Bose felt very badly. He crawled slowly along. He couldn’t say, “I didn’t do it; please don’t whip me,” as a little boy or girl can. He could only look up to his master with soft, begging eyes. But little Patsy was looking in at the door. Little Patsy loves Bose dearly; and of all the family Bose best loves Patsy. They are always playing together.
“Oh, please don’t whip Bose,” cried Patsy. “I don’t believe he did it. Nobody saw him do it,” and she begged so hard her father said he would only tie Bose up. He would not whip him till he was sure he had killed the goose. That night Patsy cried herself to sleep. It almost broke her heart to think that on the morrow Bose might have to be whipped. Suddenly in the night she heard a queer, soft voice say, “I don’t believe he did it. I wouldn’t kill a goose.” Patsy opened her eyes and found herself in a room full of dogs. The voice came from a wee doggie wrapped in an eider down quilt.
“Very good reason why; you couldn’t,” barked another little fellow. He had a head that looked as if it were bald, and large soft ears, and he was peeping out of a basket.
PROSPECTIVE PUNISHMENT.
“Raw goose, faugh!” said a dainty doggie, who had a blanket pinned carefully around him. “I like my poultry well picked and cooked.”