“Oh yes! let it be about a dog.”
“Yes, papa, let it be about a dog,” ran through the circle of children.
“Wouldn’t you rather hear a story about the innocent lamb; the pure, snow-white lamb that sports in the green meadows?” said the father. “Dogs are evil animals.”
“Oh no, father! dogs are not evil animals. You don’t call our Carlo an evil animal? He’s a good, kind, generous dog. Didn’t he save the life of Mr. Graham’s little Harry, when he fell into the river? And doesn’t he love us, and go with us everywhere? And didn’t he jump on Mr. Parker’s Nero and beat him, when he flew out at us as we were passing, and was going to bite us? I am sure Carlo is a good dog. He watches our house at night, and keeps all the robbers away.”
“Carlo is one of the better class of dogs,” said Mr. Melville. “Many of these animals have generous qualities, and can be taught by man to perform many good acts; but I hardly think the dog can be called a good animal, like the noble horse or the useful cow and sheep. These serve man in a great variety of ways, and do not, even in their wild state, prey upon other animals, or attack and injure man as the dog will. The only use of the dog is for a protection against evil; and he is able to do this from something in him that is cruel and destructive. But I own that in some dogs there are to be found many noble and generous qualities; but these they derive from long association with man, and from being employed by him from one generation to another in doing useful things. The dogs of St. Bernard, of which you have so often read, are noble specimens of this improved race. So are the Newfoundland dogs. But still they are not good and innocent,—like sheep, for instance, or cows, or like the gentle dove. Those are truly innocent animals, and correspond in nature to certain good affections in our minds.”
But the children still thought that Carlo must be a good animal, and insisted that it was so, and upon having a story about a dog instead of a lamb.
“Very well,” said Mr. Melville: “I will tell you a story about a dog, and a very interesting one it is too. I heard it or read about it somewhere recently, but I cannot now tell where.”
“Tell it, father, do tell it,” urged the children.
Mr. Melville then told the following story:—
“There was a boy,—we will call his name Thomas,—whose father bought him a fine horse, upon which he used to ride out almost every day, accompanied by a large Newfoundland dog named Bruno. One day Thomas had his horse brought out for a ride, and after he had mounted the animal, he whistled for Bruno, who was lying on a mat in front of the house. But Bruno only wagged his tail. He did not even lift his head from between his fore paws, although his dark bright eyes were fixed upon his young master. ‘Come, Bruno, come!’ called Thomas. But the dog only wagged his tail more quickly. ‘You are a lazy fellow, Bruno,’ said Thomas, in a half-chiding, disappointed tone. ‘I shan’t half enjoy my ride unless you come.’ And he whistled loud for Bruno, as he gave his horse the rein and trotted off. Although he looked back and called for Bruno many times, as he rode away, the dog evinced no disposition to follow him.