Yet, even after this heroic act, Surf never so much as hinted by his manner, "See what a good dog I am!"
XVII.
A DOG WHOSE FEELINGS WERE HURT.
By E. P. Roe.
Carlo felt himself to be one of the family. From his puppyhood days, he had been treated with great kindness and allowed to come into the house under certain restrictions. He also had accorded to the different members of the household various marks of his favor, according to his estimate of their deserts; but for his mistress and her sister he had unbounded affection. Whenever they walked abroad, he was their self-appointed guardian, and never had ladies a more attentive and gallant escort. Not only did he respond gratefully to any favor or notice that he received, but he was also ready to prove himself no carpet-knight should danger threaten the ladies.
Now Carlo felt that he was not a mere watch or churning dog—an animal kept for a purpose. By ties of long association and deep affection, he was one of the family. That he had his three meals daily did not suffice; he observed all that was going on, and noted any change that occurred. The absence of his mistress and her sister quite depressed his spirits, and when they returned his joy was great indeed.
They had been away, and they returned one summer evening. As they were greeting the members of the household, Carlo heard their voices, and came bounding in, intent on the most frisky, hearty and demonstrative of welcomes. At that critical moment, however, a flea on his back gave him a most venomous, distracting bite, and, half frantic from pain, Carlo turned his head so suddenly to return the bite, that he tumbled down on his nose and rolled over, cutting so awkward and ridiculous a figure that every one burst out laughing.
Carlo rose, and having given his mistress a look of reproach, walked with great dignity out of the room. And many were the apologies that had to be made before his wounded feelings were soothed and the old cordial relations resumed.
XVIII.—A DOG THAT REPAID A TRICK.
A gentleman in Bristol, England, owned a dog remarkable both for intelligence and devotion. The dog had been taught to run errands. It was a part of his daily duty to go to the meat-market, carrying a basket in which was the money to pay for the meat. One day his master thought he would put a new test to the dog's faithfulness and intelligence. He ordered the man who kept the market to take the money as usual, but to refuse the meat and order the dog to go home without it. This the market-man did, and the poor dog returned to the house dejected, melancholy, slow, with ears and tail hanging, and with the basket empty. Seeing his master, he seemed to try to put on an air of cheerfulness, evidently hoping that the situation would be understood. But, no; the master frowned upon him, scolded him harshly, and bade him go out of his sight. This was almost more than the poor fellow could bear, and sneaking out he crept under a table in an outer shed, where he lay for two days to all appearances in a state of gloomy despair. On the third day, his master called him out, speaking kindly to him again, and the dog was wild with joy. Again his master sent him to the market with the money in his basket. The dog went in, but this time he placed the money on the floor and put his paw on it, before he allowed the market-man to take the basket. When the man gave him the meat, the dog quickly whisked the money back into the basket and trotted off home with both meat and money, giving them to his master with an air of decided triumph.