The little dog had been of no use, and required much looking after; yet he had endeared himself to all who knew him. His dainty ways, his bright good humour, and intense pleasure in the society of his friends perhaps accounted for this. And yet our hearts smote us as, after the little one was taken from us, and we stooped to caress poor faithful Wong with a warmth to which of late he had been unaccustomed, the honest creature sprang on to the seat beside me with extraordinary effusiveness, and began leaping about and catching at our hands with the exuberance of long-repressed affection. Next night, though provided with a beautiful kennel full of straw downstairs, Wong slept out in the cold and rain in the courtyard outside our door, as he had been used to do in the old days. We tried to pet him, and make up for our loss by being additionally kind to all other dogs we saw. But when I see the pencil I once gave Shing-erh to gnaw, with all the marks of his little teeth, or his little rattles, the aching comes again to my heart, thinking of what might have been, and how if we had known better we might perhaps have preserved the life of the pretty pet, who so implicitly trusted and relied upon us.
As the intensest feelings ever become less intense if spoken about, so that in all ages the greatest danger has been for teachers of religious faith lest they should themselves cease to feel whilst infusing faith in others, so I have sought to take the edge off my grief by writing some account of little Shing-erh, aged twelve months when he died. Anyhow, whenever we leave China behind us, there will be a tenderer feeling in our hearts whilst thinking of the blue-gowned race, because of this little creature born and bred amongst Chinamen, and yet so engaging, so fastidious in all his ways, and so entirely without any fear.
Since then Wong is dead; and Jack, our faithful friend, and constant companion during nine years of travel, a beautiful long-haired terrier from Shantung, he too lies in a little grave, though his lustrous, intelligent eyes haunt me still. Let no one lightly enter on a Chinese dog as companion; they make themselves too much beloved, become too completely members of the family. Even Nigger, the black Chow dog that my husband kept before our marriage, and whose greeting he looked forward to all the long voyage out to China—even Nigger seems like a living personality to me, and I can hardly believe I never saw him. Beloved dogs, companions of a life too solitary, because amongst an uncompanionable race, Requiescant in pace! Good-bye, Shing-erh! good-bye, Jack! Others may, but I can never look upon your like again. There must be some subtle unnoticed quality in the Chinaman to breed such dogs; and the sweet little Szechuan ponies, miniature race-horses in form, and almost human in their intelligence, are fitting companions for the dogs, and doglike in their faithful, cheerful friendliness.
A WHEELBARROW STAND.