[WHAT THE WOLF HID.]
BY M. P. HARDY.
We were standing at the window watching Lion, the house-dog, burying a bone in the dead leaves near the fence.
"Why does he do that?" asked my little cousin.
"Animal instinct," replied my father, to whom the question was addressed. "He has more dinner than he cares to eat just now, and so puts away some for the next time. Other animals do the same thing sometimes. I once knew an old lady who when a child had a singular adventure in connection with this same instinct."
Of course there was an immediate demand for the story. Father teased us for a little while, and then he told it, as follows:
"Sixty or seventy years ago, my friend's father was a pioneer in the region bordering on the Ohio River. He and his son were cutting wood in the forest one day, and Polly, then a little girl of five years old or so, was playing near them while they worked. When the time came to go home, Polly was nowhere to be seen.
"'That's strange,' said her father. 'She always obeys so well. I don't see how she could have strayed off.'
"'She wouldn't have gone home without telling us,' said her brother. 'Look! here's her sun-bonnet full of nuts. She must be somewhere around.'