nothing at all,’ was her reply; ‘he only wishes to escape his work. He is anxious to know what you decide upon; for if you say a fowl, he is sure he will have to turn the spit.’”
Both Mrs. Lee and Minnie laughed heartily at this anecdote.
“That story reminds me of Dr. Kane’s old dog Grim,” said Mrs. Lee. “He was a curious old fellow.”
“O, will you please tell me about it, mamma?” cried Minnie.
“Yes, my dear. He was very aged; his teeth, almost gone; and his limbs, once so nimble, now covered with warts and ringbones.
“In the intense cold of the arctic regions Grim suffered much, and at last, by a system of patient watching at the door of the deck-house, together with a curious wag of his tail, pleading for admittance, he was allowed a place in the warm room, and used Dr. Kane’s seal-skin coat as a bed for weeks together.
“Somehow or other, when the dogs were being harnessed into their sledges for a journey, old Grim was sure to be missing; and one time, when he was detected hiding in a barrel, to avoid the labor of drawing the sledge, he began to limp badly, as if he were very lame.
“‘Poor fellow,’ said one of the men, ‘he must be left at home.’
“Strange to say, he was lame ever after, except when the team was off from the ship.
“Run and get the book about animals, on the third shelf in the library,” said Mr. Lee, “and I will read you a story.”
Minnie flew to obey him, and Tiney, wagging his tail, slowly followed, but came back presently, and resumed his place on the sofa.
CHAPTER II.
BOSE AND THE WIG
“Here,” said Mr. Lee, “is an account Mr. Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, gives of his dog Hector.
“‘I am sure,’ he says, ‘that the dog comprehends a good deal that is said in the family; and that his attention and impatience become manifest whenever any thing is said about either him, the sheep, or the cat.
“‘One evening I said to my mother, “I am going to Bowerhope for a fortnight; but I shall not take Hector with me, for he is constantly quarrelling with the other dogs, or breeding some kind of an uproar.”
“‘My mother answered me, promptly, “I am glad of it; I like best to have him at home.”
“‘Nothing more was said on the subject. The next morning was rainy, and I did not start till after breakfast. When I was ready, I ordered a servant to shut Hector up for a few hours, that he might not follow me. The servant presently reported that the dog was nowhere to be found.
“‘When I reached St. Mary’s Lock, I found the river so swollen, I had to get across in a boat; and yet, when I arrived at Bowerhope, I found Hector, very wet, sitting on a knoll, impatiently awaiting me.’”
“In Bath, England, there were at one time a large number of dogs employed in cooking-houses, to turn the spits used in roasting fowls. These animals were fond of following the crowd on the Sabbath, and collecting together, during divine service, in the Abbey Church.
“On one occasion, the clergyman happened to use the word ‘spit,’ which reminded the dogs of their neglected duties, and, seized with remorse, they all ran home in a hurry.”
“Why, father,” cried Minnie, much astonished, “I should not think the people would let so many dogs go to church.”
“Perhaps they could not prevent it,” he answered, laughing. “Dogs are often fond of accompanying their owners to church. I remember Leo tried it several times when I first bought him. He seemed to understand perfectly well when Sunday came, and, as he knew I did not approve of his intruding, he would run off and creep into the pew without leave.”
“And did he keep still, father?”
“Yes; I never knew him to make much noise, except as he occasionally turned himself over, but I was in constant fear of his doing so, and determined to break up the habit.
“Early one Sabbath morning, before the ringing of the first bell for church, I went out to the stable to tell John to shut him up before he took out the carriage. He said he had not seen him for an hour or more. When I alighted at the door of the church, there was Leo, waiting to follow me up the aisle.
“The next week I thought I would be in season, and had Leo shut up on Saturday. He cried incessantly, when the bells rang on Sunday; but I told John not to let him out until after our return from the evening service.
“When Saturday came again, Leo took the precaution to be off, and enjoyed a whole day of church going, coming in and scratching at the door of the pew to gain my attention.
“I felt almost guilty, when I reflected on his desire to keep the Sabbath. I think he came to know which was the sermon and which the prayer, for during the latter he invariably stood up. It was only by persevering effort that I convinced him his church-going propensity could not be allowed. But now, though you know he often accompanies me when I ride on horseback, and follows the carriage when we all go, he never attempts to do so on the Sabbath.”
“I remember,” said Mrs. Lee, “when I was a young girl, visiting a lady who had a beautiful spaniel, of whom she made a great pet. When she went out to ride, Doll expected to go with her as a matter of course; and if the weather was cold, the dog was wrapped in embroidered blankets, like a baby.
“One Sabbath day we were preparing to go to church, and I wondered whether Doll would go too; or, if not, how she would bear the disappointment.
“To my astonishment the spaniel, though she whined a little, made no effort to accompany us by running here and there, as usual, and uttering short, joyful barks. She sat at the window gazing earnestly after us, but making no attempt to follow.
“‘She knows well enough,’ said the lady, ‘that she must not go to church, though I cannot imagine how she tells when Sunday comes.’
“There’s a curious story,” remarked Mr. Lee, “often told of a number of dogs in a village in Bohemia. These animals, including a large mastiff, belonging to a nobleman in the place, had a practice of going regularly to church.
“This at last excited the attention of the town authorities, and at a meeting of the court, a magistrate, who presided, said in a loud, decided tone, —
“‘No dogs shall be allowed in church; let me not see one of them in future!’”
“The mastiff was present, and seemed to listen with attention. Nor without effect; for on the ensuing Sunday he rose early, and ran round the village, barking at all the dogs. He then took his station near the door of the church; and when a dog came up, unmindful of his prohibition, he instantly killed him. Ever after he took on him this post of sentinel before the church, but not once was he known to enter it.”
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