LULU’S PETS.

BY MARY STANDISH ROBINSON.

FIRST, there was Tom Doddles; and he was a bother. Grandma said so, when she found him snugly curled up in her favorite arm-chair, grandpa stumbled over him in the doorway, and sister Caroline declared that “the little plague shouldn’t go with her when she went to take her music lessons.” Don’t imagine that Tom Doddles cared for music; O, not at all; he plainly said so when he heard any, by a series of howls, and little, jerky barks.

But he liked to drive out in the phaeton, and stand up with his fore-paws on the dash-board, and look at the horse, with the most solemn air imaginable.

That is, he would do so for a short distance, until thinking, doubtless, that the wise traveler should improve all opportunities, he would dash down and away for a nearer inspection of bird or butterfly. And once he had too much curiosity about a bee; after that, he thought bees were rather disagreeable, and quite ignored their society.

And you see, scrambling through sand-heaps, and splashing through mud-puddles, was apt to disarrange his toilet. And he didn’t care in the least, but would jump back again in a social manner, that was very distressing to Caroline.

She did not like to have her clean frocks “mussed” and disfigured by mud, and ever so many little black and white hairs.

But what could she do? What would you do, if you lived in the country, and your little sister had a little pet dog that wanted to go to town whenever you did? Would you let him go? And if he stood up on his hind legs, as straight as a soldier, and begged, “jess as hard,” as his little mistress said, while she kissed and coaxed for him, could you refuse?

Caroline could not, for a long time; but one day she drove off, leaving Lulu and Tom Doddles wailing together, while she flourished the whip to keep him at a distance.

His non-attendance was such a relief and comfort generally, that she decided to leave him at home in future; and for several weeks poor Tommy supplicated in vain.

At last, when the phaeton and little gray pony came around to the door, Tom was invisible.

Cad laughed as she took the reins.

“Why, Tom has given it up,” she said, “poor little fellow! How he did enjoy going; but he was a nuisance, and I’m glad if he’s learned better.”

“Come, Fannie,” to the friend who was going with her, and away they went, as gayly as if there were no little dogs breaking their hearts at home.

However, that day, the little dog was otherwise engaged. You’ll laugh to hear that when they were about two miles from home, the merry chatter of the girls was broken by a tiny, smothered bow-wow, very much like a suppressed sneeze in church.

“O!”

“What is that?” chorused the girls.

Then Cad jumped, and almost let the gray pony have his own way.

For something under the seat was tickling her; and before she could look for the cause, out popped the head of Thomas Doddles, Esq., who proceeded to look serenely about him, as if conscious of a success that no one could dispute.

“The cunning darling!” said Fannie, laughing so that she could not sit up straight.

“O you scamp!” cried Cad. “I’d throw him away if ’twere not for Luly.”

“Now sir!” said she, addressing him with great severity, “don’t you dare to jump out of this carriage to-day.”

But you’ll not be surprised to learn that he did so the very next moment. How could he help it, when a chipmunk chattered a challenge for a race to the nearest tree?

Tom lost, and nearly dislocated his neck by looking up so much, and barking at the same time.

As for the chipmunk, not a walnut cared he; and what he chippered back might mean:

“You’re smart, Mr. Dog, but, smart as you are you can’t catch me!”

Well, Tom Doddles was a bother! But he was a cunning one, and between the scoldings and the pettings that he received he was as spoiled as a doggie could be.

But we all felt bad when a careless man shot him by mistake.

And Lulu mourned so much that Aunt Sarah, after talking with mamma and grandma, went away one afternoon, and returned at night with a large box, about which she was as mysterious as a fairy godmother.

Lulu knew from experience that Aunt Sarah’s mysteries always meant something delightful; and after a little teasing about what was in the big wooden box, she put two kisses on auntie’s cheek, and said she would go to bed, and “find it all out in a dream.”

But she didn’t, after all. She was awakened the next morning by a smart little tap that was not a kiss, on her own round, pinkie-pearly cheek.

And there was such a queer little munchy noise going on!

The blue eyes opened; languidly at first, but they were wide and bright in an instant, for there was something curious for them to see. First, a heap of walnuts lying on her bed. Where did they come from? Then, sitting up in the midst of them, and working away like a complete little nut-cracker, was the most charming gray squirrel that anybody ever saw.

“O!” exclaimed Lulu. “Why!! Where did you come from, Beauty?”

For all answer, Gray-Coat tossed her an empty walnut-shell, and cracked an uncommonly large one on the spot, just to show her how well he could do it.

Lulu picked up a piece of shell from the pillow. “That’s what struck me on the cheek,” she said, jumping up. “I know now! he was in Aunt Saty’s box, and I guess he’s all mine. Where’s auntie? Where is mamma?

“O! O! O! What is this here? A little silver house, true’s I live.”

By this time the little girl was dancing around the room, as if she were practising for a ballet performance. Grandma, mamma and Aunt Sarah appeared in the door-way, and grandpa peeped in, too.

“What’s going on here?” asked he.

“O, I never!” said Lulu, hugging first one and then the other. “I know all ’bout it, auntie. You did it, an’ I think he’s lovely, an’ what’s his name, an’ he’s mine for always, ain’t he?”

“His name is Dick,” said auntie.

“Dickon Gray,” suggested mamma, “and I hope that Pussy will not eat him.”

“We must watch him,” said grandma.

And they did, very carefully at first. But surely, that squirrel and cat were predestined friends; for they would frolic and play together like two kittens.

And when puss was in extra good humor she would treat Dickon to a ride on her back.

“Arrah,” said Robert, the hired man, “an’ did ye iver say the loike o’ that, now? It bates the li-in an’ the lamb, I’m thinkin’.”

Yes, and puss evidently had much respect for Dick’s judgment; because, upon her return from market she often brought a tender mouse-steak for his inspection.

I suppose you would like to know if Dickon lived in his little house? It was of tin, and so new and bright that it did look like silver. He had a nice bed made of cotton wool, in the upper story. But did he sleep in it? Well—sometimes. One morning he was not there; and after much vain searching Lulu was sure that he was dead—had run away—been stolen—the cat had eaten him.

And she was dolefully sobbing for each separate fate, when Robert opened the kitchen door and said, “Ah, come ’ere now, Miss Luly! an’ ye’ll laugh a laugh as big as Tim Toole’s.”

Robert was a favorite with Lulu, and she followed him up-stairs into the grain-chamber, sobbing and sighing as she went.

He swung her up in his strong arms, over the great oat-bin, with, “An’ only say there, now, Miss Luly!”

And then, how she did laugh! for there was the darling, eating his way out of the oats, as if his very life depended upon it.

Didn’t she hug him, though! He was so tame that she could handle and fondle him without fear of being bitten; but this time her joy made her squeeze him so close that he suddenly darted up, and sliced a tiny bit of skin from the tip of her saucy little nose.

“Euh!” cried Lulu, “mamma! Dick’s bit my nose! I ’fraid he’s all spoiled it! What shall I do?”

Mamma was frightened, I assure you, and ran to examine her little girl.

Dick repented the moment he did this naughty thing; and tucked his head under Lulu’s arm while he trembled violently.

“It’s nothing serious, but he must be whipped,” said mamma.

“O no! please don’t whip him,” said Lulu. “His little heart beats so fas’ now I’m ’fraid ’twill break.”

“’Twas only a love-pat,” said grandpa, “I guess he didn’t mean to.”

“He’ll bite harder next time if he is not properly punished,” said mamma, firmly, and she shut him in his cage, and gave him three or four strokes with a small switch. Then he was left alone in disgrace.

But it was not long before Lulu stole in, and gave him a lump of sugar that she had coaxed from grandma.

“Don’t you mind it, Dicky,” said she, kissing him through the prison-bars. “I love you just as much’s ever, and to-morrow you shall come out again.”

Dick nibbled part of the sugar, and slyly tucked away the rest in a corner. I dare say he was thinking of next winter; just as housekeepers are when they put up the sweetmeats that we all like so well.

Then he remembered that he had a carriage at command, and bowled away in his wheel at a rapid pace; only he never arrived anywhere, you know, and that must have puzzled him sorely.

So Lulu went on loving him more and more every day, until Tom Doddles was almost forgotten.

Dolls were neglected, and sometimes abused; for was not Miss Patty Primrose (who only a year ago had been “the beautifulest darling”), found lying on the hard, cold floor, with her clothing in wild disorder?

Lulu well knew that Miss Patty had been snugly tucked up in a cradle-bed, and put by on a high shelf. How came she down there in this plight?

Lulu looked up at the cradle, and saw a pair of very bright, sprite-y eyes peering out of it. Behold! Master Dick had turned out poor dolly, and was lying flat on his stomach in the little bed, using his own silver-gray tail for a blanket.

It grieves me; but as a faithful historian I must relate that a sad day finally came, when dear Dickon was missing; and alas! this time, he could not be found.

There was no clue to his fate.

Perhaps the voices of the woods had called him back to his early home. Perhaps he had been enticed away.

No one knew, but in a few days they realized that he had gone “for always,” as Lulu said, and they spoke of getting another one for her.

But she did not want it.

“I would rather ’member my own p’ecious Dicky,” she said, “than to have fifty ‘other ones,’ They could never be the same, and would only make me think that p’r’aps he was mis’able somewhere while they was havin’ a good time.”

DAYS OF THE WEEK.