CHAPTER X
MORE STORIES
"I move we have some more stories," said Horace the next evening, as they were sitting in the twilight. "It's your turn, Gracie."
"Well, I don't know but I'd as soon tell a story as not," replied Grace, pushing back her curls; "I reckon Pincher wants to hear one, he begins to wag his tail. I can't make up any thing as I go along, but I can tell a sober, true story."
"Certain true, black and blue?" asked Prudy, who always would have something to say, whether she knew what she was talking about or not.
"Didn't I ever tell you about our school-dog out West, aunt Madge? You see it was so queer. I don't know where in the world he came from. He had one of his eyes put out, and was 'most blind out of the other, and only a stump of a tail, and didn't know how to get his living like other dogs."
"O dear, it was so funny he should take it into his head to come to school, now wasn't it, auntie? He knew Miss All'n just as well as could be, and used to go with the rest of the scholars to meet her every morning; and when she patted him on the head, and said 'Good old doggie,' it did seem like he'd fly out of his wits."
"Then when she rang the bell he trotted in just as proud, hanging down his head as meek as could be. He thought she rang the bell for him as much as any of the rest of the scholars. His seat was right by the stove on the floor—it wasn't a seat, I mean; and he just lay there the whole living time, and slept and snored—you see he was so old, auntie! But then we all loved him, we just loved him so! O dear me, it's as much as I can do to keep from crying, and I don't know how any body could help it!"
"What was I talking about—O, he used to walk round under the seats just as sly sometimes, and put his nose into the dinner baskets. I tell you he liked cake, that dog did, and he liked meat and mince pie. You see he could smell, for his nose was as good as ever it was, and the girls used to cry sometimes when he picked out the nice things."