"Is her head better? How did she sleep last night?" inquired the farmer.
"How can I tell? I've just come in from a stroll in the woods," replied Steenie.
"I suppose that you did not go on your stroll without your breakfast; you must have seen your aunt then," said Macalpine, in his rather snappish manner.
"I wasn't down to breakfast till old Aunt Bess had done hers, and gone out," answered Steenie. "I was up late last night at the Burnsides," added the boy, with a yawn.
"I've heard your aunt say half-a-dozen times that she did not like your going to those Burnsides," said the farmer.
Steenie laughed and shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not bound to care for all her likes or dislikes either," muttered the boy, tapping his front teeth with his silver-tipped cane.
Macalpine's sharp keen eyes looked sharper and keener than ever as he observed, "After your aunt's bringing you up, and doing everything for you these ten years, ever since you could toddle alone, I think that she has a good claim at least to your obedience, if you have no affection to give."
Apparently Master Steenie did not relish his uncle's remark, for, perhaps to turn the conversation, he began teasing the farmer's dog. Macalpine's angry remonstrance led to the reply of his nephew with which my little story begins.
"I wonder that you care to keep such a rough ugly cur as that Trusty," observed Steenie Steers.
"I keep him for some use," answered the farmer. "Trusty guards my flock attends to my call; by day or by night; in snow, rain, or hail, he is always ready to do my bidding. He's a good old fellow," continued Macalpine, stooping to pat his rugged friend, who licked the farmer's hand in return. "I've reared him from a puppy."