“Oh, do!” cried Kristy eagerly.
“Did you ever notice in my sitting-room a little dog preserved in a glass case?”
“Yes, I have,” said Kristy, “and I have always wondered about it.”
“Well; I’ll tell you why I preserve it so carefully. That little dog saved my life, I believe, and if not my life, he certainly saved my reason.”
“Oh, how was that, Mrs. Wilson?” said Kristy earnestly.
CHAPTER XI
HOW A DOG SAVED MY LIFE
I was twelve years old when I had the most dreadful experience of my life—an experience that I am sure would have ended in my death or insanity if it had not been for the love of my little dog Tony.
It was all my own fault, too—my own naughtiness. But let me begin at the beginning. My father and mother were going away from home on a short visit to my grandmother. They had arranged to have me stay at my Uncle Will’s and had given Molly, the maid, leave to spend the time at her own home; so the house was to be shut up and left alone.