True Stories About Dogs and Cats | Page 5

on hand some weighty affair to transact. They
showed how seriously they were cogitating, by curling up their tails
even more than common.
The terrier, after receiving gratefully his master's caresses, and taking
care that his great friend should receive his full share of the food which
was given them, led the way, through the court yard, to the front of the
house. There they took their place, and sat for a long time, looking as

solemn as two judges hearing a cause, or two deacons at church
watching some troublesome boys.
It seems the little terrier had been to England, and told of the bad
treatment he had received from the large French dog, and had brought
over a great dog friend to avenge the insult.
Patiently they sat for some time, looking up street.
At length, the terrier began to prick up his ears, and, in dog language,
he told his big friend that the enemy was approaching. They waited
quietly till he was near them, and then they both sprang upon the
cowardly fellow, gave him a good drubbing, and sent him off with his
tail between his legs.
After this, the big English dog, without looking round to see what they
did, and said, and how they looked in France, wagging his tail with
great satisfaction, and perhaps saying to the little dog that he could not
understand French, and pitied him for having a master who could
endure living in a foreign land, especially France, his dogship walked
aboard a packet, and, with a solemn face and self- satisfied, triumphant
air, without paying his passage, and with his tail turned towards France
and the ship's company, placed himself in the forward part of the vessel,
and so returned to his native land.
"Hurrah for dogs!" cried Harry, clapping his hands. "I say they are as
good as men any day. They say, Mother, that the Indians believe their
dogs will go to heaven with them. Will they, Mother?"
"We know nothing of the future state of animals, Harry. We only know
that they are more gentle and intelligent the more kind we are to them.
The most savage animals are tamed by constant kindness. Who does
not remember Sir Walter Scott's pet pig? The reason why the pig was
so fond of his master was that Sir Walter had not treated him piggishly,
but humanely.
You have been told of Baron Trenck's spider. Men have had pet lions
and tigers. When I see a fine, gentle horse, or an intelligent, loving dog,

I find myself repeating Miss Barrett's beautiful words,- -
"Be my benediction said With my hand upon thy head, Gentle
fellow-creature."
Now I have a funny story for you of a dog and a hen which a friend told
me that she knew to be true.
A small dog had a litter of puppies in a barn close by a hen who was
sitting on her eggs, waiting patiently, as hens do, for the time when her
chickens should pop their pretty heads out of their shells into this
pleasant world.
The puppies, however, came first, and, as soon as they were born, she
left her nest, and insisted upon brooding them.
The little dog, no doubt, thought her very impertinent, and barked at
her, and tried to drive her away; but she would not go. They had always
been good friends, and the dog was unwilling to hurt her; and so Mrs.
Dog, after showing, in every way, her desire to get rid of her
troublesome acquaintance, and finding that Madame Hen would not
budge one inch, let her alone.
From that time, the hen brooded the puppies. She let their mother
suckle them, but the rest of the time took charge of them. The poor dog
mother felt cheated, but she went off and amused herself as well as she
could.
The poor chickens never showed their heads outside of their little oval
prison, for they missed the gentle warmth of their unnatural mother's
wings."
"She was a real funny hen," said Frank; "but she could not have had
much brains, not even so much as common hens, and that's little
enough; but, as for the dog, she must be as lazy as Dick Doolittle, to be
willing to have such a stupid nursery woman as a hen take care of her
own puppies. Dick lets Tom Jones do all his sums for him, but then he
never hides it, so we only laugh at him. He says, What's the use of

being named Doolittle and yet have to do much?
But, Mother, it is not bed time yet. Have you not some more stories of
animals"
"Yes, Frank; but Harry wants his story now. It is his turn to choose.'
"I can wait