Rover’s Experience.
“I’m not tired,” said Rover, for that was the dog’s name, “and I’m not sad, though I sigh—at least, not very sad.”
“O,” he continued aloud, his brown eyes dilating with earnestness, as he began to tell his story, “it was not my dear old master’s fault that he parted with me. He was poor, and tempted by a large price; and the tears coursed down his cheeks as he bade me farewell. I could see them, though he tried to hide them.”
“‘Good-bye, dear old Rover,’ he said, ‘you will be happy where you are.’ The luxury of tears is denied to dogs, but, O! what a big choking lump was at my throat, as, led by a string, I went away with my new master.
“I tried to do my duty by him at first, although I could see he was empty, vain, and foolish. He gave me a new name, he bought me a new collar, such a fine one, and he bought a new silver-mounted whip—dear old master never used a whip. He bought something else—he bought a muzzle!
“‘This,’ he said, shaking it at me and smiling, ‘is to put on you in the dog days, my boy.’
“I shuddered. This man, then, believed in the old worn-out fallacy and superstition that dogs go mad in the dog days. From that very moment I determined to leave him. I would not return to my old master. No; I would not pain him by proofs of my disobedience, but I would go somewhere—anywhere away from the cruelty that now surrounded me. It was the cruelty of ignorance—the cruelty, I might say, of luxury—for my kennel was superb, the dish from which I lapped my milk was china, my chain was of polished steel; but had it been of the purest gold it was still a chain, a fetter. And, alas! while I had plenty of the best meat and bones to eat, I often lacked bread; and although my milk was brought fresh every morning, I often wanted water. All my master cared about was to hear me praised and called beautiful.
“My relief came at last. I was taken down to the copse one day in June; my master had his gun.
“‘See now, good dog,’ he said, ‘if you can’t start a rabbit. In you go.’