After Albert had been gone about an hour, I remember that I went up into his room, and sat down in his favorite seat, by the window. O, how still and lonely and mournful it seemed there! Near me hung my brother’s fencing-sword and mask, which he had used only the day before,—on the floor lay the game-bag, which he had always worn in hunting, and which he had flung out of his trunk, not having room for it. This brought my merry brother before me more clearly than any thing else. I took it up and held it a long time, mourning at heart, but I could not weep. Suddenly I heard a low whine in the hall, and Tom stole softly into the room. He came to me and laid his head in my lap; but when he saw the game-bag there, he set up a most mournful cry. Then I flung my arms about him, bowed my head down against his neck, and burst into tears. I forgot that he was a poor dumb brute, and only remembered that he loved my brother, and my brother loved him, and that he mourned with me in my sorrow. After this, it was very affecting to see Tom go every day, for a long while, to the gate, out of which he had seen his master pass for the last time, and then stand and look up the street, crying like a grieved child.
As you will readily believe, Tom is now dearer than ever to us all; we cannot see him without a sweet, sad thought of that beloved one so far away. I am not now at home, but I never hear from there without hearing of the welfare of the noble dog which my brother, in going, bestowed upon me.
SUPPLEMENTARY STORIES.
It is twenty years since the first part of this little volume was published. The dear children for whom those simple stories of my childhood were told are men and women now, and wonderful changes have taken place in all our lives and in all the world. But in growing old I have not lost any thing of my old love of pets; and I hope that my little readers of this time will understand and share that feeling. I hope that you, dear boys and girls, look on all innocent dumb creatures about you as friends, and have not only a kindly interest in them, but respect them for all that is lovely and wonderful in their brief existences, and as objects of the unceasing care and tenderness of our Father in heaven. Every smallest creature that lives represents a thought of God,—was born out of his great, deep, infinite life.
I hope you especially like to hear about dogs and cats, birds and chickens, for it is of them that I have a few new stories to relate, as true as they are amusing or marvellous.
FIDO THE BRAVE.
First I must relate the somewhat tragical history of a certain little shaggy brown-and-white spaniel belonging to some friends of ours in the country. He was a stray dog, and came to them in a very forlorn condition, and had evidently been vagabondizing about in the fields and woods for some days, for he was ravenously hungry, and his long hair was dirty, and stuck full of straws, briers, and burrs, till he bristled like a hedgehog. The first thing that the kind lady did, after feeding him, was to put him into a warm bath. Then she set herself to work to rid him of his encumbrances,—sticks, straws, briers, and burrs. It was a long time before she got down to the dog; but when at last she laid down scissors, scrubbing-brush, and comb, and deposited her poor protégé on the floor, he was a good deal diminished in size, but looked really handsome, and very bright, quaint, and droll.
He took at once to his new home, and soon became a great pet, showing himself to be grateful, affectionate, and full of cleverness, fun, and fire. His pluck was beyond all question. Though not quarrelsome, he would, when in the least degree put upon, fight any dog in the neighborhood, whatever his size and breed, and he generally came off victorious. But he was altogether too rash and venturesome, given to worrying cows, horses, hogs, and old stragglers; rushing into all sorts of danger, and coming out, when he did come out, and was not brought out, with his little eyes dancing and his bushy tail in air, as though enjoying the risk of the thing, and the terror of his kind mistress.