DR. KANE AND CAESAR IN THE ARCTIC REGIONS.
"Not a horn; but he once belonged to the good and famous Dr. Kane, the great Arctic explorer; and Cæsar had seen as many icebergs and white bears as he wanted to, and a few over, I imagine; for Dr. Kane gave him to his friend, the owner of Idlewild; and the good dog tells his new master every day by an extra flourish of his tail, how happy he is, and how much he loves to live in such a lovely place, and with such lovely children.
"Well, as I was telling you, the dogs and little Bailey were scampering here and there, while Miss Laura walked in the glen, thinking how sweetly the rippling golden light came down through the green leaves. After a while she thought it was time to return, so she called—'Come, Gouldy, come, Cæsar, come, Bailey. It is time to go home.' Up bounded the two dogs at her bidding, but the darling little rogue, Bailey, pretended to be very busy looking for something in the grass. Then the dogs, seeing that he did not mind, went leaping off, tumbling over each other, pretending to bite, and growling at a great rate. So Miss Laura walked a few steps nearer Bailey, and called again—'Come, Gouldy, come, Cæsar, come, Bailey.' The dogs ran to her as before, but Bailey walked as grave as any deacon, and looking sideways at her, with a merry twinkle in his blue eyes, and a comical little chuckle, he said—'Miss Laura, there is no dog of that name in this place.' His face looked so full of fun and mischief, that Miss Laura screamed out laughing, and then Bailey laughed, and was very glad he had been so funny."
"What a funny little fellow," exclaimed the children, "to make believe Miss Laura did not mean him when she called. I do wish he could come and play with us. He's a darling! Well, please go on Aunt Fanny."
"While we were sitting in the parlor, Bailey brought me a superb book of engravings to look at. They were flowers. I only wish you could have heard him telling me the long names, slowly and carefully, in such a sweet little voice—'This is the Rho-de-den-dron,' and then giving a quick, satisfied sigh, because he had gotten it all right. When he showed me a picture of a splendid lily, I looked at the beautiful flower, and then at his innocent baby-brow, and in his unclouded eyes, through which the immortal soul shone purer and whiter than any lily, and softly said—'Consider the lilies of the field; they toil not, neither do they spin;' and as I bent over to kiss this immortal lily, I heard the gentle little mother murmur—'Yet Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.' Truly the innocence of a little child invests him with a greater glory than any this world can give. Why may we not always retain it, pure and undefiled?
"At last the carriage came to take me away; and they all bid me a kind adieu; and Bailey and Daisy kissed me so lovingly, that I felt the kisses all the way to my heart, where I mean to keep the memory of them as long as I live. Wonderful to relate, something happened at the very last moment, that made Bailey dance with delight, for Edith, shy Edith, ran to me and put up her sweet pink and white cheek for a kiss; and so I left beautiful Idlewild, a very happy Aunt Fanny."
The children were delighted with this account, which Minnie called "a very nice inscription."
"And now about the birds, Aunt Fanny. You know you told us to put you in mind."
"Oh, yes. Well, I will try to remember what I read in the Home Journal a year ago about the dear little winter birds at Idlewild."
"There is a charming study at the north-west corner of the house; and the father of Daisy, and Edith, and Bailey, began his beautiful little story, by saying that he had two very sociable sets of visitors in his study early every morning. First the little folks jump out of their beds, and run in to him in their slippers and nightgowns, just as Laina the cook, with her kind dark face, comes along with the tea-tray for him, and bread for the second set of visitors. The children crumble the bread very joyfully and carefully, and the window is quickly opened, (for it is winter, and snowing,) and the bread-feast is spread out over the roof of the portico.