Oh! Mother! just look at this picture. Is that boy dead, or only asleep. I think, my child, that he is numb with cold. He has lost his hat, and looks helpless and sad. But this good dog has found him, and is going to carry him home.
Mother, where did he find the boy? On the ground, Sarah. You see, in the picture, that the snow-flakes are falling as though there were a great storm. The boy was out on an errand, when the snow fell so thick and fast that he lost his way; then he grew cold and fell into the snow.
If this dog had not taken him up, he would soon have died.
Oh! mother, what a dear good dog; I should think the boy would want to keep him, for his own dog, as long as he lives.
MY DOG.
I’d never hurt my little dog,
But stroke and pat his head;
I like to see the joy he shows,
I like to see him fed.
Poor little dog—he’s very good,
And very useful, too,
I’ll never vex or tease him, then,
As children sometimes do.
But I will give him milk to drink,
A fire to make him warm,
A bed to lie on, when he sleeps,
And keep him from all harm.
And when I need a kindness done,
Perhaps, some future day,
Like these good dogs we’ve read about
My labor he’ll repay.
