the thing go, and stoodsheepishly looking about me. Mr. Wood was leaning back in his chair, laughing with all his might, and Mrs. Wood was staring at her untidytable with rather a long face. Miss Laura told me to jump on the floor, and then she helped her aunt to take the spoiled things off the table. 

I felt that I had done wrong, so I slunk out into the hall. Mr. Maxwellwas sitting on the lounge, tearing his handkerchief in strips and tyingthem around the creature where my teeth had stuck in. I had been carefulnot to hurt it much, for I knew it was a pet of his; but he did not knowthat, and scowled at me, saying: "You rascal; you've hurt my poor snaketerribly. "

I felt so badly to hear this that I went and stood with my head in acorner. I had almost rather be whipped than scolded. After a while, Mr. Maxwell went back into the room, and they all went on with their tea. I could hear Mr. Wood's loud, cheery voice, "The dog did quite right. A snake is mostly a poisonous creature, and his instinct told him toprotect his mistress. Where is he? Joe, Joe!"

I would not move till Miss Laura came and spoke to me. "Dear old dog, "she whispered, "you knew the snake was there all the time, didn't you?"Her words made me feel better, and I followed her to the dining room, where Mr. Wood made me sit beside him and eat scraps from his hand allthrough the meal. 

Mr. Maxwell had got over his ill humor, and was chatting in a livelyway. "Good Joe, " he said, "I was cross to you, and I beg your pardon Italways riles me to have any of my pets injured. You didn't know my poorsnake was only after something to eat. Mrs. Wood has pinned him in mypocket so he won't come out again. Do you know where I got that snake, Mrs. Wood?"

"No, " she said; "you never told me. "

"It was across the river by Blue Ridge, " he said. "One day last summerI was out rowing, and, getting very hot, tied my boat in the shade ofa big tree. Some village boys were in the woods, and, hearing a greatnoise, I went to see what it was all about. They were Band of Mercyboys, and finding a country boy beating a snake to death, they wereremonstrating with him for his cruelty, telling him that some kinds ofsnakes were a help to the farmer, and destroyed large numbers of fieldmice and other vermin. The boy was obstinate. He had found the snake, and he insisted upon his right to kill it, and they were having rather alively time when I appeared. I persuaded them to make the snake over tome. Apparently it was already dead. Thinking it might revive, I put iton some grass in the bow of the boat. It lay there motionless for a longtime, and I picked up my oars and started for home. I had got half wayacross the river, when I turned around and saw that the snake was gone. It had just dropped into the water, and was swimming toward the bank wehad left. I turned and followed it. 

"It swam slowly and with evident pain, lifting its head every fewseconds high above the water, to see which way it was going. On reachingthe bank it coiled itself up, throwing up blood and water. I took it upcarefully, carried it home, and nursed it. It soon got better, and hasbeen a pet of mine ever since. "

After tea was over, and Mrs. Wood and Miss Laura had helped Adele finishthe work, they all gathered in the parlor. The day had been quite warm, but now a cool wind had sprung up, and Mr. Wood said that it was blowingup rain. 

Mrs. Wood said that she thought a fire would be pleasant; so theylighted the sticks of wood in the open grate, and all sat round theblazing fire. 

Mr. Maxwell tried to get me to make friends with the little snake thathe held in his hands toward the blaze, and now that I knew that it washarmless I was not afraid of it; but it did not like me, and put out itsfunny little tongue whenever I looked at it. 

By-and-by the rain began to strike against the windows, and Mr. Maxwellsaid, "This is just the night for a story. Tell us something out of yourexperience, won't you, Mr. Wood?"

"What shall I tell you?" he said, good-humoredly. He was sitting betweenhis wife and Mr. Harry, and had his hand on Mr. Harry's knee. 

"Something about animals, " said Mr. Maxwell. "We seem to be on thatsubject to-day. "

"Well, " said Mr. Wood, "I'll talk about something that has been runningin my head for many a day. There is a good deal of talk nowadays aboutkindness to domestic animals; but I do not hear much about kindnessto wild ones. The same Creator formed them both. I do not see why youshould not protect one as well as the other. I have no more right totorture a bear than a cow. Our wild animals around here are gettingpretty well killed off, but there are lots in other places. I used to befond of hunting when I was a boy; but I have got rather disgusted withkilling these late years, and unless the wild creatures ran in ourstreets, I would lift no hand to them. Shall I tell you some of thesport we had when I was youngster?"

"Yes, yes!" they all exclaimed. 

CHAPTER XXIII TRAPPING WILD ANIMALS

"WELL, " Mr. Wood began: "I was brought up, as you all know, in the easternpart of Maine, and we often used to go over into New Brunswick for oursport. Moose were our best game. Did you ever see one, Laura?"

"No, uncle, " she said. 

"Well, when I was a boy there was no more beautiful sight to me in theworld than a moose with his dusky hide, and long legs, and branchingantlers, and shoulders standing higher than a horse's. Their legs are solong that they can't eat close to the ground. They browse on the tops ofplants, and the tender shoots and leaves of trees. They walk amongthe thick underbrush, carrying their horns adroitly to prevent theircatching in the branches, and they step so well, and aim so true, thatyou'll scarcely hear a twig fall as they go. 

"They're a timid creature except at times. Then they'll attack withhoofs and antlers whatever comes in their way. They hate mosquitoes, and when they're tormented by them it's just as well to be careful aboutapproaching them. Like all other creatures, the Lord has put into thema wonderful amount of sense, and when a female moose has her one or twofawns she goes into the deepest part of the forest, or swims to islandsin large lakes, till they are able to look out for themselves. 

"Well, we used to like to catch a moose, and we had different ways ofdoing it. One way was to snare them. We'd make a loop in a rope and hideit on the ground under the dead leaves in one of their paths. This wasconnected with a young sapling whose top was bent down. When the moosestepped on the loop it would release the sapling, and up it would bound, catching him by the leg. These snares were always set deep in the woods, and we couldn't visit them very often; Sometimes the moose would bethere for days, raging and tearing around, and scratching the skin offhis legs. That was cruel. I wouldn't catch a moose in that way now for ahundred dollars. 

"Another way was to hunt them on snow shoes with dogs. In February andMarch the snow was deep, and would carry men and dogs. Moose don't gotogether in herds. In the summer they wander about over the forest, andin the autumn they come together in small groups, and select a hundredor two of acres where there is plenty of heavy undergrowth, and to whichthey usually confine themselves. They do this so that their tracks won'ttell their enemies where they are. 

"Any of these places where there were several moose we called a mooseyard. We went through the woods till we got on to the tracks of some ofthe animals belonging to it, then the dogs smelled them and went aheadto start them. If I shut my eyes now I can see one of our moose hunts. The moose running and plunging through the snow crust, and occasionallyrising up and striking at the dogs that hang on to his bleeding flanksand legs. The hunters' rifles going crack, crack, crack, sometimeskilling or wounding dogs as well as moose. That, too, was cruel. 

"Two other ways we had of hunting moose: Calling and stalking. Thecalling was done in this way: We took a bit of birch bark and rolled itup in the shape of a horn. We took this horn and started out, either ona bright moonlight night, or just at evening, or early in the morning. The man who carried the horn hid himself, and then began to make alowing sound like a female moose. He had to do it pretty well to deceivethem. Away in the distance some moose would hear it, and with answeringgrunts would start off to come to it. If a young male moose was coming, he'd mind his steps, I can assure you, on account of fear of the oldones; but if it was an old fellow, you'd hear him stepping out bravelyand rapping his horns against the trees, and plunging into any waterthat came in his way. When he got pretty near, he'd stop to listen, andthen the caller had to be very careful and put his trumpet down close tothe ground, so as to make a lower sound. If the moose felt doubtful he'dturn; if not, he'd come on, and unlucky for him if he did, for he got awarm reception, either from the rifles in our hands as we lay hid nearthe caller, or from some of the party stationed at a distance. 

"In stalking, we crept on them the way a cat creeps on a mouse. In thedaytime a moose is usually lying down. We'd find their tracks and placeswhere they'd been nipping off the ends of branches and twigs, and followthem up. They easily take the scent of men, and we'd have to keep wellto the leeward. Sometimes we'd come upon them lying down, but, if inwalking along, we'd broken a twig, or made the slightest noise, they'dthink it was one of their mortal enemies, a bear creeping on them, andthey'd be up and away. Their sense of hearing is very keen, but they'renot so quick to see. A fox is like that, too. His eyes aren't equal tohis nose. 

"Stalking is the most merciful way to kill moose. Then they haven't thefright and suffering of the chase. "

"I don't see why they need to be killed at all, " said Mrs. Wood. "IfI knew that forest back of the mountains was full of wild creatures, I think I'd be glad of it, and not want to hunt them, that is, if theywere harmless and beautiful creatures like the deer. "

"You're a woman, " said Mr. Wood, "and women are more merciful than men. Men want to kill and slay. They're like the Englishman, who said 'What afine day it is; let's go out and kill something. '"

"Please tell us some more about the dogs that helped you catch themoose, uncle, " said Miss Laura. I was sitting up very straight besideher listening to every word Mr. Wood said, and she was fondling my head. 

"Well, Laura, when we camped out on the snow and slept on spruce boughswhile we were after the moose, the dogs used to be a great comfort tous. They slept at our feet and kept us warm. Poor brutes, they mostlyhad a rough time of it. They enjoyed the running and chasing as much aswe did, but when it came to broken ribs and sore heads, it was anothermatter. Then the porcupines bothered them. Our dogs would never learn tolet them alone. If they were going through the woods where there were nosigns of moose and found a porcupine, they'd kill it. The quills wouldget in their mouths and necks and chests, and we'd have to gag themand take bullet molds or nippers, or whatever we had, sometimes ourjack-knives, and pull out the nasty things. If we got hold of the dogsat once, we could pull out the quills with our fingers. Sometimes thequills worked in, and the dogs would go home and lie by the fire withrunning sores till they worked out. I've seen quills work right throughdogs. Go in on one side and come out on the other. "

"Poor brutes, " said Mrs. Wood. "I wonder you took them. "

"We once lost a valuable hound while moose hunting, " said Mr. Wood. "Themoose struck him with his hoof and the dog was terribly injured. Helay in the woods for days, till a neighbor of ours, who was looking fortimber, found him and brought him home on his shoulders. Wasn't thererejoicing among us boys to see old Lion coming back. We took care of himand he got well again. 

"It was good sport to see the dogs when we were hunting a bear withthem. Bears are good runners, and when dogs get after them, there isgreat skirmishing. They nip the bear behind, and when they turn, thedogs run like mad, for a hug from a bear means sure death to a dog. Ifthey got a slap from his paws, over they'd go. Dogs new to the businesswere often killed by the bears. "

"Were there many bears near your home, Mr. Wood?" asked Mr. Maxwell

"Lots of them. More than we wanted. They used to bother us fearfullyabout our sheep and cattle. I've often had to get up in the night, andrun out to the cattle. The bears would come out of the woods, and jumpon to the young heifers and cows, and strike them and beat them down, and the cattle would roar as if the evil one had them. If the cattlewere too far away from the house for us to hear them, the bears wouldworry them till they were dead. 

"As for the sheep, they never made any resistance. They'd meekly runin a corner when they saw a bear coming, and huddle together, and he'dstrike at them, and scratch them with his claws, and perhaps wound adozen before he got one firmly. Then he'd seize it in his paws, and walkoff on his hind legs over fences and anything else that came in his way, till he came to a nice, retired spot, and there he'd sit down and skinthat sheep just like a butcher. He'd gorge himself with the meat, andin the morning we'd find the other sheep that he'd torn, and we'd vowvengeance against that bear. He'd be almost sure to come back for more, so for a while after that we always put the sheep in the barn at nightsand set a trap by the remains of the one he had eaten. 

"Everybody hated bears, and hadn't much pity for them; still they wereonly getting their meat as other wild animals do, and we'd no rightto set such cruel traps for them as the steel ones. They had a clogattached to them, and had long, sharp teeth. We put them on the groundand strewed leaves over them, and hung up some of the carcass left bythe bear near by. When he attempted to get this meat, he would tread onthe trap, and the teeth would spring together, and catch him by the leg. They always fought to get free. I once saw a bear that had been makinga desperate effort to get away. His leg was broken, the skin and fleshwere all torn away, and he was held by the tendons. It was a forelegthat was caught, and he would put his hind feet against the jaws of thetrap, and then draw by pressing with his feet, till he would stretchthose tendons to their utmost extent. 

"I have known them to work away till they really pulled these tendonsout of the foot, and got off. It was a great event in our neighborhoodwhen a bear was caught. Whoever caught him blew a horn, and the men andboys came trooping together to see the sight. I've known them to blowthat horn on a Sunday morning, and I've seen the men turn their backs onthe meeting house to go and see the bear. "

"Was there no more merciful way of catching them than by this trap?"asked Miss Laura. 

"Oh, yes, by the deadfall that is by driving heavy sticks into theground, and making a boxlike place, open on one side, where two logswere so arranged with other heavy logs upon them, that when the bearseized the bait, the upper log fell down and crushed him to death. Another way was to fix a bait in a certain place, with cords tied toit, which cords were fastened to triggers of guns placed at a littledistance. When the bear took the bait, the guns went off, and he shothimself. 

"Sometimes it took a good many bullets to kill them. I remember one oldfellow that we put eleven into, before he keeled over. It was one fall, over on Pike's Hill. The snow had come earlier than usual, and this oldbear hadn't got into his den for his winter's sleep. A lot of us startedout after him. The hill was covered with beech trees, and he'd beenliving all the fall on the nuts, till he'd got as fat as butter. We tookdogs and worried him, and ran him from one place to another, and shotat him, till at last he dropped. We took his meat home, and had his skintanned for a sleigh robe. 

"One day I was in the woods, and looking through the trees espied abear. He was standing up on his hind legs, snuffing in every direction, and just about the time I espied him, he espied me. I had no dog andno gun, so I thought I had better be getting home to my dinner. I wasa small boy then, and the bear, probably thinking I'd be a mouthful forhim anyway, began to come after me in a leisurely way. I can see myselfnow going through those woods hat gone, jacket flying, arms out, eyesrolling over my shoulder every little while to see if the bear wasgaining on me. He was a benevolent-looking old fellow, and his faceseemed to say, 'Don't hurry, little boy. ' He wasn't doing his prettiest, and I soon got away from him, but I made up my mind then, that it wasmore fun to be the chaser than the chased. 

"Another time I was out in our cornfield, and hearing a rustling, lookedthrough the stalks, and saw a brown bear with two cubs. She was slashingdown the corn with her paws to get at the ears. She smelled me, andgetting frightened, began to run. I had a dog with me this time, andshouted and rapped on the fence, and set him on her. He jumped up andsnapped at her flanks, and every few instants she'd turn and give him acuff, that would send him yards away. I followed her up, and just backof the farm she and her cubs took into a tree. I sent my dog home, andmy father and some of the neighbors came. It had gotten dark by thistime, so we built a fire under the tree, and watched all night, and toldstories to keep each other awake. Toward morning we got sleepy, and thefire burnt low, and didn't that old bear and one cub drop right downamong us and start off to the woods. That waked us up. We built up thefire and kept watch, so that the one cub, still in the tree, couldn'tget away. Until daylight the mother bear hung around, calling to the cubto come down. "

"Did you let it go, uncle?" asked Miss Laura. 

"No, my dear, we shot it. "

"How cruel!" cried Mrs. Wood. 

"Yes, weren't we brutes?" said her husband; "but there was some excusefor us, Hattie. The bears ruined our farms. This kind of hunting thathunts and kills for the mere sake of slaughter is very different fromthat. I'll tell you what I've no patience with, and that's with theseEnglish folks that dress themselves up, and take fine horses and packsof dogs, and tear over the country after one little fox or rabbit. Bah, it's contemptible. Now if they were hunting cruel, man-eating tigers oranimals that destroy property, it would be different thing. "

CHAPTER XXIV THE RABBIT AND THE HEN

"YOU had foxes up in Maine, I suppose Mr. Wood, hadn't you?" asked Mr. Maxwell. 

"Heaps of them. I always want to laugh when I think of our foxes, forthey were so cute. Never a fox did I catch in a trap, though I'd setmany a one. I'd take the carcass of some creature that had died, asheep, for instance, and put it in a field near the woods, and the foxeswould come and eat it. After they got accustomed to come and eat andno harm befell them, they would be unsuspecting. So just before asnowstorm, I'd take a trap and put it this spot. I'd handle it withgloves, and I'd smoke it, and rub fir boughs on it to take away thehuman smell, and then the snow would come and cover it up, and yet thosefoxes would know it was a trap and walk all around it. It's a wonderfulthing, that sense of smell in animals, if it is a sense of smell. Joehere has got a good bit of it. "

"What kind of traps were they, father?" asked Mr. Harry. 

"Cruel ones steel ones. They'd catch an animal by the leg and sometimesbreak the bone. The leg would bleed, and below the jaws of the trap itwould freeze, there being no circulation of the blood. Those steel trapsare an abomination. The people around here use one made on the sameprinciple for catching rats. I wouldn't have them on my place for anymoney. I believe we've got to give an account for all the unnecessarysuffering we put on animals. "

"You'll have some to answer for, John, according to your own story, "said Mrs. Wood. 

"I have suffered already, " he said. "Many a night I've lain on my bedand groaned, when I thought of needless cruelties I'd put upon animalswhen I was a young, unthinking boy and I was pretty carefully broughtup, too, according to our light in those days. I often think that if Iwas cruel, with all the instruction I had to be merciful, what can beexpected of the children that get no good teaching at all when they'reyoung. "

"Tell us some more about the foxes, Mr. Wood, " said Mr. Maxwell. 

"Well, we used to have rare sport hunting them with fox-hounds. I'doften go off for the day with my hounds. Sometimes in the early morningthey'd find a track in the snow. The leader for scent would go back andforth, to find out which way the fox was going. I can see him now. Allthe time that he ran, now one way and now another on the track of thefox, he was silent, but kept his tail aloft, wagging it as a signal tothe hounds behind. He was leader in scent, but he did not like bloody, dangerous fights. By-and-by, he would decide which way the fox had gone. Then his tail, still kept high in the air, would wag more violently. Therest followed him in single file, going pretty slow, so as to enable usto keep up to them. By-and-by, they would come to a place where the foxwas sleeping for the day. As soon as he was disturbed he would leave hisbed under some thick fir or spruce branches near the ground. This flunghis fresh scent into the air. As soon as the hounds sniffed it, theygave tongue in good earnest. It was a mixed, deep baying, that made theblood quicken in my veins. While in the excitement of first fright, thefox would run fast for a mile or two, till he found it an easy matterto keep out of the way of the hounds. Then he, cunning creature, wouldbegin to bother them. He would mount to the top pole of the worm fencedividing the fields from the woods. He could trot along here quite adistance and then make a long jump into the woods. The hounds wouldcome up, but could not walk the fence, and they would have difficulty infinding where the fox had left it. Then we saw generalship. The houndsscattered in all directions, and made long detours into the woods andfields. As soon as the track was lost, they ceased to bay, but theinstant a hound found it again, he bayed to give the signal to theothers. All would hurry to the spot, and off they would go baying asthey went. 

"Then Mr. Fox would try a new trick. He would climb a leaning tree, andthen jump to the ground. This trick would soon be found out. Thenhe'd try another. He would make a circle of a quarter of a mile incircumference. By making a loop in his course, he would come in behindthe hounds, and puzzle them between the scent of his first and followingtracks. If the snow was deep, the hounds had made a good track for him. Over this he could run easily, and they would have to feel their wayalong, for after he had gone around the circle a few times, he wouldjump from the beaten path as far as he could, and make off to othercover in a straight line. Before this was done it was my plan to getnear the circle; taking care to approach it on the leeward side. If thefox got a sniff of human scent, he would leave his circle very quickly, and make tracks fast to be out of danger. By the baying of the hounds, the circle in which the race was kept up could be easily known. The lastruns to get near enough to shoot had to be done when the hounds' bayingcame from the side of the circle nearest to me. For then the fox wouldbe on the opposite side farthest away. As soon as I got near enoughto see the hounds when they passed, I stopped. When they got on theopposite side, I then kept a bright lookout for the fox. Sometimes whenthe brush was thick, the sight of him would be indistinct. The shootinghad to be quick. As soon as the report of the gun was heard, the houndsceased to bay, and made for the spot. If the fox was dead, they enjoyedthe scent of his blood. If only wounded, they went after him with allspeed. Sometimes he was overtaken and killed, and sometimes he got intohis burrow in the earth, or in a hollow log, or among the rocks. 

"One day, I remember, when I was standing on the outside of the circle, the fox came in sight. I fired. He gave a shrill bark, and came towardme. Then he stopped in the snow and fell dead in his tracks. I was apretty good shot in those days. "

"Poor little fox, " said Miss Laura. "I wish you had let him get away. "

"Here's one that nearly got away, " said Mr. Wood. "One winter's day, Iwas chasing him with the hounds. There was a crust on the snow, andthe fox was light, while the dogs were heavy. They ran along, the foxtrotting nimbly on the top of the crust and the dogs breaking through, and every few minutes that fox would stop and sit down to look at thedogs. They were in a fury, and the wickedness of the fox in teasingthem, made me laugh so much that I was very unwilling to shoot him. "

"You said your steel traps were cruel things, uncle, " said Miss Laura. "Why didn't you have a deadfall for the foxes as you had for the bears?"

"They were too cunning to go into deadfalls. There was a better way tocatch them, though. Foxes hate water, and never go into it unless theyare obliged to, so we used to find a place where a tree had fallenacross a river, and made a bridge for them to go back and forth on. Herewe set snares, with spring poles that would throw them into the riverwhen they made struggles to get free, and drown them. Did you ever hearof the fox, Laura, that wanted to cross a river, and lay down on thebank pretending that he was dead, and a countryman came along, and, thinking he had a prize, threw him in his boat and rowed across, whenthe fox got up and ran away?"

"Now, uncle, " said Miss Laura, "you're laughing at me. That couldn't betrue. "

"No, no, " said Mr. Wood, chuckling; "but they're mighty cute atpretending they're dead. I once shot one in the morning, carried him along way on my shoulders, and started to skin him in the afternoon, whenhe turned around and bit me enough to draw blood. At another time I dugone out of a hole in the ground. He feigned death. I took him up andthrew him down at some distance, and he jumped up and ran into thewoods. "

"What other animals did you catch when you were a boy?" asked Mr. Maxwell. 

"Oh, a number. Otters and beavers we caught them in deadfalls and insteel traps. The mink we usually took in deadfalls, smaller, of course, than the ones we used for the bears. The musk-rat we caught in box trapslike a mouse trap. The wild-cat we ran down like the loup cervier. "

"What kind of an animal is that?" asked Mr. Maxwell. 

"It is a lynx, belonging to the cat species. They used to prowl aboutthe country killing hens, geese, and sometimes sheep. They'd fix theirtusks in the sheep's neck and suck the blood. They did not think muchof the sheep's flesh. We ran them down with dogs. They'd often run uptrees, and we'd shoot them. Then there were rabbits that we caught, mostly in snares. For musk-rats, we'd put a parsnip or an apple on thespindle of a box trap. When we snared a rabbit, I always wanted tofind it caught around the neck and strangled to death. If they got halfthrough the snare and were caught around the body, or by the hind legs, they'd live for some time, and they'd cry just like a child. I likeshooting them better, just because I hated to hear their pitiful cries. It's a bad business this of killing dumb creatures, and the older I get, the more chicken-hearted I am about it. "

"Chicken-hearted I should think you are, " said Mrs. Wood. "Do you know, Laura, he won't even kill a fowl for dinner. He gives it to one of themen to do. "

"'Blessed are the merciful, '" said Miss Laura, throwing her arm over heruncle's shoulder. "I love you, dear Uncle John, because you are so kindto every living thing. "

"I'm going to be kind to you now, " said her uncle, "and send you to bed. You look tired. "

"Very well, " she said, with a smile. Then bidding them all good-night, she went upstairs. Mr. Wood turned to Mr. Maxwell. "You're going to stayall night with us, aren't you?"

"So Mrs. Wood says, " replied the young man, with a smile. 

"Of course, " she said. "I couldn't think of letting you go back to thevillage such a night as this. It's raining cats and dogs but I mustn'tsay that, or there'll be no getting you to stay. I'll go and prepareyour old room next to Harry's. " And she bustled away. 

The two young men went to the pantry for doughnuts and milk, and Mr. Wood stood gazing down at me. "Good dog, " he said; "you look as if yousensed that talk to-night. Come, get a bone, and then away to bed. "

He gave me a very large mutton bone, and I held it in my mouth, andwatched him opening the woodshed door. I love human beings; and thesaddest time of day for me is when I have to be separated from themwhile they sleep. 

"Now, go to bed and rest well, Beautiful Joe, " said Mr. Wood, "andif you hear any stranger round the house, run out and bark. Don't bechasing wild animals in your sleep, though. They say a dog is the onlyanimal that dreams. I wonder whether it's true?" Then he went into thehouse and shut the door. 

I had a sheepskin to lie on, and a very good bed it made. I sleptsoundly for a long time; then I waked up and found that, instead of rainpattering against the roof, and darkness everywhere, it was quite light. The rain was over, and the moon was shining beautifully. I ran to thedoor and looked out. It was almost as light as day. The moon made itvery bright all around the house and farm buildings, and I could lookall about and see that there was no one stirring. I took a turn aroundthe yard, and walked around to the side of the house, to glance up atMiss Laura's window. I always did this several times through the night, just to see if she was quite safe. I was on my way back to my bed, whenI saw two small, white things moving away down the lane. I stood on theveranda and watched them. When they got nearer, I saw that there was awhite rabbit hopping up the road, followed by a white hen. 

It seemed to me a very strange thing for these creatures to be out thistime of night, and why were they coming to Dingley Farm? This wasn'ttheir home. I ran down on the road and stood in front of them. 

Just as soon as the hen saw me, she fluttered in front of the rabbit, and, spreading out her wings, clucked angrily, and acted as if she wouldpeck my eyes out if I came nearer. 

I saw that they were harmless creatures, and, remembering my adventurewith the snake, I stepped aside. Besides that, I knew by their smellthat they had been near Mr. Maxwell, so perhaps they were after him. 

They understood quite well that I would not hurt them, and passed byme. The rabbit went ahead again and the hen fell behind. It seemed to methat the hen was sleepy, and didn't like to be out so late at night, andwas only following the rabbit because she thought it was her duty. 

He was going along in a very queer fashion, putting his nose to theground, and rising up on his hind legs, and sniffing the air, first onthis side and then on the other, and his nose going, going all the time. 

He smelled all around the house till he came to Mr. Maxwell's room atthe back. It opened on the veranda by a glass door, and the door stoodajar. The rabbit squeezed himself in, and the hen stayed out. Shewatched for a while, and when he didn't come back, she flew upon theback of a chair that stood near the door, and put her head under herwing. 

I went back to my bed, for I knew they would do no harm. Early in themorning, when I was walking around the house, I heard a great shoutingand laughing from Mr. Maxwell's room. He and Mr. Harry had justdiscovered the hen and the rabbit; and Mr. Harry was calling his motherto come and look at them. The rabbit had slept on the foot of the bed. 

Mr. Harry was chaffing Mr. Maxwell very much, and was telling him thatany one who entertained him was in for a traveling menagerie. They hada great deal of fun over it, and Mr. Maxwell said that he had had thatpretty, white hen as a pet for a long time in Boston. Once when she hadsome little chickens, a frightened rabbit, that was being chased bya dog, ran into the yard. In his terror he got right under the hen'swings, and she sheltered him, and pecked at the dog's eyes, and kepthim off till help came. The rabbit belonged to a neighbor's boy, andMr. Maxwell bought it from him. From the day the hen protected him, shebecame his friend, and followed him everywhere. 

I did not wonder that the rabbit wanted to see his master. There wassomething about that young man that made dumb animals just delight inhim. When Mrs. Wood mentioned this to him he said, "I don't know whythey should I don't do anything to fascinate them. "

"You love them, " she said, "and they know it. That is the reason. "

CHAPTER XXV A HAPPY HORSE

FOR a good while after I went to Dingley Farm I was very shy of thehorses, for I was afraid they might kick me, thinking that I was a baddog like Bruno. However, they all had such good faces, and looked at meso kindly, that I was beginning to get over my fear of them. 

Fleetfoot, Mr. Harry's colt, was my favorite, and one afternoon, whenMr. Harry and Miss Laura were going out to see him, I followed them. Fleetfoot was amusing himself by rolling over and over on the grassunder a tree, but when he saw Mr. Harry, he gave a shrill whinny, andrunning to him, began nosing about his pockets. 

"Wait a bit, " said Mr. Harry, holding him by the forelock. "Let meintroduce you to this young lady, Miss Laura Morris. I want you to makeher a bow. " He gave the colt some sign, and immediately he began to pawthe ground and shake his head. 

Mr. Harry laughed and went on: "Here is her dog Joe. I want you to likehim, too. Come here, Joe. " I was not at all afraid, for I knew Mr. Harrywould not let him hurt me, so I stood in front of him, and for the firsttime had a good look at him. They called him the colt, but he was reallya full-grown horse, and had already been put to work. He was of a darkchestnut color, and had a well-shaped body and a long, handsome head, and I never saw, in the head of a man or beast, a more beautiful pair ofeyes than that colt had large, full, brown eyes they were that he turnedon me almost as a person would. He looked me all over as if to say: "Areyou a good dog, and will you treat me kindly, or are you a bad one likeBruno, and will you chase me and snap at my heels and worry me, so thatI shall want to kick you?"

I looked at him very earnestly and wagged my body, and lifted myselfon my hind legs toward him. He seemed pleased and put down his nose tosniff at me, and then we were friends. Friends, and such good friends, for next to Jim and Billy, I have loved Fleetfoot. 

Mr. Harry pulled some lumps of sugar out of his pocket, and giving themto Miss Laura, told her to put them on the palm of her hand and hold itout flat toward Fleetfoot. The colt ate the sugar, and all the timeeyed her with his quiet, observing glance, that made her exclaim: "Whatwise-looking colt!"

"He is like an old horse, " said Mr. Harry, "When he hears a suddennoise, he stops and looks all about him to find an explanation. "

"He has been well trained, " said Miss Laura. 

"I have brought him up carefully, " said Mr. Harry. "Really, he has beentreated more like a dog than a colt. He follows me about the farm andsmells everything I handle, and seems to want to know the reason ofthings. "

"Your mother says, " replied Miss Laura, "that she found you both asleepon the lawn one day last summer, and the colt's head was on your arm. "

Mr. Harry smiled and threw his arm over the colt's neck. "We've beencomrades, haven't we, Fleetfoot? I've been almost ashamed of hisdevotion. He has followed me to the village, and he always wants to gofishing with me. He's four years old now, so he ought to get over thosecoltish ways. I've driven him a good deal. We're going out in the buggythis afternoon, will you come?"

"Where are you going?" asked Miss Laura. 

"Just for a short drive back of the river, to collect some money forfather. I'll be home long before tea time. "

"Yes, I should like to go, " said Miss Laura "I shall go to the house andget my other hat. "

"Come on, Fleetfoot, " said Mr. Harry. And he led the way from thepasture, the colt following behind with me. I waited about the veranda, and in a short time Mr. Harry drove up to the front door. The buggy wasblack and shining, and Fleetfoot had on a silver-mounted harness thatmade him look very fine. He stood gently switching his long tail to keepthe flies away, and with his head turned to see who was going to getinto the buggy. I stood by him, and as soon as he saw that Miss Lauraand Mr. Harry had seated themselves, he acted as if he wanted to be off. Mr. Harry spoke to him and away he went, I racing down the lane by hisside, so happy to think he was my friend. He liked having me beside him, and every few seconds put down his head toward me. Animals can telleach other things without saying a word. When Fleetfoot gave his head alittle toss in a certain way, I knew that he wanted to have a race. He had a beautiful even gait, and went very swiftly. Mr. Harry keptspeaking to him to check him. 

"You don't like him to go too fast, do you?" said Miss Laura. 

"No, " he returned. "I think we could make a racer of him if we liked, but father and I don't go in for fast horses. There is too much saidabout fast trotters and race horses. On some of the farms around here, the people have gone mad on breeding fast horses. An old farmer out inthe country had a common cart-horse that he suddenly found out had greatpowers of speed and endurance. He sold him to a speculator for a bigprice, and it has set everybody wild. If the people who give all theirtime to it can't raise fast horses I don't see how the farmers can. Afast horse on a farm is ruination to the boys, for it starts them racingand betting. Father says he is going to offer a prize for the fastestwalker that can be bred in New Hampshire. That Dutchman of ours, heavyas he is, is a fair walker, and Cleve and Pacer can each walk four and ahalf miles an hour. "

"Why do you lay such stress on their walking fast?" asked Miss Laura. 

"Because so much of the farm work must be done at a walk. Ploughing, teaming, and drawing produce to market, and going up and down hills. Even for the cities it is good to have fast walkers. Trotting on citypavements is very hard on the dray horses. If they are allowed to go ata quick walk, their legs will keep strong much longer. It is shamefulthe way horses are used up in big cities. Our pavements are so bad thatcab horses are used up in three years. In many ways we are a great dealbetter off in this new country than the people in Europe, but we arenot in respect of cab horses, for in London and Paris they last forfive years. I have seen horses drop down dead in New York just from hardusage. Poor brutes, there is a better time coming for them though. Whenelectricity is more fully developed we'll see some wonderful changes. Asit is, last year in different places, about thirty thousand horseswere released from those abominable horse cars, by having electricityintroduced on the roads. Well, Fleetfoot, do you want another spin? Allright, my boy, go ahead. "

Away we went again along a bit of level road. Fleetfoot had nocheck-rein on his beautiful neck, and when he trotted, he could hold hishead in an easy, natural position. With his wonderful eyes and flowingmane and tail, and his glossy, reddish-brown body, I thought that he wasthe handsomest horse I had ever seen. He loved to go fast, and when Mr. Harry spoke to him to slow up again, he tossed his head with impatience. But he was too sweet-tempered to disobey. In all the years that I haveknown Fleetfoot, I have never once seen him refuse to do as his mastertold him. 

"You have forgotten your whip, haven't you Harry?" I heard Miss Laurasay, as we jogged slowly along, and I ran by the buggy panting and withmy tongue hanging out. 

"I never use one, " said Mr. Harry; "if I saw any man lay one onFleetfoot, I'd knock him down. " His voice was so severe that I glancedup into the buggy. He looked just as he did the day that he stretchedJenkins on the ground, and gave him a beating. 

"I am so glad you don't, " said Miss Laura. "You are like the Russians. Many of them control their horses by their voices, and call them suchpretty names. But you have to use a whip for some horses, don't you, Cousin Harry?"

"Yes, Laura. There are many vicious horses that can't be controlledotherwise, and then with many horses one requires a whip in case ofnecessity for urging them forward. "

"I suppose Fleetfoot never balks, " said Miss Laura. 

"No, " replied Mr. Harry; "Dutchman sometimes does, and we have two curesfor him, both equally good. We take up a forefoot and strike his shoetwo or three times with a stone. The operation always interests himgreatly, and he usually starts. If he doesn't go for that, we pass aline round his forelegs, at the knee joint, then go in front of him anddraw on the line. Father won't let the men use a whip, unless they aredriven to it. "

"Fleetfoot has had a happy life, hasn't he?" said Miss Laura, lookingadmiringly at him "How did he get to like you so much, Harry?"

"I broke him in after a fashion of my own. Father gave him to me, andthe first time I saw him on his feet, I went up carefully and put myhand on him. His mother was rather shy of me, for we hadn't had herlong, and it made him shy too, so I soon left him. The next time Istroked him; the next time I put my arm around him. Soon he acted likea big dog. I could lead him about by a strap, and I made a little halterand a bridle for him. I didn't see why I shouldn't train him a littlewhile he was young and manageable. I think it is cruel to let colts runtill one has to employ severity in mastering them. Of course, I did notlet him do much work. Colts are like boys a boy shouldn't do a man'swork, but he had exercise every day, and I trained him to draw a lightcart behind him. I used to do all kinds of things to accustom him tounusual sounds. Father talked a good deal to me about Rarey, the greathorse-tamer, and it put ideas into my head. He said he once saw Rareycome on a stage in Boston with a timid horse that he was going toaccustom to a loud noise. First a bugle was blown, then some louderinstrument, and so on, till there was a whole brass band going. Rareyreassured the animal, and it was not afraid. "

"You like horses better than any other animals, don't you, Harry?" askedMiss Laura. 

"I believe I do, though I am very fond of that dog of yours. I think Iknow more about horses than dogs. Have you noticed Scamp very much?"

"Oh, yes; I often watched her. She is such an amusing little creature. "

"She's the most interesting one we've got, that is, after Fleetfoot. Father got her from a man who couldn't manage her, and she came to uswith a legion of bad tricks. Father has taken solid comfort though, inbreaking her of them. She is his pet among our stock. I suppose you knowthat horses, more than any other animals, are creatures of habit. Ifthey do a thing once, they will do it again. When she came to us, shehad a trick of biting at a person who gave her oats. She would do itwithout fail, so father put a little stick under his arm, and every timeshe would bite he would give her a rap over the nose. She soon got tiredof biting, and gave it up. Sometimes now, you'll see her make a snap atfather as if she was going to bite, and then look under his arm to seeif the stick is there. He cured some of her tricks in one way, and somein another. One bad one she had was to start for the stable the minuteone of the traces was unfastened when we were unharnessing. She pulledfather over once, and another time she ran the shaft of the sulky cleanthrough the barn door. The next time father brought her in, he got readyfor her. He twisted the lines around his hands, and the minute shebegan to bolt, he gave a tremendous jerk, that pulled her back uponher haunches, and shouted, 'Whoa!' It cured her, and she never startedagain, till he gave her the word. Often now, you'll see her throw herhead back when she is being unhitched. He only did it once, yet sheremembers. If we'd had the training of Scamp, she'd be a very differentanimal. It's nearly all in the bringing up of a colt, whether it willturn out vicious or gentle. If any one were to strike Fleetfoot, hewould not know what it meant. He has been brought up differently fromScamp. 

"She was probably trained by some brutal man who inspired her withdistrust of the human species. She never bites an animal, and seemsattached to all the other horses. She loves Fleetfoot and Cleve andPacer. Those three are her favorites. "

"I love to go for drives with Cleve and Pacer, " said Miss Laura, "theyare so steady and good. Uncle says they are the most trusty horseshe has. He has told me about the man you had, who said that those twohorses knew more than most 'humans. '"

"That was old Davids, " said Mr. Harry; "when we had him, he was courtinga widow who lived over in Hoytville. About once a fortnight, he'd askfather for one of the horses to go over to see her. He always stayedpretty late, and on the way home he'd tie the reins to the whip-stockand go to sleep, and never wake up till Cleve or Pacer, whichever onehe happened to have, would draw up in the barnyard. They would pass anyrigs they happened to meet, and turn out a little for a man. If Davidswasn't asleep, he could always tell by the difference in their gaitwhich they were passing. They'd go quickly past a man, and much slower, with more of a turn out, if it was a team. But I dare say father toldyou this. He has a great stock of horse stories, and I am almost as bad. You will have to cry 'halt, ' when we bore you. "

"You never do, " replied Miss Laura. "I love to talk about animals. Ithink the best story about Cleve and Pacer is the one that uncle toldme last evening. I don't think you were there. It was about stealing theoats. "

"Cleve and Pacer never steal, " said Mr. Harry. "Don't you mean Scamp?She's the thief. "

"No, it was Pacer that stole. He got out of his box, uncle says, andfound two bags of oats, and he took one in his teeth and dropped itbefore Cleve, and ate the other himself, and uncle was so amused that helet them eat a long time, and stood and watched them. "

"That was a clever trick, " said Mr. Harry. "Father must have forgottento tell me. Those two horses have been mates ever since I can remember, and I believe if they were separated, they'd pine away and die. Youhave noticed how low the partitions are between the boxes in the horsestable. Father says you wouldn't put a lot of people in separate boxesin a room, where they couldn't see each other, and horses are just asfond of company as we are. Cleve and Pacer are always nosing each other. A horse has a long memory. Father has had horses recognize him, thathe has been parted from for twenty years. Speaking of their memoriesreminds me of another good story about Pacer that I never heard tillyesterday, and that I would not talk about to any one but you andmother. Father wouldn't write me about it, for he never will put a lineon paper where any one's reputation is concerned. "

CHAPTER XXVI THE BOX OF MONEY

"THIS story, " said Mr. Harry, "is about one of the hired men we had lastwinter, whose name was Jacobs. He was a cunning fellow, with a hangdoglook, and a great cleverness at stealing farm produce from father on thesly, and selling it. Father knew perfectly well what he was doing, andwas wondering what would be the best way to deal with him, when one daysomething happened that brought matters to a climax. 

"Father had to go to Sudbury for farming tools, and took Pacer and thecutter. There are two ways of going there one the Sudbury Road, andthe other the old Post Road, which is longer and seldom used. On thisoccasion father took the Post Road. The snow wasn't deep, and he wantedto inquire after an old man who had been robbed and half frightenedto death, a few days before. He was a miserable old creature, knownas Miser Jerrold, and he lived alone with his daughter. He had saved alittle money that he kept in a box under his bed. When father got nearthe place, he was astonished to see by Pacer's actions that he had beenon this road before, and recently, too. Father is so sharp about horses, that they never do a thing that he doesn't attach a meaning to. So helet the reins hang a little loose, and kept his eye on Pacer. The horsewent along the road, and seeing father didn't direct him, turned intothe lane leading to the house. There was an old red gate at the end ofit, and he stopped in front of it, and waited for father to get out. Then he passed through, and instead of going up to the house, turnedaround, and stood with his head toward the road. 

"Father never said a word, but he was doing a lot of thinking. He wentinto the house, and found the old man sitting over the fire, rubbing hishands, and half-crying about 'the few poor dollars, ' that he said he hadhad stolen from him. Father had never seen him before, but he knew hehad the name of being half silly, and question him as much as he liked, he could make nothing of him. The daughter said that they had gone tobed at dark the night her father was robbed. She slept up stairs, andhe down below. About ten o'clock she heard him scream, and running downstairs, she found him sitting up in bed, and the window wide open. He said a man had sprung in upon him, stuffed the bedclothes into hismouth, and dragging his box from under the bed, had made off with it. She ran to the door and looked out, but there was no one to be seen. It was dark, and snowing a little, so no traces of footsteps were to beperceived in the morning. 

"Father found that the neighbors were dropping in to bear the old mancompany, so he drove on to Sudbury, and then returned home. When he gotback, he said Jacobs was hanging about the stable in a nervous kind of away, and said he wanted to speak to him. Father said very good, butput the horse in first. Jacobs unhitched, and father sat on one of thestable benches and watched him till he came lounging along with a strawin his mouth, and said he'd made up his mind to go West, and he'd liketo set off at once. 

"Father said again, very good, but first he had a little account tosettle with him, and he took out of his pocket a paper, where he hadjotted down, as far as he could, every quart of oats, and every bag ofgrain, and every quarter of a dollar of market money that Jacobs haddefrauded him of. Father said the fellow turned all the colors of therainbow, for he thought he had covered up his tracks so cleverly thathe would never be found out. Then father said, 'Sit down, Jacobs, for Ihave got to have a long talk with you. ' He had him there about an hour, and when he finished, the fellow was completely broken down. Father toldhim that there were just two courses in life for a young man to take;and he had gotten on the wrong one. He was a young, smart fellow, andif he turned right around now, there was a chance for him. If he didn'tthere was nothing but the State's prison ahead of him, for he needn'tthink he was going to gull and cheat all the world, and never be foundout. Father said he'd give him all the help in his power, if he had hisword that he'd try to be an honest man. Then he tore up the paper, andlaid there was an end of his indebtedness to him. 

"Jacobs is only a young fellow, twenty-three or thereabout, and fathersays he sobbed like a baby. Then, without looking at him, father gave inaccount of his afternoon's drive, just as if he was talking to himself. He said that Pacer never to his knowledge had been on that road before, and yet he seemed perfectly familiar with it, and that he stopped andturned already to leave again quickly, instead of going up to the door, and how he looked over his shoulder and started on a run down the lane, the minute father's foot was in the cutter again. In the course of hisremarks, father mentioned the fact that on Monday, the evening that therobbery was committed, Jacobs had borrowed Pacer to go to the Junction, but had come in with the horse steaming, and looking as if he had beendriven a much longer distance than that. Father said that when he gotdone, Jacobs had sunk down all in a heap on the stable floor with hishands over his face. Father left him to have it out with himself, andwent to the house. 

"The next morning, Jacobs looked just the same as usual, and went aboutwith the other men doing his work, but saying nothing about going West. Late in the afternoon, a farmer going by hailed father, and asked ifhe'd heard the news. Old Miser Jerrold's box had been left on his doorstep some time through the night, and he'd found it in the morning. Themoney was all there, but the old fellow was so cute that he wouldn'ttell any one how much it was. The neighbors had persuaded him to bankit, and he was coming to town the next morning with it, and that nightsome of them were going to help him mount guard over it. Father toldthe men at milking time, and he said Jacobs looked as unconscious aspossible However, from that day there was a change in him. He never toldfather in so many words that he'd resolved to be an honest man, but hisactions spoke for him. He had been a kind of sullen, unwilling fellow, but now he turned handy and obliging, and it was a real trial to fatherto part with him. "

Miss Laura was intensely interested in this story. "Where is he now, Cousin Harry?" she asked, eagerly. "What became of him?"

Mr. Harry laughed in such amusement that I stared up at him, and evenFleetfoot turned his head around to see what the joke was. We were goingvery slowly up a long, steep hill, and in the clear, still air, we couldhear every word spoken in the buggy. 

"The last part of the story is the best, to my mind, " said Mr. Harry, "and as romantic as even a girl could desire. The affair of the stolenbox was much talked about along Sudbury way, and Miss Jerrold got to beconsidered quite a desirable young person among some of the youth nearthere, though she is a frowsy-headed creature, and not as neat in herpersonal attire as a young girl should be. Among her suitors was Jacobs. He cut out a blacksmith and a painter, and several young farmers, andfather said he never in his life had such a time to keep a straightface, as when Jacobs came to him this spring, and said he was going tomarry old Miser Jerrold's daughter. He wanted to quit father's employ, and he thanked him in a real manly way for the manner in which he hadalways treated him. Well Jacobs left, and mother says that father wouldsit and speculate about him, as to whether he had fallen in love withEliza Jerrold, or whether he was determined to regain possession of thebox, and was going to do it honestly, or whether he was sorry for havingfrightened the old man into a greater degree of imbecility, and wasmarrying the girl so that he could take care of him, or whether it wassomething else, and so on, and so on. He had a dozen theories, andthen mother says he would burst out laughing, and say it was one of thecutest tricks that he had ever heard of. 

"In the end, Jacobs got married, and father and mother went to thewedding. Father gave the bridegroom a yoke of oxen, and mother gave thebride a lot of household linen, and I believe they're as happy as theday is long. Jacobs makes his wife comb her hair, and he waits on theold man as if he was his son, and he is improving the farm that wasgoing to rack and ruin, and I hear he is going to build a new house. "

"Harry, " exclaimed Miss Laura, "can't you take me to see them?"

"Yes, indeed; mother often drives over to take them little things, andwe'll go, too, sometime. I'd like to see Jacobs myself, now that he isa decent fellow. Strange to say, though he hadn't the best of character, no one has ever suspected him of the robbery, and he's been cunningenough never to say a word about it. Father says Jacobs is like all therest of us. There's mixture of good and evil in him, and sometimes onepredominates, and sometimes the other. But we must get on and not talkhere all day. Get up, Fleetfoot. "

"Where did you say we were going?" asked Miss Laura, as we crossed thebridge over the river. 

"A little way back here in the woods, " he replied. "There's anEnglishman on a small clearing that he calls Penhollow. Father loanedhim some money three years ago, and he won't pay either interest orprincipal. "

"I think I've heard of him, " said Miss Laura "Isn't he the man whom theboys call Lord Chesterfield?"

"The same one. He's a queer specimen of a man. Father has always stoodup for him. He has a great liking for the English. He says we ought tobe as ready to help an Englishman as an American, for we spring fromcommon stock. "

"Oh, not Englishmen only, " said Miss Laura, warmly; "Chinamen, andNegroes, and everybody. There ought to be a brotherhood of nations, Harry. "

"Yes, Miss Enthusiasm, I suppose there ought to be, " and looking up, Icould see that Mr. Harry was gazing admiringly into his cousin's face. 

"Please tell me some more about the Englishman, " said Miss Laura. 

"There isn't much to tell. He lives alone, only coming occasionallyto the village for supplies, and though he is poorer than poverty, hedespises every soul within a ten-mile radius of him, and looks upon usas no better than an order of thrifty, well-trained lower animals. "

"Why is that?" asked Miss Laura, in surprise. 

"He is a gentleman, Laura, and we are only common people. My fathercan't hand a lady in and out of a carriage as Lord Chesterfield can, norcan he make so grand a bow, nor does he put on evening dress for alate dinner, and we never go to the opera nor to the theatre, andknow nothing of polite society, nor can we tell exactly whom ourgreat-great-grandfather sprang from. I tell you, there is a gulf betweenus and that Englishman, wider than the one young Curtius leaped into. "

Miss Laura was laughing merrily. "How funny that sounds, Harry. Sohe despises you, " and she glanced at her good-looking cousin, and hishandsome buggy and well-kept horse, and then burst into another merrypeal of laughter. 

Mr. Harry laughed, too. "It does seem absurd. Sometimes when I pass himjogging along to town in his rickety old cart, and look at his pale, cruel face, and know that he is a broken-down gambler and man of theworld, and yet considers himself infinitely superior to me a young manin the prime of life, with a good constitution and happy prospects, itmakes me turn away to hide a smile. "

By this time we had left the river and the meadows far behind us, andwere passing through a thick wood. The road was narrow and very broken, and Fleetfoot was obliged to pick his way carefully. "Why does theEnglishman live in this out-of-the-way place, if he is so fond of citylife?" said Miss Laura. 

"I don't know, " said Mr. Harry. "Father is afraid that he has committedsome misdeed, and is in hiding; but we say nothing about it. We have notseen him for some weeks, and to tell the truth, this trip is as much tosee what has become of him, as to make a demand upon him for themoney. As he lives alone, he might lie there ill, and no one wouldknow anything about it. The last time that we knew of his coming tothe village was to draw quite a sum of money from the bank. It annoyedfather, for he said he might take some of it to pay his debts. I thinkhis relatives in England supply him with funds. Here we are at theentrance to the mansion of Penhollow. I must get out and open the gatethat will admit us to the winding avenue. "

We had arrived in front of some bars which were laid across an openingin the snake fence that ran along one side of the road. I sat downand looked about. It was a strange, lonely place. The trees almost metoverhead, and it was very dim and quiet. The sun could only send littlestraggling beams through the branches. There was a muddy pool of waterbefore the bars that Mr. Harry was letting down, and he got his feet wetin it. "Confound that Englishman, " he said, backing out of the water, and wiping his boots on the grass. "He hasn't even gumption enough tothrow down a load of stone there. Drive in, Laura, and I'll put up thebars. " Fleetfoot took us through the opening, and then Mr. Harry jumpedinto the buggy and took up the reins again. 

We had to go very slowly up a narrow, rough road. The bushes scratchedand scraped against the buggy, and Mr. Harry looked very much annoyed. 

"No man liveth to himself, " said Miss Laura, softly. "This man'scarelessness is giving you trouble. Why doesn't he cut these branchesthat overhang the road?"

"He can't do it, because his abominable laziness won't let him, " saidMr. Harry. "I'd like to be behind him for a week, and I'd make him stepa little faster. We have arrived at last, thank goodness. "

There was a small grass clearing in the midst of the woods. Chipsand bits of wood were littered about, and across the clearing was aroughly-built house of unpainted boards. The front door was propped openby a stick. Some of the panes of glass in the windows were broken, andthe whole house had a melancholy, dilapidated look. I thought that I hadnever seen such a sad-looking place. 

"It seems as if there was no one about, " said Mr. Harry, with a puzzledface. "Barron must be away. Will you hold Fleetfoot, Laura, while I goand see?"

He drew the buggy up near a small log building that had evidently beenused for a stable, and I lay down beside it and watched Miss Laura. 

CHAPTER XXVII A NEGLECTED STABLE

I HAD not been on the ground more than a few seconds, before I turned myeyes from Miss Laura to the log hut. It was deathly quiet, there was nota sound coming from it, but the air was full of queer smells, and I wasso uneasy that I could not lie still. There was something the matterwith Fleetfoot, too. He was pawing the ground and whinnying, andlooking, not after Mr. Harry, but toward the log building. 

"Joe, " said Miss Laura, "what is the matter with you and Fleetfoot? Whydon't you stand still? Is there any stranger about?" and she peered outof the buggy. 

I knew there was something wrong somewhere, but I didn't know what itwas; so I stretched myself up on the step of the buggy, and licked herhand, and barking, to ask her to excuse me, I ran off to the other sideof the log hut. There was a door there, but it was closed, and proppedfirmly up by a plank that I could not move, scratch as hard as I liked. I was determined to get in, so I jumped against the door, and tore andbit at the plank, till Miss Laura came to help me. 

"You won't find anything but rats in that ramshackle old place, Beautiful Joe, " she said, as she pulled the plank away; "and as youdon't hurt them, I don't see what you want to get in for. However, youare a sensible dog, and usually have a reason for having your own way, so I am going to let you have it. "

The plank fell down as she spoke, and she pulled open the rough doorand looked in. There was no window inside, only the light that streamedthrough the door, so that for an instant she could see nothing. "Is anyone here?" she asked, in her clear, sweet voice. There was no answerexcept a low, moaning sound. "Why, some poor creature is in trouble, Joe, " said Miss Laura, cheerfully. "Let us see what it is, " and shestepped inside. 

I shall never forget seeing my dear Miss Laura going into that wet andfilthy log house, holding up her white dress in her hands, her face apicture of pain and horror. There were two rough stalls in it, and inthe first one was tied a cow, with a calf lying beside her. I couldnever have believed, if I had not seen it with my own eyes, that ananimal could get so thin as that cow was. Her backbone rose up high andsharp, her hip bones stuck away out, and all her body seemed shrunkenin. There were sores on her sides, and the smell from her stall wasterrible. Miss Laura gave one cry of pity, then with a very pale faceshe dropped her dress, and seizing a little penknife from her pocket, she hacked at the rope that tied the cow to the manger, and cut it sothat the cow could lie down. The first thing the poor cow did was tolick her calf, but it was quite dead. I used to think Jenkins' cows werethin enough, but he never had one that looked like this. Her head waslike the head of a skeleton, and her eyes had such a famished look, thatI turned away, sick at heart, to think that she had suffered so. 

When the cow lay down, the moaning noise stopped, for she had beenmaking it. Miss Laura ran outdoors, snatched a handful of grass and tookit in to her. The cow ate it gratefully, but slowly, for her strengthseemed all gone. 

Miss Laura then went into the other stall to see if there wasany creature there. There had been a horse. There was now a lean, gaunt-looking animal lying on the ground, that seemed as if he was dead. There was a heavy rope knotted around his neck, and fastened to hisempty rack. Miss Laura stepped carefully between his feet, cut therope and going outside the stall spoke kindly to him. He moved his earsslightly, raised his head, tried to get up, fell back again, triedagain and succeeded in staggering outdoors after Miss Laura, who keptencouraging him, and then he fell down on the grass. 

Fleetfoot stared at the miserable-looking creature as if he did not knowwhat it was. The horse had no sores on his body, as the cow had, nor washe quite so lean: but he was the weakest, most distressed-looking animalthat I ever saw. The flies settled on him, and Miss Laura had to keepdriving them away. He was a white horse, with some kind of pale-coloredeyes, and whenever he turned them on Miss Laura, she would look away. She did not cry, as she often did over the sick and suffering animals. This seemed too bad for tears. She just hovered over that poor horsewith her face as white as her dress, and an expression of fright in hereyes. Oh, how dirty he was! I would never have imagined that a horsecould get in such a condition. 

All this had only taken a few minutes, and just after she got the horseout, Mr. Harry appeared. He came out of the house with a slow step, thatquickened to a run when he saw Miss Laura "Laura!" he exclaimed, "what are you doing?" Then he stopped and looked at the horse, notin amazement, but very sorrowfully. "Barron is gone, " he said, andcrumpling up a piece of paper, he put it in his pocket. "What is to bedone to these animals? There is a cow, isn't there?"

He stepped to the door of the log hut, glanced in, and said, quickly:"Do you feel able to drive home?"

"Yes, " said Miss Laura. 

"Sure?" and he eyed her anxiously. 

"Yes, yes, " she returned; "what shall I get?"

"Just tell father that Barron has run away and left a starving pig, cow, and horse. There's not a thing to eat here. He'll know what to do. I'lldrive you to the road. "

Miss Laura got into the buggy and Mr. Harry jumped in after her. Hedrove her to the road and put down the bars; then he said: "Go straighton. You'll soon be on the open road, and there's nothing to harm you. Joe will look after you. Meanwhile I'll go back to the house and heatsome water. "

Miss Laura let Fleetfoot go as fast as he liked on the way home, and itonly seemed a few minutes before we drove into the yard. Adele came outto meet us. "Where's uncle?" asked Miss Laura. 

"Gone to de big meadow, " said Adele. 

"And auntie?"

"She had de colds and chills, and entered into de bed to keep warm. Shelose herself in sleep now. You not go near her. "

"Are there none of the men about?" asked Miss Laura. 

"No, mademoiselle. Dey all occupied way off. "

"Then you help me, Adele, like a good girl, " said Miss Laura, hurryinginto the house. "We've found a sick horse and cow. What shall I takethem?"

"Nearly all animals like de bran mash, " said Adele. 

"Good!" cried Miss Laura. "That is the very thing. Put in the things tomake it, will you please, and I would like some vegetables for thecow. Carrots, turnips, anything you have; take some of those you haveprepared for dinner to-morrow, and please run up to the barn, Adele, and get some hay, and corn, and oats, not much, for we'll be going backagain; but hurry, for the poor things are starving, and have you anymilk for the pig? Put it in one of those tin kettles with covers. "

For a few minutes, Miss Laura and Adele flew about the kitchen, then weset off again. Miss Laura took me in the buggy, for I was out of breathand wheezing greatly. I had to sit on the seat beside her, for thebottom of the buggy and the back were full of eatables for the poorsick animals. Just as we drove into the road, we met Mr. Wood. "Areyou running away with the farm?" he said with a laugh, pointing to thecarrot tops that were gaily waving over the dashboard. 

Miss Laura said a few words to him, and with a very grave face he got inbeside her. In a short time, we were back on the lonely road. Mr. Harrywas waiting at the gate for us, and when he saw Miss Laura, he said, "Why did you come back again? You'll be tired out. This isn't a placefor a sensitive girl like you. "

"I thought I might be of some use, " said she, gently. 

"So you can, " said Mr. Wood. "You go into the house and sit down, andHarry and I will come to you when we want cheering up. What have youbeen doing, Harry?"

"I've watered them a little, and got a good fire going. I scarcely thinkthe cow will pull through. I think we'll save the horse. I tried to getthe cow out-doors, but she can't move. "

"Let her alone, " said Mr. Wood. "Give her some food and her strengthwill come to her. What have you got here?" and he began to take thethings out of the buggy. "Bless the child, she's thought of everything, even the salt. Bring those things into the house, Harry, and we'll makea bran mash. "

For more than an hour they were fussing over the animals. Then they camein and sat down. The inside of the Englishman's house was as untidyas the outside. There was no upstairs to it only one large room with adirty curtain stretched across it. On one side was a low bed with a heapof clothes on it, a chair and a washstand. On the other was a stove, a table, a shaky rocking-chair that Miss Laura was sitting in, a fewhanging shelves with some dishes and books on them, and two or threesmall boxes that had evidently been used for seats. 

On the walls were tacked some pictures of grand houses and ladies andgentlemen in fine clothes, and Miss Laura said that some of them werenoble people. "Well, I'm glad this particular nobleman has left us, "said Mr. Wood, seating himself on one of the boxes, "if nobleman he is. I should call him in plain English, a scoundrel. Did Harry show you hisnote?"

"No, uncle, " said Miss Laura. 

"Read it aloud, " said Mr. Wood. "I'd like to hear it again. "

Miss Laura read:

J. WOOD, Esq. , Dear Sir: It is a matter of great regret to me that I amsuddenly called away from my place at Penhollow, and will thereforenot be able to do myself the pleasure of calling on you and settlingmy little account. I sincere hope that the possession of my live stock, which I make entirely over to you, will more than reimburse you for anytrifling expense which you may have incurred on my account. If it is anygratification to you to know that you have rendered a slight assistanceto the son of one of England's noblest noblemen, you have it. Withexpressions of the deepest respect, and hoping that my stock may be ingood condition when you take possession, I am, dear sir, ever devotedly yours, HOWARD ALGERNON LEDUC BARRON. 

Miss Laura dropped the paper. "Uncle, did he leave those animals tostarve?"

"Didn't you notice, " said Mr. Wood, grimly, "that there wasn't a wisp ofhay inside that shanty, and that where the poor beasts were tied up thewood was knawed and bitten by them in their torture for food? Wouldn'the have sent me that note, instead of leaving it here on the table, ifhe'd wanted me to know? The note isn't dated, but I judge he's been gonefive or six days. He has had a spite against me ever since I lent himthat hundred dollars. I don't know why, for I've stood up for him whenothers would have run him out of the place. He intended me to come hereand find every animal lying dead. He even had a rope around the pig'sneck. Harry, my boy, let us go and look after them again. I love a dumbbrute too well to let it suffer, but in this case I'd give two hundreddollars more if I could make them live and have Barron know it. "

They left the room, and Miss Laura sat turning the sheet of paper overand over, with a kind of horror in her face. It was a very dirty pieceof paper, but by-and-by she made a discovery. She took it in her handand went out-doors. I am sure that the poor horse lying on the grassknew her. He lifted his head, and what a different expression he had nowthat his hunger had been partly satisfied. Miss Laura stroked and pattedhim, then she called to her cousin, "Harry, will you look at this?"

He took the paper from her, and said: "that is a crest shining throughthe different strata of dust and grime, probably that of his own family. We'll have it cleaned, and it will enable us to track the villain. Youwant him punished, don't you?" he said, with a little, sly laugh at MistLaura. 

She made a gesture in the direction of the suffering horse, and said, frankly, "Yes, I do. "

"Well, my dear girl, " he said, "father and I are with you. If we canhunt Barron down, we'll do it. " Then he muttered to himself as sheturned away, "She is a real Puritan, gentle, and sweet, and good, andyet severe. Rewards for the virtuous, punishments for the vicious, " andhe repeated some poetry:

 "She was so charitable and so piteous, She would weep if that she saw a mouse Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled. "

Miss Laura saw that Mr. Wood and Mr. Harry were doing all that could bedone for the cow and horse, so she wandered down to a hollow at the backof the house, where the Englishman had kept his pig. Just now, he lookedmore like a greyhound than a pig. His legs were so long, his nose sosharp, and hunger, instead of making him stupid like the horse and cow, had made him more lively. I think he had probably not suffered so muchas they had, or perhaps he had had a greater store of fat to nourishhim. Mr. Harry said that if he had been a girl, he would have laughedand cried at the same time when he discovered that pig. He must havebeen asleep or exhausted when we arrived, for there was not a sound outof him, but shortly afterward he had set up a yelling that attracted Mr. Harry's attention, and made him run down to him. Mr. Harry said he wasraging around his pen, digging the ground with his snout, falling downand getting up again, and by a miracle, escaping death by choking fromthe rope that was tied around his neck. 

Now that his hunger had been satisfied, he was gazing contentedly athis little trough that was half full of good, sweet milk. Mr. Harry saidthat a starving animal, like a starving person, should only be feda little at a time; but the Englishman's animals had always been fedpoorly, and their stomachs had contracted so that they could not eatmuch at one time. 

Miss Laura got a stick and scratched poor piggy's back a little, andthen she went back to the house. In a short time we went home with Mr. Wood. Mr. Harry was going to stay all night with the sick animals, andhis mother would send him things to make him comfortable. She was betterby the time we got home, and was horrified to hear the tale of Mr. Barron's neglect. Later in the evening, she sent one of the men overwith a whole box full of things for her darling boy, and nice, hot tea, done up for him in a covered dish. When the man came home, he said thatMr. Harry would not sleep in the Englishman's dirty house, but had slunga hammock out under the trees. However, he would not be able to sleepmuch, for he had his lantern by his side, all ready to jump up andattend to the horse and cow. It was a very lonely place for him outthere in the woods, and his mother said that she would be glad when thesick animals could be driven to their own farm. 

CHAPTER XXVIII THE END OF THE ENGLISHMAN

IN a few days, thanks to Mr. Harry's constant care, the horse and cowwere able to walk. It was a mournful procession that came into the yardat Dingley Farm. The hollow-eyed horse, and lean cow, and funny, littlethin pig, staggering along in such a shaky fashion. Their hoofs werediseased, and had partly rotted away, so that they could not walkstraight. Though it was only a mile or two from Penhollow to DingleyFarm, they were tired out, and dropped down exhausted on theircomfortable beds. 

Miss Laura was so delighted to think that they had all lived, that shedid not know what to do. Her eyes were bright and shining, and she wentfrom one to another with such a happy face. The queer little pig thatMr. Harry had christened "Daddy Longlegs, " had been washed, and he layon his heap of straw in the corner of his neat little pen, and surveyedhis clean trough and abundance of food with the air of a prince. Why, hewould be clean and dry here, and all his life he had been used to dirty, damp Penhollow, with the trees hanging over him, and his little feet ina mass of filth and dead leaves. Happy little pig! His ugly eyes seemedto blink and gleam with gratitude, and he knew Miss Laura and Mr. Harryas well as I did. 

His tiny tail was curled so tight that it was almost in a knot. Mr. Woodsaid that was a sign that he was healthy and happy: and that when poorDaddy was at Penhollow he had noticed that his tail hung as limp and asloose as the tail of a rat. He came and leaned over the pen with MissLaura, and had a little talk with her about pigs. He said they were byno means the stupid animals that some people considered them. He had hadpigs that were as clever as dogs. One little black pig that he had oncesold to a man away back in the country had found his way home, throughthe woods, across the river, up hill and down dale, and he'd been takento the place with a bag over his head. Mr. Wood said that he kept thatpig because he knew so much. 

He said the most knowing pigs he ever saw were Canadian pigs. One timehe was having a trip on a sailing vessel, and it anchored in a long, narrow harbor in Canada, where the tide came in with a front four orfive feet high called the "bore. " There was a village opposite the placewhere the ship was anchored, and every day at low tide, a number of pigscame down to look for shell-fish. Sometimes they went out for half amile over the mud flats, but always a few minutes before the tide camerushing in they turned and hurried to the shore. Their instincts warnedthem that if they stayed any longer they would be drowned. 

Mr. Wood had a number of pigs, and after a while Daddy was put in withthem, and a fine time he had of it making friends with the other littlegrunters. They were often let out in the pasture or orchard, and whenthey were there, I could always single out Daddy from among them, because he was the smartest. Though he had been brought up in such amiserable way, he soon learned to take very good care of himself atDingley Farm, and it was amusing to see him when a storm was coming on, running about in a state of great excitement carrying little bundles ofstraw in his mouth to make himself a bed. He was a white pig, and wasalways kept very clean. Mr. Wood said that it is wrong to keep pigsdirty. They like to be clean as well as other animals, and if they werekept so, human beings would not get so many diseases from eating theirflesh. 

The cow, poor unhappy creature, never, as long as she lived on DingleyFarm, lost a strange melancholy look from her eyes. I have heard it saidthat animals forget past unhappiness, and perhaps some of them do. Iknow that I have never forgotten my one miserable year with Jenkins, and I have been a sober, thoughtful dog in consequence of it, and notplayful like some dogs who have never known what it is to be reallyunhappy. 

It always seemed to me that the Englishman's cow was thinking of herpoor dead calf, starved to death by her cruel master. She got wellherself, and came and went with the other cows, seemingly as happy asthey, but often when I watched her standing chewing her cud, and lookingaway in the distance, I could see a difference between her face and thefaces of the cows that had always been happy on Dingley Farm. Even thefarm hands called her "Old Melancholy, " and soon she got to be known bythat name, or Mel, for short. Until she got well, she was put intothe cow stable, where Mr. Wood's cows all stood at night upon raisedplatforms of earth covered over with straw litter, and she was tiedwith a Dutch halter, so that she could lie down and go to sleep when shewanted to. When she got well, she was put out to pasture with the othercows. 

The horse they named "Scrub, " because he could never be, under anycircumstance, anything but a broken-down, plain-looking animal. Hewas put into the horse stable in a stall next Fleetfoot, and as thepartition was low, they could look over at each other. In time, by dintof much doctoring, Scrub's hoofs became clean and sound and he was ableto do some work. Miss Laura petted him a great deal. She often took outapples to the stable, and Fleetfoot would throw up his beautiful headand look reproachfully over the partition at her, for she always stayedlonger with Scrub than with him, and Scrub always got the larger shareof whatever good thing was going. 

Poor old Scrub! I think he loved Miss Laura. He was a stupid sort of ahorse, and always acted as if he was blind. He would run his nose up anddown the front of her dress, nip at the buttons, and be very happy if hecould get a bit of her watch-chain between his strong teeth. If he wasin the field he never seemed to know her till she was right under hispale-colored eyes. Then he would be delighted to see her. He was notblind, though, for Mr. Wood said he was not. He said he had probably notbeen an over-bright horse to start with, and had been made more dull bycruel usage. 

As for the Englishman, the master of these animals, a very strange thinghappened to him. He came to a terrible end, but for a long time no oneknew anything about it. Mr. Wood and Mr. Harry were so very angrywith him that they said they would leave no stone unturned to have himpunished, or at least to have it known what a villain he was. They sentthe paper with the crest on it to Boston. Some people there wrote toEngland, and found out that it was the crest of a noble and highlyesteemed family, and some earl was at the head of it. They were allhonorable people in this family except one man, a nephew, not a son, ofthe late earl. He was the black sheep of them all. As a young man, hehad led a wild and wicked life, and had ended by forging the name of oneof his friends, so that he was obliged to leave England and take refugein America. By the description of this man, Mr. Wood knew that he mustbe Mr. Barron, so he wrote to these English people, and told them whata wicked thing their relative had done in leaving his animals to starve. In a short time, he got an answer from them, which was, at the sametime, very proud and very touching. It came from Mr. Barron's cousin, and he said quite frankly that he knew his relative was a man of evilhabits, but it seemed as if nothing could be done to reform him. Hisfamily was accustomed to send a quarterly allowance to him, oncondition that he led a quiet life in some retired place, but their lastremittance to him was lying unclaimed in Boston, and they thought hemust be dead. Could Mr. Wood tell them anything about him?

Mr. Wood looked very thoughtful when he got this letter, then he said, "Harry, how long is it since Barron ran away?"

"About eight weeks, " said Mr. Harry. 

"That's strange, " said Mr. Wood. "The money these English people senthim would get to Boston just a few days after he left here. He is notthe man to leave it long unclaimed. Something must have happened to him. Where do you suppose he would go from Penhollow?"

"I have no idea, sir, " said Mr. Harry. 

"And how would he go?" said Mr. Wood. "He did not leave RiverdaleStation, because he would have been spotted by some of his creditors. "

"Perhaps he would cut through the woods to the Junction, " said Mr. Harry. 

"Just what he would do, " said Mr. Wood, slapping his knee. "I'll bedriving over there to-morrow to see Thompson, and I'll make inquiries. "

Mr. Harry spoke to his father the next night when he came home, andasked him if he had found out anything. "Only this, " said Mr. Wood. "There's no one answering to Barron's description who has left RiverdaleJunction within a twelvemonth. He must have struck some other station. We'll let him go. The Lord looks out for fellows like that. "

"We will look out for him if he ever comes back to Riverdale, " said Mr. Harry, quietly. All through the village, and in the country it was knownwhat a dastardly trick the Englishman had played, and he would have beenroughly handled if he had dared return. 

Months passed away, and nothing was heard of him. Late in the autumn, after Miss Laura and I had gone back to Fairport, Mrs. Wood wrote herabout the end of the Englishman. Some Riverdale lads were beating aboutthe woods, looking for lost cattle, and in their wanderings came to anold stone quarry that had been disused for years. On one side there wasa smooth wall of rock, many feet deep. On the other the ground and rockwere broken away, and it was quite easy to get into it. They found thatby some means or other, one of their cows had fallen into this deep pit, over the steep side of the quarry. Of course the poor creature was dead, but the boys, out of curiosity, resolved to go down and look at her. They clambered down, found the cow, and, to their horror andamazement, discovered near-by the skeleton of a man. There was aheavy walking-stick by his side, which they recognized as one that theEnglishman had carried. 

He was a drinking man, and perhaps he had taken something that hethought would strengthen him for his morning's walk, but which had, onthe contrary, bewildered him, and made him lose his way and fallinto the quarry. Or he might have started before daybreak, and in thedarkness have slipped and fallen down this steep wall of rock. One legwas doubled under him, and if he had not been instantly killed by thefall, he must have been so disabled that he could not move. In thatlonely place, he would call for help in vain, so he may have perished bythe terrible death of starvation the death he had thought to mete out tohis suffering animals. 

Mrs. Wood said that there was never a sermon preached in Riverdale thathad the effect that the death of this wicked man had, and it remindedher of a verse in the Bible: "He made a pit and he digged it, and isfallen into the ditch which he made. " Mrs. Wood said that her husbandhad written about the finding of Mr. Barron's body to his Englishrelatives, and had received a letter from them in which they seemedrelieved to hear that he was dead. They thanked Mr. Wood for his plainspeaking in telling them of their relative's misdeeds, and said thatfrom all they knew of Mr. Barron's past conduct, his influence would befor evil and not for good, in any place that he choose to live in. Theywere having their money sent from Boston to Mr. Wood, and they wishedhim to expend it in the way he thought best fitted to counteract theevil effects of their namesake's doings in Riverdale. 

When this money came, it amounted to some hundreds of dollars. Mr. Wood would have nothing to do with it. He handed it over to the Band ofMercy, and they formed what they called the "Barron Fund, " which theydrew upon when they wanted money for buying and circulating humaneliterature. Mrs. Wood said that the fund was being added to, and thechildren were sending all over the State leaflets and little books whichpreached the gospel of kindness to God's lower creation. A strangerpicking one of them up, and seeing the name of the wicked Englishmanprinted on the title-page, would think that he was a friend andbenefactor to the Riverdale people the very opposite of what he gloriedin being. 

CHAPTER XXIX A TALK ABOUT SHEEP

MISS LAURA was very much interested in the sheep on Dingley Farm. Therewas a flock in the orchard near the house that she often went to see. She always carried roots and vegetables to them, turnips particularly, for they were very fond of them; but they would not come to her to getthem, for they did not know her voice. They only lifted their headsand stared at her when she called them. But when they heard Mr. Wood'svoice, they ran to the fence, bleating with pleasure, and trying topush their noses through to get the carrot or turnip, or whatever he washanding to them. He called them his little Southdowns, and he said heloved his sheep, for they were the most gentle and inoffensive creaturethat he had on his farm. 

One day when he came into the kitchen inquiring for salt, Miss Laurasaid: "Is it for the sheep?"

"Yes, " he replied; "I am going up to the woods pasture to examine myShropshires. "

"You would like to go too, Laura, " said Mrs. Wood. "Take your handsright away from that cake. I'll finish frosting it for you. Run alongand get your broad-brimmed hat. It's very hot. "

Miss Laura danced out into the hall and back again, and soon we werewalking up, back of the house, along a path that led us through thefields to the pasture. "What are you going to do, uncle?" she said; "andwhat are those funny things in your hands?"

"Toe-clippers, " he replied; "and I am going to examine the sheeps'hoofs. You know we've had warm, moist weather all through July, andI'm afraid of foot-rot. Then they're sometimes troubled with overgrownhoofs. "

"What do you do if they get foot-rot?" asked Miss Laura. 

"I've various cures, " he said. "Paring and clipping, and dipping thehoof in blue vitriol and vinegar, or rubbing it on, as the Englishshepherds do. It destroys the diseased part, but doesn't affect thesound. "

"Do sheep have many diseases?" asked Miss Laura. "I know one of themmyself that is the scab. "

"A nasty thing that, " said Mr. Wood, vigorously; "and a man that buildsup a flock from a stockyard often finds it out to his cost. "

"What is it like?" asked Miss Laura. 

"The sheep get scabby from a microbe under the skin, which causes themto itch fearfully, and they lose their wool. "

"And can't it be cured?"

"Oh, yes! with time and attention. There are different remedies. Ibelieve petroleum is the best. "

By this time we had got to a wide gate that opened into the pasture. As Mr. Wood let Miss Laura go through and then closed it behind her, hesaid, "You are looking at that gate. You want to know why it is so long, don't you?"

"Yes, uncle, " she said; "but I can't bear to ask so many questions. "

"Ask as many as you like, " he said, good-naturedly. "I don't mindanswering them. Have you ever seen sheep pass through a gate or door?"

"Oh, yes, often. "

"And how do they act?"

"Oh, so silly, uncle. They hang back, and one waits for another, and, finally, they all try to go at once. "

"Precisely; when one goes they all want to go, if it was to jump intoa bottomless pit. Many sheep are injured by overcrowding, so I have mygates and doors very wide. Now, let us call them up. " There wasn't onein sight, but when Mr. Wood lifted up his voice and cried: "Ca nan, nan, nan!" black faces began to peer out from among the bushes; and littleblack legs, carrying white bodies, came hurrying up the stony paths fromthe cooler parts of the pasture. Oh, how glad they were to get the salt!Mr. Wood let Miss Laura spread it on some flat rocks, then they sat downon a log under a tree and watched them eating it and licking the rockswhen it was all gone. Miss Laura sat; fanning herself with her hat andsmiling at them. "You funny, woolly things, " she said "You're notso stupid as some people think you are. Lie still, Joe. If you showyourself, they may run away. "

I crouched behind the log, and only lifted my head occasionally to seewhat the sheep were doing. Some of them went back into the woods, forit was very hot in this bare part of the pasture, but the most of themwould not leave Mr. Wood, and stood staring at him. "That's a finesheep, isn't it?" said Miss Laura, pointing to one with the blackestface, and the blackest legs, and largest body of those near us. 

"Yes; that's old Jessica. Do you notice how she's holding her head closeto the ground?"

"Yes; is there any reason for it?"

"There is. She's afraid of the grub fly. You often see sheep holdingtheir noses in that way in the summer time. It is to prevent the flyfrom going into their nostrils, and depositing an egg which will turninto a grub and annoy and worry them. When the fly comes near, they givea sniff and run as if they were crazy, still holding their noses closeto the ground. When I was a boy, and the sheep did that, we thought thatthey had colds in their heads, and used to rub tar on their noses. Weknew nothing about the fly then, but the tar cured them, and is justwhat I use now. Two or three times a month during hot weather, we put afew drops of it on the nose of every sheep in the flock. "

"I suppose farmers are like other people, and are always finding outbetter ways of doing their work, aren't they, uncle?" said Miss Laura. 

"Yes, my child. The older I grow, the more I find out, and thebetter care I take of my stock. My grandfather would open his eyes inamazement, and ask me if I was an old women petting her cats if he werealive, and could know the care I give my sheep. He used to let his flockrun till the fields were covered with snow, and bite as close as theyliked, till there wasn't a scrap of feed left. Then he would give theman open shed to run under, and throw down their hay outside. Grain theyscarcely knew the taste of. That they would fall off in flesh, and halfof them lose their lambs in the spring, was an expected thing. He wouldsay I had them kennelled, if he could see my big, closed sheds, withthe sunny windows that my flock spend the winter in. I even house themduring the bad fall storms. They can run out again. Indeed, I like toget them in, and have a snack of dry food, to break them in to it. Theyare in and out of those sheds all winter. You must go in, Laura, andsee the self-feeding racks. On bright, winter days they get a run inthe cornfields. Cold doesn't hurt sheep. It's the heavy rain that soakstheir fleeces. 

"With my way I seldom lose a sheep, and they're the most profitablestock I have. If I could not keep them, I think I'd give up farming. Last year my lambs netted me eight dollars each. The fleeces of the ewesaverage eight pounds, and sell for two dollars each. That's something tobrag of in these days, when so many are giving up the sheep industry. "

"How many sheep have you, uncle?" asked Miss Laura. 

"Only fifty, now. Twenty-five here and twenty-five down below in theorchard. I've been selling a good many this spring. "

"These sheep are larger than those in the orchard, aren't they?" saidMiss Laura. 

"Yes; I keep those few Southdowns for their fine quality. I don't makeas much on them as I do on these Shropshires. For an all-around sheepI like the Shropshire. It's good for mutton, for wool, and for rearinglambs. There's a great demand for mutton nowadays, all through oureastern cities. People want more and more of it. And it has to betender, and juicy, and finely flavored, so a person has to be particularabout the feed the sheep get. "

"Don't you hate to have these creatures killed that you have raised andtended so carefully?" said Miss Laura with a little shudder. 

"I do, " said her uncle; "but never an animal goes off my place that Idon't know just how it's going to be put to death. None of your sendingsheep to market with their legs tied together and jammed in a cart, andsweating and suffering for me. They've got to go standing comfortablyon their legs, or go not at all. And I'm going to know the butcherthat kills my animals, that have been petted like children. I said toDavidson, over there in Hoytville, 'If I thought you would herd my sheepand lambs and calves together, and take them one by one in sight of therest, and stick your knife into them, or stun them, and have the otherslowing, and bleating, and crying in their misery, this is the lastconsignment you would ever get from me. '

"He said, 'Wood, I don't like my business, but on the word of an honestman, my butchering is done as well as it can be. Come and see foryourself. '

"He took me to his slaughter-house, and though I didn't stay long, I sawenough to convince me that he spoke the truth. He has different pens andsheds, and the killing is done as quietly as possible; the animals aretaken in one by one, and though the others suspect what is going on, they can't see it. "

"These sheep are a long way from the house, " said Miss Laura; "don't thedogs that you were telling me about attack them?"

"No; for since I had that brush with Windham's dog, I've trained themto go and come with the cows. It's a queer thing, but cows that will runfrom a dog when they are alone will fight him if he meddles with theircalves or the sheep. There's not a dog around that would dare to comeinto this pasture, for he knows the cows would be after him with loweredhorns, and a business look in their eyes. The sheep in the orchardare safe enough, for they're near the house, and if a strange dog camearound, Joe would settle him, wouldn't you, Joe?" and Mr. Wood lookedbehind the log at me. 

I got up and put my head on his arm, and he went on: "By and by, theSouthdowns will be changed up here, and the Shropshires will go downto the orchard. I like to keep one flock under my fruit trees. You knowthere is an old proverb 'The sheep has a golden hoof. ' They save me thetrouble of ploughing. I haven't ploughed my orchard for ten years, anddon't expect to plough it for ten years more. Then your Aunt Hattie'shens are so obliging that they keep me from the worry of finding ticksat shearing time. All the year round, I let them run among the sheep, and they nab every tick they see. "

"How closely sheep bite, " exclaimed Miss Laura, pointing to one that wasnibbling almost at his master's feet. 

"Very close, and they eat a good many things that cows don't relishbitter weeds, and briars and shrubs, and the young ferns that come up inthe spring. "

"I wish I could get hold of one of those dear little lambs, " said MissLaura. "See that sweet little blackie back in the alders. Could you notcoax him up?"

"He wouldn't come here, " said her uncle kindly; "but I'll try end gethim for you. "

He rose, and after several efforts succeeded in capturing theblack-faced creature, and bringing him up to the log. He was very shy ofMiss Laura, but Mr. Wood held him firmly, and let her stroke his headas much as she liked. "You call him little, " said Mr. Wood; "if you putyour arm around him, you'll find he's a pretty: substantial lamb. He wasborn in March. This is the last of July; he'll be shorn the middle ofnext month, and think he's quite grown up. Poor little animal! he hadquite a struggle for life. The sheep were turned out to pasture inApril. They can't bear confinement as well as the cows, and as they bitecloser they can be turned out earlier, and get on well by having goodrations of corn in addition to the grass, which is thin and poor soearly in the spring. This young creature was running by his mother'sside, rather a weak-legged, poor specimen of a lamb. Every night theflock was put under shelter, for the ground was cold, and thoughthe sheep might not suffer from lying out-doors, the lambs would getchilled. One night this fellow's mother got astray, and as Ben neglectedto make the count, she wasn't missed. I'm always anxious about my lambsin the spring and often get up in the night to look after them. Thatnight I went out about two o'clock. I took it into my head, for somereason or other, to count them. I found a sheep and lamb missing, tookmy lantern and Bruno, who was some good at tracking sheep, and startedout. Bruno barked and I called, and the foolish creature came to me, thelittle lamb staggering after her. I wrapped the lamb in my coat, took itto the house, made a fire, and heated some milk. Your Aunt Hattie heardme and got up. She won't let me give brandy even to a dumb beast, so Iput some ground sugar, which is just as good, in the milk, and forcedit down the lamb's throat. Then we wrapped an old blanket round him, andput him near the stove, and the next evening he was ready to go backto his mother. I petted him all through April, and gave him extrasdifferent kinds of meal, till I found what suited him best; now he doesme credit. "

"Dear little lamb, " said Miss Laura, patting him, "How can you tell himfrom the others, uncle?"

"I know all their faces, Laura. A flock of sheep is just like a crowdof people. They all have different expressions, and have differentdispositions. "

"They all look alike to me, " said Miss Laura. 

"I dare say. You are not accustomed to them. Do you know how to tell asheep's age?"

"No, uncle. "

"Here, open your mouth, Cosset, " he said to the lamb that he still held. "At one year they have two teeth in the centre of the jaw. They get twoteeth more every year up to five years. Then we say they have 'a fullmouth. ' After that you can't tell their age exactly by the teeth. Now, run back to your mother, " and he let the lamb go. 

"Do they always know their own mothers?" asked Miss Laura. 

"Usually. Sometimes a ewe will not own her lamb. In that case we tiethem up in a separate stall till she recognizes it. Do you see thatsheep over there by the blueberry bushes the one with the very pointedears?"

"Yes, uncle, " said Miss Laura. 

"That lamb by her side is not her own. Hers died and we took its fleeceand wrapped it around a twin lamb that we took from another ewe, andgave to her. She soon adopted it. Now, come this way, and I'll show youour movable feeding troughs. "

He got up from the log, and Miss Laura followed him to the fence. "Thesebig troughs are for the sheep, " said Mr. Wood, "and these shallow onesin the enclosure are for the lambs. See, there is just room enough forthem to get under the fence. You should see the small creatures rush tothem whenever we appear with their oats, and wheat, or bran, or whateverwe are going to give them. If they are going to the butcher, they getcorn meal and oil meal. Whatever it is, they eat it up clean. I don'tbelieve in cramming animals. I feed them as much as is good for them, and not any more. Now, you go sit down over there behind those busheswith Joe, and I'll attend to business. "

Miss Laura found a shady place, and I curled myself up beside her. Wesat there a long time, but we did not get tired, for it was amusing towatch the sheep and lambs. After a while, Mr. Wood came and sat downbeside us. He talked some more about sheep-raising; then he said, "Youmay stay here longer if you like, but I must get down to the house. Thework must be done, if the weather is hot. "

"What are you going to do now?" asked Miss Laura, jumping up. 

"Oh! more sheep business. I've set out some young trees in the orchard, and unless I get chicken wire around them, my sheep will be barking themfor me. "

"I've seen them, " said Miss Laura, "standing up on their hind legs andnibbling at the trees, taking off every shoot they can reach. "

"They don't hurt the old trees, " said Mr. Wood; "but the young ones haveto be protected. It pays me to take care of my fruit trees, for I get asplendid crop from them, thanks to the sheep. "

"Good-bye, little lambs and dear old sheep, " said Miss Laura, as heruncle opened the gate for her to leave the pasture. "I'll come and seeyou again some time. Now, you had better go down to the brook in thedingle and have a drink. You look hot in your warm coats. "

"You've mastered one detail of sheep-keeping, " said Mr. Wood, as heslowly walked along beside his niece. "To raise healthy sheep one musthave pure water where they can get to it whenever they like. Givethem good water, good food, and a variety of it, good quarters cool insummer, comfortable in winter, and keep them quiet, and you'll make themhappy and make money on them. "

"I think I'd like sheep-raising, " said Miss Laura; "won't you have mefor your flock mistress, uncle?"

He laughed, and said he thought not, for she would cry every time any ofher charge were sent to the butcher. 

After this Miss Laura and I often went up to the pasture to see thesheep and the lambs. We used to get into a shady place where they couldnot see us, and watch them. One day I got a great surprise about thesheep. I had heard so much about their meekness that I never dreamedthat they would fight; but it turned out that they did, and they wentabout it in such a business-like way, that I could not help smilingat them. I suppose that like most other animals they had a spice ofwickedness in them. On this day a quarrel arose between two sheep; butinstead of running at each other like two dogs they went a long distanceapart, and then came rushing at each other with lowered heads. Theirobject seemed to be to break each other's skull; but Miss Laura soonstopped them by calling out and frightening them apart. I thought thatthe lambs were more interesting than the sheep. Sometimes they fedquietly by their mothers' sides, and at other times they all huddledtogether on the top of some flat rock or in a bare place, and seemed tobe talking to each other with their heads close together. Suddenlyone would jump down, and start for the bushes or the other side of thepasture. They would all follow pell-mell; then in a few minutes theywould come rushing back again. It was pretty to see them playingtogether and having a good time before the sorrowful day of their deathcame. 

CHAPTER XXX A JEALOUS OX

MR. WOOD had a dozen calves that he was raising, and Miss Laurasometimes went up to the stable to see them. Each calf was in a crib, and it was fed with milk. They had gentle, patient faces, and beautifuleyes, and looked very meek, as they stood quietly gazing about them, orsucking away at their milk. They reminded me of big, gentle dogs. 

I never got a very good look at them in their cribs, but one day whenthey were old enough to be let out, I went up with Miss Laura to theyard where they were kept. Such queer, ungainly, large-boned creaturesthey were, and such a good time they were having, running and jumpingand throwing up their heels. 

Mrs. Wood was with us, and she said that it was not good for calves tobe closely penned after they got to be a few weeks old. They were betterfor getting out and having a frolic. She stood beside Miss Laura fora long time, watching the calves, and laughing a great deal at theirawkward gambols. They wanted to play, but they did not seem to know howto use their limbs. 

They were lean calves, and Miss Laura asked her aunt why all the nicemilk they had taken had not made them fat. "The fat will come all ingood time, " said Mrs. Wood. "A fat calf makes a poor cow, and a fat, small calf isn't profitable to fit for sending to the butcher. It'sbetter to have a bony one and fatten it. If you come here next summer, you'll see a fine show of young cattle, with fat sides, and big, open horns, and a good coat of hair. Can you imagine, " she went on, indignantly, "that any one could be cruel enough to torture such aharmless creature as a calf?"

"No, indeed, " replied Miss Laura. "Who has been doing it?"

"Who has been doing it?" repeated Mrs. Wood, bitterly; "they are doingit all the time. Do you know what makes the nice, white veal one getsin big cities? The calves are bled to death. They linger for hours, andmoan their lives away. The first time I heard it, I was so angry thatI cried for a day, and made John promise that he'd never send anotheranimal of his to a big city to be killed. That's why all of our stockgoes to Hoytville, and small country places. Oh, those big cities areawful places, Laura. It seems to me that it makes people wicked tohuddle them together. I'd rather live in a desert than a city. There'sCh o. Every night since I've been there I pray to the Lord either tochange the hearts of some of the wicked people in it, or to destroy themoff the face of the earth. You know three years ago I got run down, and your uncle said I'd got to have a change, so he sent me off to mybrother's in Ch o. I stayed and enjoyed myself pretty well, for it isa wonderful city, till one day some Western men came in, who had beenvisiting the slaughter houses outside the city. I sat and listened totheir talk, and it seemed to me that I was hearing the description of agreat battle. These men were cattle dealers, and had been sending stockto Ch o, and they were furious that men, in their rage for wealth, wouldso utterly ignore and trample on all decent and humane feelings as totorture animals as the Ch o men were doing. 

"It is too dreadful to repeat the sights they saw. I listened till theywere describing Texan steers kicking in agony under the torture that waspractised, and then I gave a loud scream, and fainted dead away. Theyhad to send for your uncle, and he brought me home, and for days anddays I heard nothing but shouting and swearing, and saw animals drippingwith blood, and crying and moaning in their anguish, and now, Laura, ifyou'd lay down a bit of Ch o meat, and cover it with gold, I'd spurn itfrom me. But what am I saying? you're as white as a sheet. Come and seethe cow stable. John's just had it whitewashed. "

Miss Laura took her aunt's arm, and I walked slowly behind them. The cowstable was a long building, well-built, and with no chinks in the walls, as Jenkins's stable had. There were large windows where the afternoonsun came streaming in, and a number of ventilators, and a great manystalls. A pipe of water ran through the stalls from one end of thestable to the other. The floor was covered with sawdust and leaves, andthe ceiling and tops of the walls were whitewashed. Mrs. Wood said thather husband would not have the walls a glare of white right down to thefloor, because he thought it injured the animals' eyes. So the lowerparts of the walls were stained a dark, brown color. 

There were doors at each end of the stable, and just now they stoodopen, and a gentle breeze was blowing through, but Mrs. Wood said thatwhen the cattle stood in the stalls, both doors were never allowed tobe open at the same time. Mr. Wood was most particular to have no draftsblowing upon his cattle. He would not have them chilled, and he wouldnot have them overheated. One thing was as bad as the other. And duringthe winter they were never allowed to drink icy water. He took the chilloff the water for his cows, just as Mrs. Wood did for her hens. 

"You know, Laura, " Mrs. Wood went on, "that when cows are kept dryand warm, they eat less than when they are cold and wet. They are sowarm-blooded that if they are cold, they have to eat a great deal tokeep up the heat of their bodies, so it pays better to house and feedthem well. They like quiet, too. I never knew that till I married youruncle. On our farm, the boys always shouted and screamed at the cowswhen they were driving them, and sometimes they made them run. They'renever allowed to do that here. "

"I have noticed how quiet this farm seems, " said Miss Laura. "You haveso many men about, and yet there is so little noise. "

"Your uncle whistles a great deal, " said Mrs. Wood. "Have you noticedthat? He whistles when he's about his work, and then he has a callingwhistle that nearly all of the animals know, and the men run whenthey hear it. You'd see every cow in this stable turn its head, if hewhistled in a certain way outside. He says that he got into the way ofdoing it when he was a boy and went for his father's cows. He trainedthem so that he'd just stand in the pasture and whistle, and they'd cometo him. I believe the first thing that inclined me to him was hisclear, happy whistle. I'd hear him from our house away down on the road, jogging along with his cart, or driving in his buggy. He says there isno need of screaming at any animal. It only frightens and angers them. They will mind much better if you speak clearly and distinctly. He saysthere is only one thing an animal hates more than to be shouted at, andthat's to be crept on to have a person sneak up to it and startle it. John says many a man is kicked, because he comes up to his horse likea thief. A startled animal's first instinct is to defend itself. A dogwill spring at you, and a horse will let his heels fly. John alwaysspeaks or whistles to let the stock know when he's approaching. "

"Where is uncle this afternoon?" asked Miss Laura. 

"Oh, up to his eyes in hay. He's even got one of the oxen harnessed to ahay cart. "

"I wonder whether it's Duke?" said Miss Laura. 

"Yes, it is. I saw the star on his forehead, " replied Mrs. Wood. 

"I don't know when I have laughed at anything as much as I did at himthe other day, " said Miss Laura. "Uncle asked me if I had ever heardof such a thing as a jealous ox, and I said no. He said, 'Come to thebarnyard, and I'll show you one. ' The oxen were both there, Duke withhis broad face, and Bright so much sharper and more intelligent looking. Duke was drinking at the trough there, and uncle said: 'Just look athim. Isn't he a great, fat, self-satisfied creature, and doesn't he lookas if he thought the world owed him a living, and he ought to get it?'Then he got the card and went up to Bright, and began scratching him. Duke lifted his head from the trough, and stared at uncle, who paid noattention to him but went on carding Bright, and stroking and pettinghim. Duke looked so angry. He left the trough, and with the waterdripping from his lips, went up to uncle, and gave him a push with hishorns. Still uncle took no notice, and Duke almost pushed him over. Thenuncle left off petting Bright, and turned to him. He said Duke wouldhave treated him roughly, if he hadn't. I never saw a creature look assatisfied as Duke did, when uncle began to card him. Bright didn't seemto care, and only gazed calmly at them. "

"I've seen Duke do that again and again, " said Mrs. Wood. "He's the mostjealous animal that we have, and it makes him perfectly miserableto have your uncle pay attention to any animal but him. What queercreatures these dumb brutes are. They're pretty much like us in mostways. They're jealous and resentful, and they can love or hate equallywell and forgive, too, for that matter; and suffer how they can suffer, and so patiently, too. Where is the human being that would put up withthe tortures that animals endure and yet come out so patient?"

"Nowhere, " said Miss Laura, in a low voice "we couldn't do it. "

"And there doesn't seem to be an animal, " Mrs. Wood went on, "no matterhow ugly and repulsive it is, but what has some lovable qualities. Ihave just been reading about some sewer rats, Louise Michel's rats. "

"Who is she?" asked Miss Laura. 

"A celebrated Frenchwoman, my dear child, 'the priestess of pity andvengeance, ' Mr. Stead calls her. You are too young to know about herbut I remember reading of her in 1872, during the Commune troublesin France. She is an anarchist, and she used to wear a uniform, andshoulder a rifle, and help to build barricades. She was arrested andsent as a convict to one of the French penal colonies. She has a mostwonderful love for animals in her heart, and when she went home she tookfour cats with her. She was put into prison again in France and took thecats with her. Rats came about her cell and she petted them and taughther cats to be kind to them. Before she got the cats thoroughly drilledone of them bit a rat's paw. Louise nursed the rat till it got well, then let it down by a string from her window. It went back to its sewer, and, I suppose, told the other rats how kind Louise had been to it, forafter that they came to her cell without fear. Mother rats brought theiryoung ones and placed them at her feet, as if to ask her protection forthem. The most remarkable thing about them was their affection for eachother. Young rats would chew the crusts thrown to old toothless rats, so that they might more easily eat them, and if a young rat dared helpitself before an old one, the others punished it. "

"That sounds very interesting, auntie, " said Miss Laura. "Where did youread it?"

"I have just got the magazine, " said Mrs. Wood; "you shall have it assoon as you come into the house. "

"I love to be with you, dear auntie, " said Miss Laura, putting her armaffectionately around her, as they stood in the doorway; "because youunderstand me when I talk about animals. I can't explain it, " went on mydear young mistress, laying her hand on her heart, "the feeling I havehere for them. I just love a dumb creature, and I want to stop and talkto every one I see. Sometimes I worry poor Bessie Drury, and I'm sosorry, but I can't help it. She says, 'What makes you so silly, Laura?'"

Miss Laura was standing just where the sunlight shone through herlight-brown hair, and made her face all in a glow. I thought she lookedmore beautiful than I had ever seen her before, and I think Mrs. Woodthought the same. She turned around and put both hands on Miss Laura'sshoulders. "Laura, " she said, earnestly, "there are enough cold heartsin the world. Don't you ever stifle a warm or tender feeling toward adumb creature. That is your chief attraction, my child: your love foreverything that breathes and moves. Tear out the selfishness from yourheart, if there is any there, but let the love and pity stay. And nowlet me talk a little more to you about the cows. I want to interest youin dairy matters. This stable is new since you were here, and we've madea number of improvements. Do you see those bits of rock salt in eachstall? They are for the cows to lick whenever they want to. Now, comehere, and I'll show you what we call 'The Black Hole. '"

It was a tiny stable off the main one, and it was very dark and cool. "Is this a place of punishment?" asked Miss Laura, in surprise. 

Mrs. Wood laughed heartily. "No, no; a place of pleasure. Sometimeswhen the flies are very bad and the cows are brought into the yard to bemilked and a fresh swarm settles on them, they are nearly frantic; andthough they are the best cows in New Hampshire, they will kick a little. When they do, those that are the worst are brought in here to be milkedwhere there are no flies. The others have big strips of cotton laid overtheir backs and tied under them, and the men brush their legs with tansytea, or water with a little carbolic acid in it. That keeps the fliesaway, and the cows know just as well that it is done for their comfort, and stand quietly till the milking is over. I must ask John to havetheir nightdresses put on sometimes for you to see. Harry calls them'sheeted ghosts, ' and they do look queer enough sending all round thebarnyard robed in white. "

CHAPTER XXXI IN THE COW STABLE

"ISN'T it a strange thing, " said Miss Laura, "that a little thing like afly, can cause so much annoyance to animals as well to people? Sometimeswhen I am trying to get more sleep in the morning, their little feettickle me so that I am nearly frantic and have to fly out of bed. "

"You shall have some netting to put over your bed, " said Mrs. Wood; "butsuppose, Laura, you had no hands to brush away the flies. Suppose yourwhole body was covered with them; and you were tied up somewhere andcould not get loose. I can't imagine more exquisite torture myself. Last summer the flies here were dreadful. It seems to me that theyare getting worse and worse every year, and worry the animals more. Ibelieve it is because the birds are getting thinned out all over thecountry. There are not enough of them to catch the flies. John says thatthe next improvements we make on the farm are to be wire gauze at allthe stable windows and screen doers to keep the little pests from thehorses and cattle. 

"One afternoon last summer, Mr. Maxwell's mother came for me to go for adrive with her. The heat was intense, and when we got down by the river, she proposed getting out of the phaeton and sitting under the trees, tosee if it would be any cooler. She was driving a horse that she hadgot from the hotel in the village, a roan horse that was clipped, and check-reined, and had his tail docked. I wouldn't drive behind atailless horse now. Then, I wasn't so particular. However, I made herunfasten the check-rein before I'd set foot in the carriage. Well, Ithought that horse would go mad. He'd tremble and shiver and look gopitifully at us. The flies were nearly eating him up. Then he'd start alittle. Mrs. Maxwell had a weight at his head to hold him, but he couldeasily have dragged that. He was a good dispositioned horse, and hedidn't want to run away, but he could not stand still. I soon jumpedup and slapped him, and rubbed him till my hands were dripping wet. Thepoor brute was so grateful and would keep touching my arm with his nose. Mrs. Maxwell sat under the trees fanning herself and laughing at me, butI didn't care. How could I enjoy myself with a dumb creature writhing inpain before me?"

"A docked horse can neither eat nor sleep comfortably in the fly season. In one of our New England villages they have a sign up, 'Horses takenin to grass. Long tails, one dollar and fifty cents. Short tails, onedollar. ' And it just means that the short-tailed ones are taken oncheaper, because they are so bothered by the flies that they can't eatmuch, while the long-tailed ones are able to brush them away and eat inpeace. I read the other day of a Buffalo coal dealer's horse that was insuch an agony through flies, that he committed suicide. You know animalswill do that. I've read of horses and dogs drowning themselves. Thishorse had been clipped and his tail was docked, and he was turned outto graze. The flies stung him till he was nearly crazy. He ran up to apicket fence, and sprang up on the sharp spikes. There he hung, makingno effort to get down. Some men saw him, and they said it was a clearcase of suicide. 

"I would like to have the power to take every man who cuts off a horse'stail, and tie his hands, and turn him out in a field in the hot sun, with little clothing on, and plenty of flies about. Then we would seeif he wouldn't sympathize with the poor, dumb beast. It's the mostsenseless thing in the world, this docking fashion. They've a few flimsyarguments about a horse with a docked tail being stronger-backed, like ashort-tailed sheep, but I don't believe a word of it. The horse was madestrong enough to do the work he's got to do, and man can't improveon him. Docking is a cruel, wicked thing. Now, there's a ghost of anargument in favor of check-reins, on certain occasions. A fiery, younghorse can't run away, with an overdrawn check, and in speeding horses atight check-rein will make them hold their heads up, and keep them fromchoking. But I don't believe in raising colts in a way to make themfiery, and I wish there wasn't a race horse on the face of the earth, soif it depended race on me, every kind of check-rein would go. It's pitywe women can't vote, Laura. We'd do away with a good many abuses. "

Miss Laura smiled, but it was a very faint, almost an unhappy smile, andMrs. Wood said hastily, "Let us talk about something else. Did you everhear that cows will give less milk on a dark day than on a bright one?"

"No; I never did, " said Miss Laura. 

"Well, they do. They are most sensitive animals. One finds out allmanner of things about animals if he makes a study of them. Cows arewonderful creatures, I think, and so grateful for good usage that theyreturn every scrap of care given them, with interest. Have you everheard anything about dehorning, Laura?"

"Not much, auntie. Does uncle approve?"

"No, indeed. He'd just as soon think of cutting their tails off, as ofdehorning them. He says he guesses the Creator knew how to make a cowbetter than he does. Sometimes I tell John that his argument doesn'thold good for a man in some ways can improve on nature. In the naturalcourse of things, a cow would be feeding her calf for half a year, butwe take it away from her, raise it as well as she could and get an extraquantity of milk from her in addition. I don't know what to think myselfabout dehorning. Mr. Windham's cattle are all polled, and he has an openspace in his barn for them, instead of keeping them in stalls, and hesays they're more comfortable and not so confined. I suppose in sendingcattle to sea, it's necessary to take their horns off, but when they'regoing to be turned out to grass, it seems like mutilating them. Our cowscouldn't keep the dogs away from the sheep if they didn't have theirhorns. Their horns are their means of defense. "

"Do your cattle stand in these stalls all winter?" asked Miss Laura. 

"Oh, yes, except when they're turned out in the barnyard, and thenJohn usually has to send a man to keep them moving or they'd take cold. Sometimes on very fine days they get out all day. You know cows aren'tlike horses. John says they're like great milk machines. You've got tokeep them quiet, only exercising enough to keep them in health. If a cowis hurried or worried or chilled or heated, it stops her milk yield. Andbad usage poisons it. John says you can't take a stick and strike acow across the back, without her milk being that much worse, and as fordrinking the milk that comes from a cow that isn't kept clean, you'dbetter throw it away and drink water. When I was in Chicago, mysister-in-law kept complaining to her milkman about what she called the'cowy' smell to her milk. 'It's the animal odor, ma'am, ' he said, 'andit can't be helped. All milk smells like that. ' 'It's dirt, ' I said, when she asked my opinion about it. 'I'll wager my best bonnet that thatman's cows are kept dirty. Their skins are plastered up with filth andas the poison in them can't escape that way, it's coming out through themilk, and you're helping to dispose of it. ' She was astonished to hearthis, and she got her milkman's address, and one day dropped inupon him. She said that this cows were standing in a stable that wascomparatively clean, but that their bodies were in just the state thatI described them as living in. She advised the man to card and brush hiscows every day, and said that he need bring her no more milk. 

"That shows how you city people are imposed upon with regard to yourmilk. I should think you'd be poisoned with the treatment your cowsreceive; and even when your milk is examined you can't tell whether itis pure or not. In New York the law only requires thirteen per cent. Ofsolids in milk. That's absurd, for you can feed a cow on swill and stillget fourteen per cent. Of solids in it. Oh! you city people are queer. "

Miss Laura laughed heartily. "What a prejudice you have against largetowns, auntie. "

"Yes, I have, " said Mrs. Wood, honestly. "I often wish we could break upa few of our cities, and scatter the people through the country. Look atthe lovely farms all about here, some of them with only an old man andwoman on them. The boys are off to the cities, slaving in stores andoffices, and growing pale and sickly. It would have broken my heart ifHarry had taken to city ways. I had a plain talk with your uncle whenI married him, and said, 'Now my boy's only a baby and I want him to bebrought up so that he will love country life. How are we going to manageit?'

"Your uncle looked at me with a sly twinkle in his eye, and said I was apretty fair specimen of a country girl, suppose we brought up Harrythe way I'd been brought up. I knew he was only joking, yet I got quiteexcited. 'Yes, ' I said, 'Do as my father and mother did. Have a farmabout twice as large as you can manage. Don't keep a hired man. Get upat daylight and slave till dark. Never take a holiday. Have the girls dothe housework, and take care of the hens, and help pick the fruit, andmake the boys tend the colts and the calves, and put all the money theymake in the bank. Don't take any papers, or they would waste their timereading them, and it's too far to go the postoffice oftener than oncea week; and' but I don't remember the rest of what I said. Anyway, youruncle burst into a roar of laughter. 'Hattie, ' he said, 'my farm's toobig. I'm going to sell some of it, and enjoy myself a little more. ' Thatvery week he sold fifty acres, and he hired an extra man, and got me agood girl, and twice a week he left his work in the afternoon and tookme for a drive. Harry held the reins in his tiny fingers, and John toldhim that Dolly, the old mare we were driving, should be called his, andthe very next horse he bought should be called his too, and he shouldname it and have it for his own; and he would give him five sheep, and he should have his own bank book and keep his accounts; and Harryunderstood, mere baby though he was, and from that day he loved John ashis own father. If my father had had the wisdom that John has, his boyswouldn't be the one a poor lawyer and the other a poor doctor in twodifferent cities; and our farm wouldn't be in the hands of strangers. Itmakes me sick to go there. I think of my poor mother lying with her redhands crossed out in the churchyard, and the boys so far away, and myfather always hurrying and driving us I can tell you, Laura, the thingcuts both ways. It isn't all the fault of the boys that they leave thecountry. "

Mrs. Wood was silent for a little while after she made this long speech, and Miss Laura said nothing. I took a turn or two up and down thestable, thinking of many things. No matter how happy human beings seemto be, they always have something to worry them. I was sorry for Mrs. Wood for her face had lost the happy look it usually wore. However, shesoon forgot her trouble, and said:

"Now, I must go and get the tea. This is Adele's afternoon out. "

"I'll come, too, " said Miss Laura, "for I promised her I'd make thebiscuits for tea this evening and let you rest. " They both saunteredslowly down the plank walk to the house, and I followed them. 

CHAPTER XXXII OUR RETURN HOME

IN October, the most beautiful of all the months, we were obliged to goback to Fairport. Miss Laura could not bear to leave the farm, and herface got very sorrowful when any one spoke of her going away. Still, shehad gotten well and strong, and was as brown as a berry, and she saidthat she knew she ought to go home, and get back to her lessons. 

Mr. Wood called October the golden month. Everything was quiet andstill, and at night and in the morning the sun had a yellow, misty look. The trees in the orchard were loaded with fruit, and some of the leaveswere floating down, making a soft covering on the ground. 

In the garden there were a great many flowers in bloom, in flaming redand yellow colors. Miss Laura gathered bunches of them every day toput in the parlor. One day when she was arranging them, she said, regretfully, "They will soon be gone. I wish it could always be summer. "

"You would get tired of it, " said Mr. Harry, who had come up softlybehind her. "There's only one place where we could stand perpetualsummer, and that's in heaven. "

"Do you suppose that it will always be summer there?" said Miss Laura, turning around, and looking at him. 

"I don't know. I imagine it will be, but don't think anybody knows muchabout it. We've got to wait. "

Miss Laura's eyes fell on me. "Harry, " she said, "do you think that dumbanimals will go to heaven?"

"I shall have to say again, I don't know, " he replied. "Some peoplehold that they do. In a Michigan paper, the other day, I came across onewriter's opinion on the subject. He says that among the best peopleof all ages have been some who believed in the future life of animals. Homer and the later Greeks, some of the Romans and early Christians heldthis view the last believing that God sent angels in the shape of birdsto comfort sufferers for the faith. St. Francis called the birds andbeasts his brothers. Dr. Johnson believed in a future life for animals, as also did Wordsworth, Shelley, Coleridge, Jeremy Taylor, Agassiz, Lamartine, and many Christian scholars. It seems as if they ought tohave some compensation for their terrible sufferings in this world. Thento go to heaven, animals would only have to take up the thread of theirlives here. Man is a god to the lower creation. Joe worships you, muchas you worship your Maker. Dumb animals live in and for their masters. They hang on our words and looks, and are dependent on us in almostevery way. For my own part, and looking at it from an earthly pointof view, I wish with all my heart that we may find our dumb friends inparadise. "

"And in the Bible, " said Miss Laura, "animals are often spoken of. Thedove and the raven, the wolf and the lamb, and the leopard, and thecattle that God says are his, and the little sparrow that can't fall tothe ground without our Father's knowing it. "

"Still, there's nothing definite about their immortality, " said Mr. Harry. "However, we've got nothing to do with that. If it's right forthem to be in heaven, we'll find them there. All we have to do now is todeal with the present, and the Bible plainly tells us that 'a righteousman regardeth the life of his beast. '"

"I think I would be happier in heaven if dear old Joe were there, " saidMiss Laura, looking wistfully at me. "He has been such a good dog. Justthink how he has loved and protected me. I think I should be lonelywithout him. "

"That reminds me of some poetry, or rather doggerel, " said Mr. Harry, "that I cut out of a newspaper for you yesterday;" and he drew from hispocket a little slip of paper, and read this:

 "Do doggies gang to heaven, Dad? Will oor auld Donald gang? For noo to tak' him, faither wi' us, Wad be maist awfu' wrang. "

There was a number of other verses, telling how many kind things oldDonald the dog had done for his master's family, and then it closed withthese lines:

 "Withoot are dogs. Eh, faither, man, 'Twould be an awfu' sin To leave oor faithfu' doggie there, He's certain to win in. 

 "Oor Donald's no like ither dogs, He'll no be lockit oot, If Donald's no let into heaven, I'll no gang there one foot. "

"My sentiments exactly, " said a merry voice behind Miss Laura and Mr. Harry, and looking up they saw Mr. Maxwell. He was holding out one handto them, and in the other kept back a basket of large pears that Mr. Harry promptly took from him, and offered to Miss Laura "I've beendependent upon animals for the most part of my comfort in this life, "said Mr. Maxwell, "and I sha'n't be happy without them in heaven. Idon't see how you would get on without Joe, Miss Morris, and I want mybirds, and my snake, and my horse how can I live without them? They'realmost all my life here. "

"If some animals go to heaven and not others, I think that the dog hasthe first claim, " said Miss Laura. "He's the friend of man the oldestand best. Have you ever heard the legend about him and Adam?"

"No, " said Mr. Maxwell. 

"Well, when Adam was turned out of paradise, all the animals shunnedhim, and he sat bitterly weeping with his head between his hands, whenhe felt the soft tongue of some creature gently touching him. He tookhis hands from his face, and there was a dog that had separated himselffrom all the other animals, and was trying to comfort him. He became thechosen friend and companion of Adam, afterward of all men. "

"There is another legend, " said Mr. Harry, "about our Saviour and a dog. Have you ever heard it?"

"We'll tell you that later, " said Mr. Maxwell, "when we know what itis. "

Mr. Harry showed his white teeth in an amused smile, and began "Onceupon a time our Lord was going through a town with his disciples. Adead dog lay by the wayside, and every one that passed along flungsome offensive epithet at him. Eastern dogs are not like our dogs, andseemingly there was nothing good about this loathsome creature, but asour Saviour went by, he said, gently, 'Pearls cannot equal the whitenessof his teeth. '"

"What was the name of that old fellow, " said Mr. Maxwell, abruptly, "whohad a beautiful swan that came every day for fifteen years, to bury itshead in his bosom and feed from his hand, and would go near no otherhuman being?"

"Saint Hugh, of Lincoln. We heard about him at the Band of Mercy theother day, " said Miss Laura. 

"I should think that he would have wanted to have that swan in heavenwith him, " said Mr. Maxwell. "What a beautiful creature it must havebeen. Speaking about animals going to heaven, I dare say some of themwould object to going, on account of the company that they would meetthere. Think of the dog kicked to death by his master, the horse driveninto his grave, the thousands of cattle starved to death on the plainswill they want to meet their owners in heaven?"

"According to my reckoning, their owners won't be there, " said Mr. Harry. "I firmly believe that the Lord will punish every man or womanwho ill-treats a dumb creature just as surely as he will punish thosewho ill-treat their fellow-creatures. If a man's life has been a longseries of cruelty to dumb animals, do you suppose that he would enjoyhimself in heaven, which will be full of kindness to every one? Not he;he'd rather be in the other place, and there he'll go, I fully believe. "

"When you've quite disposed of all your fellow-creatures and the dumbcreation, Harry, perhaps you will condescend to go out into the orchardand see how your father is getting on with picking the apples, " saidMrs. Wood, joining Miss Laura and the two young men, her eyes twinklingand sparkling with amusement. 

"The apples will keep, mother, " said Mr. Harry, putting his arm aroundher. "I just came in for a moment to get Laura. Come, Maxwell, we'll allgo. "

"And not another word about animals, " Mrs. Wood called after them. "Laura will go crazy some day, through thinking of their sufferings, ifsome one doesn't do something to stop her. "

Miss Laura turned around suddenly. "Dear Aunt Hattie, " she said, "youmust not say that. I am a coward, I know, about hearing of animals'pains, but I must get over it. I want to know how they suffer. I oughtto know, for when I get to be a woman, I am going to do all I can tohelp them. "

"And I'll join you, " said Mr. Maxwell, stretching out his hand to MissLaura, She did not smile, but looking very earnestly at him, she held itclasped in her own. "You will help me to care for them, will you?" shesaid. 

"Yes, I promise, " he said, gravely. "I'll give myself to the service ofdumb animals, if you will. "

"And I, too, " said Mr. Harry, in his deep voice, laying his hand acrosstheirs. Mrs. Wood stood looking at their three fresh, eager, youngfaces, with tears in her eyes. Just as they all stood silently for aninstant, the old village clergyman came into the room from the hall. Hemust have heard what they said, for before they could move he had laidhis hands on their three brown heads. "Bless you, my children, " he said, "God will lift up the light of his countenance upon you, for you havegiven yourselves to a noble work. In serving dumb creatures, you areennobling the human race. "

Then he sat down in a chair and looked at them. He was a venerable oldman, and had long, white hair, and the Woods thought a great deal ofhim. He had come to get Mrs. Wood to make some nourishing dishes for asick woman in the village, and while he was talking to her, Miss Lauraand the two young men went out of the house. They hurried across theveranda and over the lawn, talking and laughing, and enjoying themselvesas only happy young people can and with not a trace of their seriousnessof a few moments before on their faces. 

They were going so fast that they ran right into a flock of geese thatwere coming up the lane. They were driven by a little boy called Tommy, the son of one of Mr. Wood's farm laborers, and they were chatteringand gabbling, and seemed very angry. "What's all this about?" said Mr. Harry, stopping and looking at the boy. "What's the matter with yourfeathered charges, Tommy my lad?"

"If it's the geese you mean, " said the boy half crying and looking verymuch put out, "it's all them nasty potatoes. They won't keep away fromthem. "

"So the potatoes chase the geese, do they?" said Mr. Maxwell, teasingly. 

"No, no, " said the child, pettishly; "Mr. Wood he sets me to watch thegeese, and they runs in among the buckwheat and the potatoes and I triesto drive them out, and they doesn't want to come, and, " shamefacedly, "I has to switch their feet, and I hates to do it, 'cause I'm a Band ofMercy boy. "

"Tommy, my son, " said Mr. Maxwell, solemnly "you will go right to heavenwhen you die, and your geese will go with you. "

"Hush, hush, " said Miss Laura, "don't tease him, " and putting her arm onthe child's shoulder, she said, "You are a good boy, Tommy, not to wantto hurt the geese. Let me see your switch, dear. "

He showed her a little stick he had in his hand, and she said, "I don'tthink you could hurt them much with that, and if they will be naughtyand steal the potatoes, you have to drive them out. Take some of mypears and eat them, and you will forget your trouble. " The child tookthe fruit, and Miss Laura and the two young men went on their way, smiling, and looking over their shoulders at Tommy, who stood in thelane, devouring his pears and keeping one eye on the geese that hadgathered a little in front of him, and were gabbling noisily and havinga kind of indignation meeting, because they had been driven out of thepotato field. 

Tommy's father and mother lived in a little house down near the road. Mr. Wood never had his hired men live in his own house. He had two smallhouses for them to live in, and they were required to keep them as neatas Mr. Wood's own house was kept. He said that he didn't see why heshould keep a boarding house, if he was a farmer, nor why his wifeshould wear herself out waiting on strong, hearty men, that had justas soon take care of themselves. He wished to have his own family abouthim, and it was better for his men to have some kind of family life forthemselves. If one of his men was unmarried, he boarded with the marriedone, but slept in his own house. 

On this October day we found Mr. Wood hard at work under the fruittrees. He had a good many different kind of apples. Enormous red ones, and long, yellow ones that they called pippins, and little brown ones, and smooth-coated sweet ones, and bright red ones, and others, more thanI could mention. Miss Laura often pared one and cut off little bits forme, for I always wanted to eat whatever I saw her eating. 

Just a few days after this, Miss Laura and I returned to Fairport, andsome of Mr. Wood's apples traveled along with us, for he sent a goodmany to the Boston market. Mr. And Mrs. Wood came to the station tosee us off. Mr. Harry could not come, for he had left Riverdale the daybefore to go back to his college. Mrs. Wood said that she would be verylonely without her two young people, and she kissed Miss Laura over andover again, and made her promise to come back again the next summer. 

I was put in a box in the express car, and Mr. Wood told the agent thatif he knew what was good for him he would speak to me occasionally forI was a very knowing dog, and if he didn't treat me well, I'd be apt towrite him up in the newspapers. The agent laughed, and quite often onthe way to Fairport, he came to my box and spoke kindly to me. So I didnot get so lonely and frightened as I did on my way to Riverdale. 

How glad the Morrises were to see us coming back. The boys had allgotten home before us, and such a fuss as they did make over theirsister. They loved her dearly, and never wanted her to be long away fromthem. I was rubbed and stroked, and had to run about offering my paw toevery one. Jim and little Billy licked my face, and Bella croaked out, "Glad to see you, Joe. Had a good time? How's your health?"

We soon settled down for the winter. Miss Laura began going to school, and came home every day with a pile of books under her arm. The summerin the country had done her so much good that her mother often looked ather fondly, and said the white-faced child she sent away had come home anut-brown maid. 

CHAPTER XXXIII PERFORMING ANIMALS

A WEEK or two after we got home, I heard the Morris boys talking aboutan Italian who was coming to Fairport with a troupe of trained animals, and I could see for myself whenever I went to town, great flamingpictures on the fences, of monkeys sitting at tables, dogs and ponies, and goats climbing ladders, and rolling balls, and doing varioustricks. I wondered very much whether they would be able to do all thoseextraordinary things, but it turned out that they did. 

The Italian's name was Bellini, and one afternoon the whole Morrisfamily went to see him and his animals, and when they came home, I heardthem talking about it. "I wish you could have been there, Joe, " saidJack, pulling up my paws to rest on his knees. "Now listen, old fellowand I'll tell you all about it. First of all, there was a perfect jamin the town hall. I sat up in front, with a lot of fellows, and hada splendid view. The old Italian came out dressed in his best suit ofclothes black broadcloth, flower in his buttonhole, and so on. He madea fine bow, and he said he was 'pleased too see ze fine audience, and hewas going to show zem ze fine animals, ze finest animals in ze world. 'Then he shook a little whip that he carried in his hand, and he said'zat zat whip didn't mean zat he was cruel. He cracked it to show hisanimals when to begin, end, or change their tricks. ' Some boy yelled, 'Rats! you do whip them sometimes, ' and the old man made another bow, and said, 'Sairteenly, he whipped zem just as ze mammas whip ze naughtyboys, to make zem keep still when zey was noisy or stubborn. '

"Then everybody laughed at the boy, and the Italian said the performancewould begin by a grand procession of all the animals, if some lady wouldkindly step up to the piano and play a march. Nina Smith you know Nina, Joe, the girl that has black eyes and wears blue ribbons, and livesaround the corner stepped up to the piano, and banged out a fine loudmarch. The doors at the side of the platform opened, and out came theanimals, two by two, just like Noah's ark. There was a pony with amonkey walking beside it and holding on to its mane, another monkey on apony's back, two monkeys hand in hand, a dog with a parrot on his back, a goat harnessed to a little carriage, another goat carrying a birdcagein its mouth with two canaries inside, different kinds of cats, somedoves and pigeons, half a dozen white rats with red harness, anddragging a little chariot with a monkey in it, and a common white ganderthat came in last of all, and did nothing but follow one of the poniesabout. 

"The Italian spoke of the gander, and said it was a stupid creature, andcould learn no tricks and he only kept it on account of its affectionfor the pony. He had got them both on a Vermont farm, when he waslooking for show animals. The pony's master had made a pet of him, andhad taught him to come whenever he whistled for him. Though the pony wasonly a scrub of a creature, he had a gentle disposition, and everyother animal on the farm liked him. A gander, in particular, had such anadmiration for him that he followed him wherever he went, and if he losthim for an instant, he would mount one of the knolls on the farm andstretch out his neck looking for him. When he caught sight of him, hegabbled with delight, and running to him, waddled up and down besidehim. Every little while the pony put his nose down, and seemed to behaving a conversation with the goose. If the farmer whistled the ponyand he started to run to him, the gander, knowing he could not keep up, would seize the pony's tail in his beak, and flapping his wings, wouldget along as fast as the pony did. And the pony never kicked him. TheItalian saw that this pony would be a good one to train for the stage, so he offered the farmer a large price for him, and took him away. 

"Oh, Joe, I forgot to say, that by this time all the animals had beensent off the stage except the pony and the gander, and they stoodlooking at the Italian while he talked. I never saw anything as humanin dumb animals as that pony's face. He looked as if he understood everyword that his master was saying. After this story was over, the Italianmade another bow, and then told the pony to bow. He nodded his head atthe people, and they all laughed. Then the Italian asked him to favorus with a waltz, and the pony got up on his hind legs and danced. Youshould have seen that gander skirmishing around, so as to be near thepony and yet keep out of the way of his heels. We fellows just roared, and we would have kept him dancing all the afternoon if the Italianhadn't begged 'ze young gentlemen not to make ze noise, but let ze ponydo ze rest of his tricks. ' Pony number two came on the stage, and itwas too queer for anything to see the things the two of them did. Theyhelped the Italian on with his coat, they pulled off his rubbers, theytook his coat away and brought him a chair, and dragged a table up toit. They brought him letters and papers, and rang bells, and rolledbarrels, and swung the Italian in a big swing, and jumped a rope, andwalked up and down steps they just went around that stage as handy withtheir teeth as two boys would be with their hands, and they seemed tounderstand every word their master said to them. 

"The best trick of all was telling the time and doing questions inarithmetic. The Italian pulled his watch out of his pocket and showed itto the first pony, whose name was Diamond, and said, 'What time is it?'The pony looked at it, then scratched four times with his forefoot onthe platform. The Italian said, 'Zat's good four o'clock. But it's a fewminutes after four how many?' The pony scratched again five times. TheItalian showed his watch to the audience, and said that it was just fiveminutes past four. Then he asked the pony how old he was. He scratchedfour times. That meant four years. He asked him how many days in a weekthere were, how many months in a year; and he gave him some questions inaddition and subtraction, and the pony answered them all correctly. Ofcourse, the Italian was giving him some sign; but, though we watchedhim closely, we couldn't make out what it was. At last, he told the ponythat he had been very good, and had done his lessons well; if it wouldrest him, he might be naughty a little while. All of a sudden a wickedlook came into the creature's eyes. He turned around, and kicked up hisheels at his master, he pushed over the table and chairs, and knockeddown a blackboard where he had been rubbing out figures with a spongeheld in his mouth. The Italian pretended to be cross, and said, 'Come, come; this won't do, ' and he called the other pony to him, and toldhim to take that troublesome fellow off the stage. The second one nosedDiamond, and pushed him about, finally bit him by the ear, and led himsquealing off the stage. The gander followed, gabbling as fast as hecould, and there was a regular roar of applause. 

"After that, there were ladders brought in, Joe, and dogs came on; notthoroughbreds, but curs something like you. The Italian says he can'tteach tricks to pedigree animals as well as to scrubs. Those dogs jumpedthe ladders, and climbed them, and went through them, and did all kindsof things. The man cracked his whip once, and they began; twice, andthey did backward what they had done forward; three times, and theystopped, and every animal, dogs, goats, ponies, and monkeys, after theyhad finished their tricks, ran up to their master, and he gave thema lump of sugar. They seemed fond of him, and often when they weren'tperforming went up to him, and licked his hands or his sleeve. There wasone boss dog, Joe, with a head like yours. Bob, they called him, and hedid all his tricks alone. The Italian went off the stage, and thedog came on and made his bow, and climbed his ladders, and jumped hishurdles, and went off again. The audience howled for an encore, anddidn't he come out alone, make another bow, and retire. I saw old JudgeBrown wiping the tears from his eyes, he'd laughed so much. One of thelast tricks was with a goat, and the Italian said it was the best ofall, because the goat is such a hard animal to teach. He had a big ball, and the goat got on it and rolled it across the stage without gettingoff. He looked as nervous as a cat, shaking his old beard, and trying tokeep his four hoofs close enough together to keep him on the ball. 

"We had a funny little play at the end of the performance. A monkeydressed as a lady in a white satin suit and a bonnet with a white veil, came on the stage. She was Miss Green and the dog Bob was going to elopewith her. He was all rigged out as Mr. Smith, and had on a light suitof clothes, and a tall hat on the side of his head, high collar, longcuffs, and he carried a cane. He was a regular dude. He stepped up toMiss Green on his hind legs, and helped her on to a pony's back. Thepony galloped off the stage; then a crowd of monkeys, chattering andwringing their hands, came on. Mr. Smith had run away with their child. They were all dressed up, too. There were the father and mother, withgray wigs and black clothes, and the young Greens in bibs and tuckers. They were a queer-looking crowd. While they were going on in this way, the pony trotted back on the stage; and they all flew at him and pulledoff their daughter from his back, and laughed and chattered, and boxedher ears, and took off her white veil and her satin dress, and put onan old brown thing, and some of them seized the dog, and kicked his hat, and broke his cane, and stripped his clothes off, and threw them in acorner, and bound his legs with cords. A goat came on, harnessed to alittle cart and they threw the dog in it, and wheeled him around thestage a few times. Then they took him out and tied him to a hook in thewall, and the goat ran off the stage, and the monkeys ran to one side, and one of them pulled out a little revolver, pointed it at the dog, fired, and he dropped down as if he was dead. 

"The monkeys stood looking at him, and then there was the most awfulhullabaloo you ever beard. Such a barking and yelping, and half a dozendogs rushed on the stage, and didn't they trundle those monkeys about. They nosed them, and pushed them, and shook them, till they all ranaway, all but Miss Green, who sat shivering in a corner. After a while, she crept up to the dead dog, pawed him a little, and didn't he jump upas much alive as any of them? Everybody in the room clapped and shouted, and then the curtain dropped, and the thing was over. I wish he'd giveanother performance. Early in the morning he has to go to Boston. "

Jack pushed my paws from his knees and went outdoors, and I began tothink that I would very much like to see those performing animals. Itwas not yet tea time, and I would have plenty of time to take a rundown to the hotel where they were staying, so I set out. It was a lovelyautumn evening. The sun was going down in a haze, and it was quite warm. Earlier in the day I had heard Mr. Morris say that this was our Indiansummer, and that we should soon have cold weather. 

Fairport was a pretty little town, and from the principal streetone could look out upon the blue water of the bay and see the islandopposite, which was quite deserted now, for all the summer visitors hadgone home, and the Island House was shut up. 

I was running down one of the steep side streets that led to the waterwhen I met a heavily-laden cart coming up. It must have been comingfrom one of the vessels, for it was full of strange-looking boxesand packages. A fine-looking nervous horse was drawing it, and he wasstraining every nerve to get it up the steep hill. His driver was aburly, hard-faced man, and instead of letting his horse stop a minuteto rest he kept urging him forward. The poor horse kept looking at hismaster, his eyes almost starting from his head in terror. He knew thatthe whip was about to descend on his quivering body. And so it did, andthere was no one by to interfere. No one but a woman in a ragged shawlwho would have no influence with the driver. There was a very goodhumane society in Fairport, and none of the teamsters dared ill-usetheir horses if any of the members were near. This was a quietout-of-the-way street, with only poor houses on it, and the man probablyknew that none of the members of the society would be likely to beliving in them. He whipped his horse, and whipped him, till every lashmade my heart ache, and if I had dared I would have bitten him severely. Suddenly, there was a dull thud in the street. The horse had fallendown. The driver ran to his head, but he was quite dead. "Thank God!"said the poorly-dressed woman, bitterly; "one more out of this world ofmisery. " Then she turned and went down the street. I was glad for thehorse. He would never be frightened or miserable again, and I wentslowly on, thinking that death is the best thing that can happen totortured animals. 

The Fairport hotel was built right in the centre of the town, and theshops and houses crowded quite close about it. It was a high, brickbuilding, and it was called the Fairport House. As I was running alongthe sidewalk, I heard some one speak to me, and looking up I saw CharlieMontague. I had heard the Morrises say that his parents were staying atthe hotel for a few weeks, while their house was being repaired. Hehad his Irish setter, Brisk, with him, and a handsome dog he was, as hestood waving his silky tail in the sunlight. Charlie patted me, and thenhe and his dog went into the hotel. I turned into the stable yard. Itwas a small, choked-up place, and as I picked my way under the cabs andwagons standing in the yard, I wondered why the hotel people didn't buysome of the old houses near by, and tear them down, and make a stableyard worthy of such a nice hotel. The hotel horses were just gettingrubbed down after their day's work, and others were coming in. The menwere talking and laughing, and there was no sign of strange animals, soI went around to the back of the yard. Here they were, in an empty cowstable, under a hay loft. There were two little ponies tied up in astall, two goats beyond them, and dogs and monkeys in strong travelingcages. I stood in the doorway and stared at them. I was sorry for thedogs to be shut up on such a lovely evening, but I suppose their masterwas afraid of their getting lost, or being stolen, if he let them loose. 

They all seemed very friendly. The ponies turned around and looked at mewith their gentle eyes, and then went on munching their hay. I wonderedvery much where the gander was, and went a little farther into thestable. Something white raised itself up out of the brownest pony'scrib, and there was the gander close up beside the open mouth of hisfriend. The monkeys make a jabbering noise, and held on to the bars oftheir cage with their little black hands, while they looked out at me. The dogs sniffed the air, and wagged their tails, and tried to put theirmuzzles through the bars of their cage. I liked the dogs best, and Iwanted to see the one they called Bob, so I went up quite close to them. There were two little white dogs, something like Billy, two mongrelspaniels, an Irish terrier, and a brown dog asleep in the corner, that Iknew must be Bob. He did look a little like me, but he was not quite sougly for he had his ears and his tail. 

While I was peering through the bars at him, a man came in the stable. He noticed me the first thing, but instead of driving me out, he spokekindly to me, in a language that I did not understand. So I knew thathe was the Italian. How glad the animals were to see him! The ganderfluttered out of his nest, the ponies pulled at their halters, thedogs whined and tried to reach his hands to lick them, and the monkeyschattered with delight. He laughed and talked back to them in queer, soft-sounding words. Then he took out of a bag on his arm, bones forthe dogs, nuts and cakes for the monkeys, nice, juicy carrots for theponies, some green stuff for the goats, and corn for the gander. 

It was a pretty sight to see the old man feeding his pets, and it mademe feel quite hungry, so I trotted home. I had a run down town againthat evening with Mr. Morris, who went to get something from a shop forhis wife. He never let his boys go to town after tea, so if there wereerrands to be done, he or Mrs. Morris went. The town was bright andlively that evening, and a great many people were walking about andlooking into the shop windows. 

When we came home, I went into the kennel with Jim, and there I slepttill the middle of the night. Then I started up and ran outside. Therewas a distant bell ringing, which we often heard in Fairport, and whichalways meant fire. 

CHAPTER XXXIV A FIRE IN FAIRPORT

I HAD several times run to a fire with the boys, and knew that there wasalways great noise and excitement. There was a light in the house, so Iknew that somebody was getting up. I don't think indeed I know, for theywere good boys that they ever wanted anybody to lose property, but theydid enjoy seeing a blaze, and one of their greatest delights, when therehadn't been a fire for some time, was to build a bonfire in the garden. 

Jim and I ran around to the front of the house and waited. In a fewminutes, some one came rattling at the front door, and I was sure it wasJack. But it was Mr. Morris, and without a word to us, he set off almostrunning toward the town. We followed after him, and as we hurried alongother men ran out from the houses along the streets, and either joinedhim; or dashed ahead. They seemed to have dressed in a hurry, and werethrusting their arms in their coats, and buttoning themselves up as theywent. Some of them had hats and some of them had none, and they all hadtheir faces toward the great red light that got brighter and brighterahead of us. "Where's the fire?" they shouted to each other. "Don't knowafraid it' s the hotel, or the town hall. It's such a blaze. Hope not. How's the water supply now? Bad time for a fire. "

It was the hotel. We saw that as soon as we got on to the main street. There were people all about, and a great noise and confusion, andsmoke and blackness; and up above, bright tongues of flame were leapingagainst the sky. Jim and I kept close to Mr. Morris's heels, as hepushed his way among the crowd. When we got nearer the burningbuilding, we saw men carrying ladders and axes, and others were shoutingdirections, and rushing out of the hotel, carrying boxes and bundles andfurniture in their arms. From the windows above came a steady stream ofarticles, thrown among the crowd. A mirror struck Mr. Morris on the arm, and a whole package of clothes fell on his head and almost smotheredhim; but he brushed them aside and scarcely noticed them. There wassomething the matter with Mr. Morris I knew by the worried sound of hisvoice when he spoke to any one. I could not see his face, though it wasas light as day about us, for we had got jammed in the crowd, and if Ihad not kept between his feet, I should have been trodden to death. Jim, being larger than I was, had got separated from us. 

Presently Mr. Morris raised his voice above the uproar, and called, "Is every one out of the hotel?" A voice shouted back, "I'm going up tosee. "

"It's Jim Watson, the fireman, " cried some one near. "He's risking hislife to go into that pit of flame. Don't go, Watson. " I don't think thatthe brave fireman paid any attention to this warning, for an instantlater the same voice said "He's planting his ladder against the thirdstory. He's bound to go. He'll not get any farther than the second, anyway. "

"Where are the Montagues?" shouted Mr. Morris. "Has any one seen theMontagues?"

"Mr. Morris! Mr. Morris!" said a frightened voice, and young CharlieMontague pressed through the people to us. "Where's papa?"

"I don't know. Where did you leave him?" said Mr. Morris, taking hishand and drawing him closer to him. "I was sleeping in his room, " saidthe boy, "and a man knocked at the door and said, 'Hotel on fire. Fiveminutes to dress and get out, ' and papa told me to put on my clothes andgo downstairs, and he ran up to mamma. "

"Where was she?" asked Mr. Morris, quickly. 

"On the fourth flat. She and her maid Blanche were up there. You know, mamma hasn't been well and couldn't sleep, and our room was so noisythat she moved upstairs where it was quiet. " Mr. Morris gave a kindof groan. "Oh I'm so hot, and there's such a dreadful noise, " said thelittle boy, bursting into tears, "and I want mamma. " Mr. Morris soothedhim as best he could, and drew him a little to the edge of the crowd. 

While he was doing this, there was a piercing cry. I could not seethe person making it, but I knew it was the Italian's voice. He wasscreaming, in broken English that the fire was spreading to the stables, and his animals would be burned. Would no one help him to get hisanimals out? There was a great deal of confused language. Some voicesshouted, "Look after the people first. Let the animals go. " And otherssaid, "For shame. Get the horses out. " But no one seemed to do anything, for the Italian went on crying for help. I heard a number of people whowere standing near us say that it had just been found out that severalpersons who had been sleeping in the top of the hotel had not got out. They said that at one of the top windows a poor housemaid was shriekingfor help. Here in the street we could see no one at the upper windows, for smoke was pouring from them. 

The air was very hot and heavy and I didn't wonder that Charlie Montaguefelt ill. He would have fallen on the ground if Mr. Morris hadn't takenhim in his arms, and carried him out of the crowd. He put him down onthe brick sidewalk, and unfastened his little shirt, and left me towatch him, while he held his hands under a leak in a hose that wasfastened to a hydrant near us. He got enough water to dash on Charlie'sface and breast, and then seeing that the boy was reviving, he sat downon the curbstone and took him on his knee. Charlie lay in his arms andmoaned. He was a delicate boy, and he could not stand rough usage as theMorris boys could. 

Mr. Morris was terribly uneasy. His face was deathly white, and heshuddered whenever there was a cry from the burning building. "Poorsouls God help them. Oh, this is awful, " he said; and then he turned hiseyes from the great sheets of flame and strained the little boy to hisbreast. At last there were wild shrieks that I knew came from no humanthroats. The fire must have reached the horses. Mr. Morris sprang up, then sank back again. He wanted to go, yet he could be of no use. Therewere hundreds of men standing about, but the fire had spread so rapidly, and they had so little water to put on it that there was very littlethey could do. I wondered whether I could do anything for the pooranimals. I was not afraid of fire, as most dogs, for one of the tricksthat the Morris boys had taught me was to put out a fire with my paws. They would throw a piece of lighted paper on the floor, and I wouldcrush it with my forepaws; and if the blaze was too large for that, I would drag a bit of old carpet over it and jump on it. I left Mr. Morris, and ran around the corner of the street to the back of thehotel. It was not burned as much here as in the front, and in the housesall around, people were out on their roofs with wet blankets, and somewere standing at the window watching the fire, or packing up theirbelongings ready to move if it should spread to them. There was a narrowlane running up a short distance toward the hotel, and I started to goup this, when in front of me I heard such a wailing, piercing noise, that it made me shudder and stand still. The Italian's animals weregoing to be burned up and they were calling to their master to come andget them out. Their voices sounded like the voices of children in mortalpain. I could not stand it. I was seized with such an awful horror ofthe fire that I turned and ran, feeling so thankful that I was not init. As I got into the street I stumbled over something. It was a largebird a parrot, and at first I thought it was Bella. Then I rememberedhearing Jack say that the Italian had a parrot. It was not dead, butseemed stupid with the smoke. I seized it in my mouth, and ran and laidit at Mr. Morris's feet. He wrapped it in his handkerchief, and laid itbeside him. 

I sat, and trembled, and did not leave him again. I shall never forgetthat dreadful night. It seemed as if we were there for hours, but inreality it was only a short time. The hotel soon got to be all redflames, and there was very little smoke. The inside of the budding hadburned away, and nothing more could be gotten out. The firemen and allthe people drew back, and there was no noise. Everybody stood gazingsilently at the flames. A man stepped quietly up to Mr. Morris, andlooking at him, I saw that it was Mr. Montague. He was usually awell-dressed man, with a kind face, and a head of thick, grayish brownhair. Now his face was black and grimy, his hair was burnt from thefront of his head, and his clothes were half torn from his back. Mr. Morris sprang up when he saw him, and said "Where is your wife?"

The gentleman did not say a word, but pointed to the burning building. "Impossible!" cried Mr. Morris. "Is there no mistake? Your beautifulyoung wife, Montague. Can it be so?" Mr. Morris was trembling from headto foot. 

"It is true, " said Mr. Montague, quietly. "Give me the boy. " Charlie hadfainted again and his father took him in his arms, and turned away. 

"Montague!" cried Mr. Morris, "my heart is sore for you. Can I donothing?"

"No, thank you, " said the gentleman, without turning around; but therewas more anguish in his voice than in Mr. Morris's, and though I am onlya dog, I knew that his heart was breaking. 

CHAPTER XXXV BILLY AND THE ITALIAN

MR. MORRIS stayed no longer. He followed Mr. Montague along the sidewalka little way, and then exchanged a few hurried words with some men whowere standing near, and hastened home through streets that seemed darkand dull after the splendor of the fire. Though it was still the middleof the night, Mrs. Morris was up and dressed and waiting for him. Sheopened the hall door with one hand and held a candle in the other. Ifelt frightened and miserable, and didn't want to leave Mr. Morris, so Icrept in after him. 

"Don't make a noise, " said Mrs. Morris. "Laura and the boys aresleeping, and I thought it better not to wake them. It has been aterrible fire, hasn't it? Was it the hotel?" Mr. Morris threw himselfinto a chair and covered his face with his hands. 

"Speak to me, William!" said Mrs. Morris, in a startled tone. "You arenot hurt, are you?" and she put her candle on the table and came and satdown beside him. 

He dropped his hands from his face, and tears were running down hischeeks. "Ten lives lost, " he said; "among them Mrs. Montague. "

Mrs. Morris looked horrified, and gave a little cry, "William, it can'tbe so!"

It seemed as if Mr. Morris could not sit still. He got up and walked toand fro on the floor. "It was an awful scene, Margaret. I never wish tolook upon the like again. Do you remember how I protested against thebuilding of that deathtrap. Look at the wide, open streets around it, and yet they persisted in running it up to the sky. God will requirean account of those deaths at the hands of the men who put up thatbuilding. It is terrible this disregard of human lives. To think of thatdelicate woman and her death agony. " He threw himself in a chair andburied his face in his hands. 

"Where was she? How did it happen? Was her husband saved, and Charlie?"said Mrs. Morris, in a broken voice. 

"Yes; Charlie and Mr. Montague are safe. Charlie will recover from it. Montague's life is done. You know his love for his wife. Oh, Margaret!when will men cease to be fools? What does the Lord think of them whenthey say, 'Am I my brother's keeper?' And the other poor creaturesburned to death their lives are as precious in his sight as Mrs. Montague's. "

Mr. Morris looked so weak and ill that Mrs. Morris, like a sensiblewoman, questioned him no further, but made a fire and got him some hottea. Then she made him lie down on the sofa, and she sat by him tillday-break, when she persuaded him to go to bed. I followed her about, and kept touching her dress with my nose. It seemed so good to me tohave this pleasant home after all the misery I had seen that night. Once she stopped and took my head between her hands, "Dear old Joe, " shesaid, tearfully, "this a suffering world. It's well there's a better onebeyond it. "

In the morning the boys went down town before breakfast and learned allabout the fire. It started in the top story of the hotel, in the roomof some fast young men, who were sitting up late playing cards. Theyhad smuggled wine into their room and had been drinking till they werestupid. One of them upset the lamp, and when the flames began to spreadso that they could not extinguish them, instead of rousing some one nearthem, they rushed downstairs to get some one there to come up and helpthem put out the fire. When they returned with some of the hotel people, they found that the flames had spread from their room, which was in an"L" at the back of the house, to the front part, where Mrs. Montague'sroom was, and where the housemaids belonging to the hotel slept. By thistime Mr. Montague had gotten upstairs, but he found the passageway tohis wife's room so full of flames and smoke, that, though he tried againand again to force his way through, he could not. He disappeared for atime, then he came to Mr. Morris and got his boy, and took him to somerooms over his bank, and shut himself up with him. For some days hewould let no one in; then he came out with the look of an old man on hisface, and his hair as white as snow, and went out to his beautiful housein the outskirts of the town. 

Nearly all the horses belonging to the hotel were burned. A few weregotten out by having blankets put over their heads, but the most of themwere so terrified that they would not stir. 

The Morris boys said that they found the old Italian sitting on an emptybox, looking at the smoking ruins of the hotel. His head was hanging onhis breast, and his eyes were full of tears. His ponies were burnedup, he said, and the gander, and the monkeys, and the goat, and hiswonderful performing dogs. He had only his birds left, and he was aruined man. He had toiled all his life to get this troupe of trainedanimals together, and now they were swept from him. It was cruel andwicked, and he wished he could die. The canaries, and pigeons, anddoves, the hotel people had allowed him to take to his room, and theywere safe. The parrot was lost an educated parrot that could answerforty questions, and, among other things, could take a watch and tellthe time of day. 

Jack Morris told him that they had it safe at home, and that it was verymuch alive, quarrelling furiously with his parrot Bella. The old man'sface brightened at this, and then Jack and Carl, finding that he had hadno breakfast, went off to a restaurant near by, and got him some steakand coffee. The Italian was very grateful, and as he ate, Jack saidthe tears ran into his coffee cap. He told them how much he loved hisanimals, and how it "made ze heart bitter to hear zem crying him todeliver zem from ze raging fire. "

The boys came home, and got their breakfast and went to school. MissLaura did not go out She sat all day with a very quiet, pained faceand could neither read nor sew, and Mr. And Mrs. Morris were just asunsettled. They talked about the fire in low tones, and I could see thatthey felt more sad about Mrs. Montague's death than if she had died inan ordinary way. Her dear little canary Barry, died with her. She wouldnever be separated from him, and his cage had been taken up to the topof the hotel with her. He probably died an easier death than his poormistress. Charley's dog escaped, but was so frightened that he ran outto their house, outside the town. 

At tea time, Mr. Morris went down town to see that the Italian got acomfortable place for the night. When he came back, he said that he hadfound out that the Italian was by no means so old a man as he looked andthat he had talked to him about raising a sum of money for him among theFairport people, till he had become quite cheerful, and said that if Mr. Morris would do that, he would try to gather another troupe of animalstogether and train them. 

"Now, what can we do for the Italian?" asked Mrs. Morris. "We can'tgive him much money, but we might let him have one or two of our pets. There's Billy, he's a bright, little dog, and not two years old yet. Hecould teach him anything. "

There was a blank silence among the Morris children. Billy was such agentle, lovable, little dog, that he was a favorite with every one inthe house. "I suppose we ought to do it, " said Miss Laura, at last; "buthow can we give him up?"

There was a good deal of discussion, but the end of it was that Billywas given to the Italian. He came up to get him, and was very grateful, and made a great many bows, holding his hat in his hand. Billy took tohim at once, and the Italian spoke so kindly to him, that we knew hewould have a good master. Mr. Morris got quite a large sum of money forhim, and when he handed it to him, the poor man was so pleased thathe kissed his hand, and promised to send frequent word as to Billy'sprogress and welfare. 

CHAPTER XXXVI DANDY THE TRAMP

ABOUT a week after Billy left us, the Morris family, much to itssurprise, became the owner of a new dog. 

He walked into the house one cold, wintry afternoon and lay calmlydown by the fire. He was a brindled bull-terrier, and he had on asilver-plated collar with "Dandy" engraved on it. He lay all the eveningby the fire, and when any of the family spoke to him, he wagged histail, and looked pleased. I growled a little at him at first, but henever cared a bit, and just dozed off to sleep, so I soon stopped. 

He was such a well-bred dog, that the Morrises were afraid that some onehad lost him. They made some inquiries the next day, and found that hebelonged to a New York gentleman who had come to Fairport in the summerin a yacht. This dog did not like the yacht. He came ashore in a boatwhenever he got a chance, and if he could not come in a boat, he wouldswim. He was a tramp, his master said, and he wouldn't stay long in anyplace. The Morrises were so amused with his impudence, that they did notsend him away, but said every day, "Surely he will be gone to-morrow. "

However, Mr. Dandy had gotten into comfortable quarters, and he hadno intention of changing them, for a while at least. Then he was veryhandsome, and had such a pleasant way with him, that the family couldnot help liking him. I never cared for him. He fawned on the Morrises, and pretended he loved them, and afterward turned around and laughed andsneered at them in a way that made me very angry. I used to lecture himsometimes, and growl about him to Jim, but Jim always said, "Let himalone. You can't do him any good. He was born bad. His mother wasn'tgood. He tells me that she had a bad name among all the dogs in herneighborhood. She was a thief and a runaway. " Though he provoked me sooften, yet I could not help laughing at some of his stories, they wereso funny. 

We were lying out in the sun, on the platform at the back of the house, one day, and he had been more than usually provoking, so I got up toleave him. He put himself in my way, however, and said, coaxingly, "Don't be cross, old fellow. I'll tell you some stories to amuse you, old boy. What shall they be about?"

"I think the story of your life would be about as interesting asanything you could make up, " I said, dryly. 

"All right, fact or fiction, whichever you like. Here's a fact, plain and unvarnished. Born and bred in New York. Swell stable. Swellcoachman. Swell master. Jewelled fingers of ladies poking at me, firstthing I remember. First painful experience being sent to vet. To haveears cut. "

"What's a vet. ?" I said. 

"A veterinary animal doctor. Vet. Didn't cut ears enough. Master sentme back. Cut ears again. Summer time, and flies bad. Ears got sore andfestered, flies very attentive. Coachman set little boy to brush fliesoff, but he'd run out in yard and leave me. Flies awful. Thought they'deat me up, or else I'd shake out brains trying to get rid of them. Mother should have stayed home and licked my ears, but was cruisingabout neighborhood. Finally coachman put me in dark place; powderedears, and they got well. "

"Why didn't they cut your tail, too?" I said, looking at his long, slimtail, which was like a sewer rat's. 

"'Twasn't the fashion, Mr. Wayback; a bull-terrier's ears are clipped tokeep them from getting torn while fighting. "

"You're not a fighting dog, " I said. 

"Not I. Too much trouble. I believe in taking things easy. "

"I should think you did, " I said, scornfully. "You never put yourselfout for any one, I notice; but, speaking of cropping ears, what do youthink of it?"

"Well, " he said, with a sly glance at my head, "it isn't a pleasantoperation; but one might well be out of the world as out of the fashion. I don't care, now my ears are done. "

"But, " I said, "think of the poor dogs that will come after you. "

"What difference does that make to me?" he said. "I'll be dead and outof the way. Men can cut off their ears, and tails, and legs, too, ifthey want to. "

"Dandy, " I said, angrily, "you're the most selfish dog that I ever saw. "

"Don't excite yourself, " he said, coolly. "Let me get on with my story. When I was a few months old, I began to find the stable yard narrow andwondered what there was outside of it. I discovered a hole in the gardenwall, and used to sneak out nights. Oh, what fun it was. I got to know alot of street dogs, and we had gay times, barking under people's windowsand making them mad, and getting into back yards and chasing cats. Weused to kill a cat nearly every night. Policeman would chase us, and wewould run and run till the water just ran off our tongues, and we hadn'ta bit of breath left. Then I'd go home and sleep all day, and go outagain the next night. When I was about a year old, I began to stay outdays as well as nights. They couldn't keep me home. Then I ran away forthree months. I got with an old lady on Fifth Avenue, who was very fondof dogs. She had four white poodles, and her servants used to wash them, and tie up their hair with blue ribbons, and she used to take themfor drives in her phaeton in the park, and they wore gold and silvercollars. The biggest poodle wore a ruby in his collar worth five hundreddollars. I went driving, too, and sometimes we met my master. He oftensmiled, and shook his head at me. I heard him tell the coachman one daythat I was a little blackguard, and he was to let me come and go as Iliked. "

"If they had whipped you soundly, " I said, "it might have made a gooddog of you. "

"I'm good enough now, " said Dandy, airily. "The young ladies who drovewith my master used to say that it was priggish and tiresome to be toogood. To go on with my story: I stayed with Mrs. Judge Tibbett till Igot sick of her fussy ways She made a simpleton of herself over thosepoodles. Each one had a high chair at the table, and a plate, and theyalways sat in these chairs and had meals with her, and the servants allcalled them Master Bijou, and Master Tot, and Miss Tiny, and Miss Fluff. One day they tried to make me sit in a chair, and I got cross and bitMrs. Tibbett, and she beat me cruelly, and her servants stoned me awayfrom the house. "

"Speaking about fools, Dandy, " I said, "if it is polite to call a ladyone, I should say that that lady was one. Dogs shouldn't be put out oftheir place. Why didn't she have some poor children at her table, and inher carriage, and let the dogs run behind?"

"Easy to see you don't know New York, " said Dandy, with a laugh. "Poorchildren don't live with rich, old ladies. Mrs. Tibbett hated children, anyway. Then dogs like poodles would get lost in the mud, or killed inthe crowd if they ran behind a carriage. Only knowing dogs like me canmake their way about. " I rather doubted this speech; but I said nothing, and he went on patronizingly: "However, Joe, thou hast reason, as theFrench say. Mrs. Judge Tibbett didn't give her dogs exercise enough. Their claws were as long as Chinamen's nails, and the hair grew overtheir pads, and they had red eyes and were always sick, and she had todose them with medicine, and call them her poor, little, 'weeny-teenysicky-wicky doggies. ' Bah! I got disgusted with her. When I left her, Iran away to her niece's, Miss Ball's. She was a sensible young lady, andshe used to scold her aunt for the way in which she brought up her dogs. She was almost too sensible, for her pug and I were rubbed and scrubbedwithin an inch of our lives, and had to go for such long walks that Igot thoroughly sick of them. A woman, whom the servants called Trotsey, came every morning, and took the pug and me by our chains, and sometimesanother dog or two, and took us for long tramps in quiet streets. Thatwas Trotsey's business, to walk dogs, and Miss Ball got a great manyfashionable young ladies who could not exercise their dogs, to letTrotsey have them, and they said that it made a great difference in thehealth and appearance of their pets. Trotsey got fifteen cents an hourfor a dog. Goodness, what appetites those walks gave us, and didn't wemake the dog biscuits disappear? But it was a slow life at Miss Ball's. We only saw her for a little while every day. She slept till noon. Afterlunch she played with us for a little while in the greenhouse, then shewas off driving or visiting, and in the evening she always had company, or went to a dance, or to the theatre. I soon made up my mind that I'drun away. I jumped out of a window one fine morning, and ran home. Istayed there for a long time. My mother had been run over by a cart andkilled, and I wasn't sorry. My master never bothered his head about me, and I could do as I liked. One day when I was having a walk, and meetinga lot of dogs that I knew, a little boy came behind me, and before Icould tell what he was doing, he had snatched me up, and was running offwith me. I couldn't bite him, for he had stuffed some of his rags in mymouth. He took me to a tenement house, in a part of the city that Ihad never been in before. He belonged to a very poor family. My faith, weren't they badly off six children, and a mother, and father, allliving in two tiny rooms. Scarcely a bit of meat did I smell while I wasthere. I hated their bread and molasses, and the place smelled so badlythat I thought I should choke. 

"They kept me shut up in their dirty rooms for several days; and thebrat of a boy that caught me slept with his arm around me at night. Theweather was hot and sometimes we couldn't sleep, and they had to go upon the roof. After a while, they chained me up in a filthy yard at theback of the house, and there I thought I should go mad. I would haveliked to bite them all to death, if I had dared. It's awful to bechained, especially for a dog like me that loves his freedom. The fliesworried me, and the noises distracted me, and my flesh would fairlycreep from getting no exercise. I was there nearly a month, while theywere waiting for a reward to be offered. But none came; and one day, theboy's father, who was a street peddler, took me by my chain and led meabout the streets till he sold me. A gentleman got me for his littleboy, but I didn't like the look of him, so I sprang up and bit his hand, and he dropped the chain, and I dodged boys and policemen and finallygot home more dead than alive, and looking like a skeleton. I had a goodtime for several weeks, and then I began to get restless and was offagain. But I'm getting tired; I want to go to sleep. "

"You're not very polite, " I said, "to offer to tell a story, and then goto sleep before you finish it. "

"Look out for number one, my boy, " said Dandy, with a yawn; "for if youdon't, no one else will, " and he shut his eyes and was fast asleep in afew minutes. 

I sat and looked at him. What a handsome, good-natured, worthless dog hewas. A few days later, he told me the rest of his history. After a greatmany wanderings, he happened home one day just as his master's yacht wasgoing to sail, and they chained him up till they went on board, so thathe could be an amusement on the passage to Fairport. 

It was in November that Dandy came to us, and he stayed all winter. Hemade fun of the Morrises all the time, and said they had a dull, poky, old house, and he only stayed because Miss Laura was nursing him. He hada little sore on his back that she soon found out was mange. Her fathersaid it was a bad disease for dogs to have, and Dandy had better beshot; but she begged so hard for his life, and said she would cure himin a few weeks that she was allowed to keep him. Dandy wasn't capable ofgetting really angry, but he was as disturbed about having this diseaseas he could be about anything. He said that he had got it from a little, mangy dog, that he had played with a few weeks before. He was only withthe dog a little while, and didn't think he would take it, but it seemedhe knew what an easy thing it was to get. 

Until he got well he was separated from us. Miss Laura kept him up inthe loft with the rabbits, where we could not go; and the boys ran himaround the garden for exercise. She tried all kinds of cures for him, and I heard her say that although it was a skin disease, his blood mustbe purified. She gave him some of the pills that she made out of sulphurand butter for Jim, and Billy, and me, to keep our coats silky andsmooth. When they didn't cure him, she gave him a few drops of arsenicevery day, and washed the sore, and, indeed his whole body, with tobaccowater or carbolic soap. It was the tobacco water that cured him. 

Miss Laura always put on gloves when she went near him, and used a brushto wash him, for if a person takes mange from a dog, they may lose theirhair and their eyelashes. But if they are careful, no harm comes fromnursing a mangy dog, and I have never known of any one taking thedisease. 

After a time, Dandy's sore healed, and he was set free. He was rightglad, he said, for he had got heartily sick of the rabbits. He used tobark at them and make them angry, and they would run around the loft, stamping their hind feet at him, in the funny way that rabbits do. Ithink they disliked him as much as he disliked them. Jim and I did notget the mange. Dandy was not a strong dog, and I think his irregular wayof living made him take diseases readily. He would stuff himself when hewas hungry, and he always wanted rich food. If he couldn't get what hewanted at the Morrises', he went out and stole, or visited the dumps atthe back of the town. 

When he did get ill, he was more stupid about doctoring himself than anydog that I have ever seen. He never seemed to know when to eat grass orherbs, or a little earth, that would have kept him in good condition. Adog should never be without grass. When Dandy got ill he just sufferedtill he got well again, and never tried to cure himself of his smalltroubles. Some dogs even know enough to amputate their limbs. Jim toldme a very interesting story of a dog the Morrises once had, called Gyp, whose leg became paralyzed by a kick from a horse. He knew the leg wasdead, and gnawed it off nearly to the shoulder, and though he was verysick for a time, yet in the end he got well. 

To return to Dandy. I knew he was only waiting for the spring to leaveus, and I was not sorry. The first fine day he was off, and during therest of the spring and summer we occasionally met him running about thetown with a set of fast dogs. One day I stopped and asked him how heconcealed himself in such a quiet place as Fairport, and he said he wasdying to get back to New York, and was hoping that his master's yachtwould come and take him away. 

Poor Dandy never left Fairport. After all, he was not such a bad dog. There was nothing really vicious about him, and I hate to speak of hisend. His master's yacht did not come, and soon the summer was over, andthe winter was coming, and no one wanted Dandy, for he had such a badname. He got hungry and cold, and one day sprang upon a little girl, totake away a piece of bread and butter that she was eating. He did notsee the large house-dog on the door sill, and before he could get away, the dog had seized him, and bitten and shaken him till he was nearlydead. When the dog threw him aside, he crawled to the Morrises, and MissLaura bandaged his wounds, and made him a bed in the stable. 

One Sunday morning she washed and fed him very tenderly, for she knewhe could not live much longer. He was so weak that he could scarcely eatthe food that she put in his mouth, so she let him lick some milk fromher finger. As she was going to church, I could not go with her, but Iran down the lane and watched her out of sight. When I came back, Dandywas gone. I looked till I found him. He had crawled into the darkestcorner of the stable to die, and though he was suffering very much, henever uttered a sound. I sat by him and thought of his master in NewYork. If he had brought Dandy up properly he might not now be here inhis silent death agony. A young pup should be trained just as a childis, and punished when he goes wrong. Dandy began badly, and not beingchecked in his evil ways, had come so this. Poor Dandy! Poor, handsomedog of a rich master! He opened his dull eyes, gave me one last glance, then, with a convulsive shudder, his torn limbs were still. He wouldnever suffer any more. 

When Miss Laura came home, she cried bitterly to know that he was dead. The boys took him away from her, and made him a grave in the corner ofthe garden. 

CHAPTER XXXVII THE END OF MY STORY

I HAVE come now to the last chapter of my story. I thought when I beganto write, that I would put down the events of each year of my life, butI fear that would make my story too long, and neither Miss Laura nor anyboys and girls would care to read it. So I will stop just here, thoughI would gladly go on, for I have enjoyed so much talking over old times, that I am very sorry to leave off. 

Every year that I have been at the Morrises', something pleasant hashappened to me, but I cannot put all these things down, nor can I tellhow Miss Laura and the boys grew and changed, year by year, till nowthey are quite grown up. I will just bring my tale down to the presenttime, and then I will stop talking, and go lie down in my basket, for Iam an old dog now, and get tired very easily. 

I was a year old when I went to the Morrises, and I have been with themfor twelve years. I am not living in the same house with Mr. And Mrs. Morris now, but I am with my dear Miss Laura, who is Miss Laura nolonger, but Mrs. Gray. She married Mr. Harry four years ago, and liveswith him and Mr. And Mrs. Wood, on Dingley Farm. Mr. And Mrs. Morrislive in a cottage near by. Mr. Morris is not very strong, and can preachno longer. The boys are all scattered. Jack married pretty Miss BessieDrury, and lives on a large farm near here. Miss Bessie says thatshe hates to be a farmer's wife, but she always looks very happy andcontented, so I think that she must be mistaken. Carl is a merchant inNew York, Ned is a clerk in a bank, and Willie is studying at a placecalled Harvard. He says that after he finishes his studies, he is goingto live with his father and mother. 

The Morrises' old friends often come to see them. Mrs. Drury comes everysummer on her way to Newport, and Mr. Montague and Charlie come everyother summer. Charlie always brings with him his old dog Brisk, who isgetting feeble, like myself. We lie on the veranda in the sunshine, andlisten to the Morrises talking about old days, and sometimes it makes usfeel quite young again. In addition to Brisk we have a Scotch collie. He is very handsome, and is a constant attendant of Miss Laura's. We aregreat friends, he and I, but he can get about much better than I can. One day a friend of Miss Laura's came with a little boy and girl, and"Collie" sat between the two children, and their father took theirpicture with a "kodak. " I like him so much that I told him I would getthem to put his picture in my book. 

When the Morris boys are all here in the summer we have gay times. Allthrough the winter we look forward to their coming, for they make theold farmhouse so lively. Mr. Maxwell never misses a summer in coming toRiverdale. He has such a following of dumb animals now, that he says hecan't move them any farther away from Boston than this, and he doesn'tknow what he will do with them, unless he sets up a menagerie. He askedMiss Laura the other day, if she thought that the old Italian would takehim into partnership. He did not know what had happened to poor Bellini, so Miss Laura told him. 

A few years ago the Italian came to Riverdale, to exhibit his new stockof performing animals. They were almost as good as the old ones, but hehad not quite so many as he had before. The Morrises and a great manyof their friends went to his performance, and Miss Laura said afterward, that when cunning little Billy came on the stage, and made his bow, andwent through his antics of jumping through hoops, and catching balls, that she almost had hysterics. The Italian had made a special pet of himfor the Morrises' sake, and treated him more like a human being than adog. Billy rather put on airs when he came up to the farm to see us, buthe was such a dear, little dog, in spite of being almost spoiled by hismaster, that Jim and I could not get angry with him. In a few daysthey went away, and we heard nothing but good news from them, till lastwinter. Then a letter came to Miss Laura from a nurse in a New Yorkhospital. She said that the Italian was very near his end, and he wantedher to write to Mrs. Gray to tell her that he had sold all his animalsbut the little dog that she had so kindly given him. He was sendinghim back to her, and with his latest breath he would pray for heaven'sblessing on the kind lady and her family that had befriended him when hewas in trouble. 

The next day Billy arrived, a thin, white scarecrow of a dog. He wassick and unhappy, and would eat nothing, and started up at the slightestsound. He was listening for the Italian's footsteps, but he never came, and one day Mr. Harry looked up from his newspaper and said, "Laura, Bellini is dead. " Miss Laura's eyes filled with tears, and Billy, whohad jumped up when he heard his master's name, fell back again. Heknew what they meant, and from that instant he ceased listening forfootsteps, and lay quite still till he died. Miss Laura had him put ina little wooden box, and buried him in a corner of the garden, and whenshe is working among her flowers, she often speaks regretfully of him, and of poor Dandy, who lies in the garden at Fairport. 

Bella, the parrot, lives with Mrs. Morris, and is as smart as ever. Ihave heard that parrots live to a very great age. Some of them even getto be a hundred years old. If that is the case, Bella will outlive allof us. She notices that I am getting blind and feeble, and when I godown to call on Mrs. Morris, she calls out to me, "Keep a stiff upperlip, Beautiful Joe. Never say die, Beautiful Joe. Keep the game a-going, Beautiful Joe. "

Mrs. Morris says that she doesn't know where Bella picks up her slangwords. I think it is Mr. Ned who teaches her, for when he comes home inthe summer he often says, with a sly twinkle in his eye, "Come out intothe garden, Bella, " and he lies in a hammock under the trees, and Bellaperches on a branch near him, and he talks to her by the hour. Anyway, it is in the autumn after he leaves Riverdale that Bella always shocksMrs. Morris with her slang talk. 

I am glad that I am to end my days in Riverdale. Fairport was a verynice place, but it was not open and free like this farm. I take a walkevery morning that the sun shines. I go out among the horses and cows, and stop to watch the hens pecking at their food. This is a happy place, and I hope my dear Miss Laura will live to enjoy it many years after Iam gone. 

I have very few worries. The pigs bother me a little in the spring, byrooting up the bones that I bury in the fields in the fall, but that isa small matter, and I try not to mind it. I get a great many bones here, and I should be glad if I had some poor, city dogs to help me eat them. I don't think bones are good for pigs. 

Then there is Mr. Harry's tame squirrel out in one of the barns thatteases me considerably. He knows that I can't chase him, now that mylegs are so stiff with rheumatism, and he takes delight in showing mehow spry he can be, darting around me and whisking his tail almost in myface, and trying to get me to run after him, so that he can laugh at me. I don't think that he is a very thoughtful squirrel, but I try not tonotice him. 

The sailor boy who gave Bella to the Morrises has got to be a large, stout man, and is the first mate of a vessel. He sometimes comes here, and when he does, he always brings the Morrises presents of foreignfruits and curiosities of different kinds. 

Malta, the cat, is still living, and is with Mrs. Morris. Davy, the rat, is gone, so is poor old Jim. He went away one day last summer, and noone ever knew what became of him. The Morrises searched everywhere forhim, and offered a large reward to any one who would find him but henever turned up again. I think that he felt he was going to die, andwent into some out-of-the-way place. He remembered how badly Miss Laurafelt when Dandy died, and he wanted to spare her the greater sorrow ofhis death. He was always such a thoughtful dog, and so anxious not togive trouble. I am more selfish. I could not go away from Miss Lauraeven to die. When my last hour comes, I want to see her gentle facebending over me, and then I shall not mind how much I suffer. 

She is just as tender-hearted as ever, but she tries not to feel toobadly about the sorrow and suffering in the world, because she says thatwould weaken her, and she wants all her strength to try to put a stopto some of it. She does a great deal of good in Riverdale, and I do notthink that there is any one in all the country around who is as muchbeloved as she is. 

She has never forgotten the resolve that she made some years ago, thatshe would do all that she could to protect dumb creatures. Mr. Harry andMr. Maxwell have helped her nobly. Mr. Maxwell's work is largely donein Boston, and Miss Laura and Mr. Harry have to do the most of theirs bywriting, for Riverdale has got to be a model village in respect of thetreatment of all kinds of animals. It is a model village not only inthat respect, but in others. It has seemed as if all other improvementswent hand in hand with the humane treatment of animals. Thoughtfulnesstoward lower creatures has made the people more and more thoughtfultoward themselves, and this little town is getting to have quite a namethrough the State for its good schools, good society, and good businessand religious standing. Many people are moving into it, to educate theirchildren.. The Riverdale people are very particular about what sort ofstrangers come to live among them. 

A man, who came here two years ago and opened a shop, was seen kickinga small kitten out of his house. The next day a committee of Riverdalecitizens waited on him, and said they had had a great deal of troubleto root out cruelty from their village, and they didn't want any one tocome there and introduce it again, and they thought he had better moveon to some other place. The man was utterly astonished, and said he'dnever heard of such particular people. He had had no thought of beingcruel. He didn't think that the kitten cared; but now when he turned thething over in his mind, he didn't suppose cats liked being kicked aboutany more than he would like it himself, and he would promise to be kindto them in future. He said, too, that if they had no objection, he wouldjust stay on, for if the people there treated dumb animals with suchconsideration, they would certainly treat human beings better, and hethought it would be a good place to bring up his children in. Ofcourse they let him stay, and he is now a man who is celebrated for hiskindness to every living thing; and he never refuses to help Miss Laurawhen she goes to him for money to carry out any of her humane schemes. 

There is one most important saying of Miss Laura's that comes out of heryears of service for dumb animals that I must put in before I close andit is this. She says that cruel and vicious owners of animals should bepunished, but to merely thoughtless people, don't say "Don't" so much. Don't go to them and say, "Don't overfeed your animals, and don't starvethem and don't overwork them, and don't beat them, " and so on throughthe long list of hardships that can be put upon suffering animals, butsay simply to them, "Be kind. Make a study of your animals' wants, and see that they are satisfied. No one can tell you how to treat youranimal as well as you should know yourself, for you are with it all thetime, and know its disposition, and just how much work it can stand, andhow much rest and food it needs, and just how it is different from everyother animal. If it is sick or unhappy, you are the one to take care ofit; for nearly every animal loves its own master better than a stranger, and will get well quicker under his care. "

Miss Laura says that if men and women are kind in every respect to theirdumb servants, they will be astonished to find how much happiness theywill bring into their lives, and how faithful and grateful their dumbanimals will be to them. 

Now, I must really close my story. Good-bye to the boys and girls whomay read it; and if it is not wrong for a dog to say it, I should liketo add, "God bless you all. " If in my feeble way I have been able toimpress you with the fact that dogs and many other animals love theirmasters and mistresses, and live only to please them, my little storywill not be written in vain. My last words are, "Boys and girls, bekind to dumb animals, not only because you will lose nothing by it, butbecause you ought to; for they were placed on the earth by the same KindHand that made all living creatures. "