GOOSEY LUCY.
It chanced one day that Lucy came into the kitchen just as Fido, her Aunt Mary’s little dog, was eating his dinner.
He had a good dinner, and he was making a great fuss over it, growling with pleasure, shaking his ears and wagging his tail.
His tail was a very funny one, with a little black bunch at the end of it, and it wiggled and waggled this way and that way.
“Fido,” said Lucy, “I don’t think you ought to wag your tail when you are eating. Mamma says we must sit very still at the table. To be sure, you are not sitting, and you are not at the table, but, all the same, I think you had better not wag your tail.”
Fido paid no attention to these sensible remarks, but continued briskly to wag the offending tail.
“Do you hear me Fido?” said Lucy. “I say, don’t wag it!”
Fido gave a short bark of protest, but took no further notice.
“Then I must hold it for you!” Lucy continued, severely. “Mamma held my hands once when I would not stop cutting holes in my pinafore; but I was young then, and I thought the spots ought to be taken out. But you are not young, Fido, and I wonder at you, that I do!”