Here papa stopped; and his little boy drew a long breath, as though very glad that the little fox got into the woods again.
Mary Myrtle.
DIXIE.
Dixie, this little dog of mine,
Had legs like a spider, black and fine,
A nimble tail, and a body slim,
And ears that would almost cover him.
If you whispered to him of "birds" or "rats,"
Of "cows" or "squirrels" or "pigs" or "cats,"
He was all a-tremble with hope and fun,
Ready to hunt or fight or run.
But Dixie is older now; he shows
A gray mustache on his once black nose:
Slower his legs to frolic and leap;
And he needs a nice soft place to sleep.