“We have a beautiful [this was a stretch of the imagination] black dog that we found sick and hurt, and we love her dearly, but can’t pay the tax of five dollars. Mother works, and I take care of the children, but I can’t earn any money for poor dear Pet. The police have killed lots of dogs on our street. One belonged to Mamie Fisher, my best friend, and we went together and found him in a pile of dogs, all dead. Mamie took him up in her arms and cried dreadfully. I helped her carry him, and we dug a grave in their little yard and buried him, and we took five cents that a lady gave me and bought two roses and laid on his grave. He was a big yellow puppy, and was so kind.
“Now, Mr. Governor, would you be willing to lend us three dollars till we can earn it, and pay you back? She has two dollars already. We wish there wasn’t any tax on dogs, for they make us poor children so happy. Perhaps you can stop the law.
“Yours most respectful,
“Annie Conlon.”
All pronounced this a proper letter, and Jimmie dropped it into the mail-box. All the family waited prayerfully for the answer.
The Governor was touched as he read this letter from a child. “I will give her the three dollars,” he said to his wife. “I didn’t suppose the enforcement of a dog tax would bring so much sorrow to little hearts and large ones too. I really wish there were no tax on dogs, for they are helpless creatures and most faithful friends to man. But the State needs money.”
“Try to get the tax law repealed,” said the wife. “There are plenty of ways to raise money to pay the expenses of a great State without killing dogs. The tax law is directly responsible for thousands of dogs being turned upon the street to starve: they become ill from hunger and thirst, are supposed to be mad, and then suffer untold misery and even death from thoughtless and excited crowds. I would have no part in enforcing such a law, and would help to wipe it from the statute books.”
“But some of the farmers have their sheep killed by dogs, and they must have their losses made up to them,” said the Governor.
“Let the town pay for the sheep which are killed, and not cause the death of thousands of innocent dogs because a few have done wrong,” replied the wife.
The money was sent to Annie Conlon, and there was thanksgiving in the plain home. Pet wagged her short tail, and looked up into Annie’s eyes, as though she understood that her life had been spared by those three dollars.