MY MOTHER.
REGINALD’S FIRST SCHOOL-DAYS.
ONE frosty morning in January two delicate-looking children were sitting before a blazing fire in a long, low nursery with oak rafters running across the ceiling. Between them lay a great shaggy dog.
“You will take good care of Rover whilst I am away?” said the boy, winding his fingers in Rover’s shaggy hair and leaning his head against him.
“Yes; he shall go for a walk with me every day, and in the twilight I will talk to him about you,” answered Alice. “You might send messages to him in your letters,” she added.
“Would you understand them, old fellow?” asked Reginald, lifting up the dog’s head and looking into his eyes.