Front Cover
 Half Title
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 List of Illustrations
 Birdie and her dog
 Oscar's long journey
 "Wandering Willie"
 Short anecdotes of dogs
 Back Cover

Title: Birdie and her dog
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065344/00001
 Material Information
Title: Birdie and her dog
Physical Description: 96, 16 p. : ill. ; 20 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Phillips, E. C ( Edith Caroline )
Weir, Harrison, 1824-1906 ( Illustrator )
Barnes, Robert, 1840-1895 ( Illustrator )
S. W. Partridge & Co. (London, England) ( Publisher )
Hazell, Watson & Viney ( Printer )
Publisher: S.W. Partridge & Co.
Place of Publication: London
Manufacturer: Hazell, Watson, & Viney
Publication Date: [1889?]
Subject: Dogs -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Human-animal relationships -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1889   ( lcsh )
Publishers' catalogues -- 1889   ( rbgenr )
Prize books (Provenance) -- 1889   ( rbprov )
Bldn -- 1889
Genre: Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Publishers' catalogues   ( rbgenr )
Prize books (Provenance)   ( rbprov )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: England -- London
England -- Aylesbury
Statement of Responsibility: by E.C. Phillips ; with other stories of canine sagacity ; with illustrations after Harrison Weir, and Robert Barnes, etc..
General Note: Date of publication from prize inscription.
General Note: Publisher's catalogue follows text.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00065344
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002235804
notis - ALH6268
oclc - 70706931

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Cover 1
        Cover 2
    Half Title
        Page i
        Page ii
    Title Page
        Page iii
        Page iv
    Table of Contents
        Page v
        Page vi
    List of Illustrations
        Page vii
        Page viii
    Birdie and her dog
        A little waif
            Page 9
            Page 10
            Page 11
            Page 12
            Page 13
            Page 14
            Page 15
            Page 16
            Page 17
        "God brought you here"
            Page 18
            Page 19
            Page 20
            Page 21
            Page 22
            Page 23
            Page 24
            Page 25
            Page 26
        At the seaside
            Page 27
            Page 28
            Page 29
            Page 30
            Page 31
            Page 32
            Page 33
            Page 34
            Page 35
            Page 36
            Page 37
        Birdie's birthday present
            Page 38
            Page 39
            Page 40
            Page 41
            Page 42
            Page 43
            Page 44
            Page 45
            Page 46
            Page 47
            Page 48
            Page 49
            Page 50
            Page 51
            Page 52
            Page 53
            Page 54
    Oscar's long journey
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
    "Wandering Willie"
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
    Short anecdotes of dogs
        Guarding the flock
            Page 70
            Page 71
            Page 72
        The restored watch
            Page 73
        "Trim's" attachment to his master
            Page 74
        "Nimble," the shepherd's dog
            Page 75
        A sagacious swiss dog
            Page 75
            Page 76
            Page 77
        The dog and the painting
            Page 78
        A dog rescues a man from the snow
            Page 79
        Sagacity of Mr. Poynder's dog
            Page 80
            Page 81
        The watchful Newfoundland dog
            Page 82
        A sagacious guardian
            Page 83
        The Miller's dog
            Page 84
        Wonderful sagacity of a dog
            Page 85
        Gallant rescue of two youths
            Page 86
            Page 87
            Page 88
        Noble "Ready"
            Page 89
        A clever Chinese dog
            Page 90
            Page 91
            Page 92
        The dog and the bucket of water
            Page 93
        The clever dog "Rab"
            Page 94
        Poodle and whip
            Page 95
            Page 96
        Page 1
        Page 2
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
    Back Cover
        Cover 1
        Cover 2
Full Text

The Baldwin Library
be___. i1

IThe Baldwin Library
Uol errsyI~~


II |i II 1 1i
I---- iI ------ -I ----- 1 ---I



Author of The OrpJhans," Hilda aNd he-r Doll," etc.




Printed by Haze?, Watson, & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury.


S I,, ,i -11

























._ 1 0 -*'

WITH ROVER" Robert Barnes 2





IN THE WOOD After Sir Joshua Reynolds 57
"WANDERING WILLIE" Harrison Weir 65
DOG ON THE BACKS OF SHEEP garrison Weir 71
A RESCUE IN THE THAMES Harrison Weir '91

-- -- .
--= -::-..

*,j I, ,-

-- f '.-i' .




THERE is no change in the south-west wind, no abating of
the fierce storm at sea, but higher, and ever higher, the
foaming waters rise, and the white waves dash angrily
against the shore. Up and down, in the small fishing
village of Hampton, the coastguardsmen pace, stopping
anon to listen to the water's roar, and to watch for any
sign of the approach of a smack that left the port only a
few hours ago. The tide is still rising, and till it has
reached its height, no change for the better can be ex-
Presently an alarm is given. Rockets fired from a vessel,
that cannot be far distant, are recognized as signals of
distress-as signs that some crew is in danger. Rocket
after rocket goes up, and then shrieks pierce the air,
carrying the tidings to those on shore that lives are
Birdie. B

10 The Distressed Vessel.

threatened-dear, precious lives that, were but their real
danger known, many would venture all to save. The little
smack could not breast these terrible waves. Where was
she now? This many a sailor asked himself, but was
afraid to return an answer to the question. Fervently
to-night sailors' wives weep and pray-eagerly little
children cling to their mothers and quake for fear, when
a louder and more fearful gust than the last, shakes the
house in which they are secure, whilst father is at sea.
Another and yet another rocket is seen still more dis-
tinctly, and now they follow each other in quick succession.
It is only too certain that close at hand a vessel is in peril.
But Hampton can give no help. A lifeboat has been
sent out from Margate, but she cannot approach the
sufferers. In very sight of them, almost within their
reach, she is, by the waves, driven back from those whose
longing, anxious eyes have been fixed upon her in speech-
less agony of suspense, as the one last hope. Still the
waves dash madly against cliff and shore; still no tidings
come of the little Hampton crew, and brave men can only
listen in mute horror to the cries of those poor creatures
now at sea. Soon there is a change upon the scene-the
signals of distress are silent-shrieks are heard no longer.
Oh! can it be that perhaps hundreds have perished in
that moment of time-that many a brave, loving heart
has ceased to beat for ever ?

The Newfoundland Dog. 11

It would indeed seem to be the case, for not another
sound is heard, and the silence is even more terrible than
the past tumult.
Morning dawns, and as the first ray of light shines in
the eastern heaven, many are on the beach to learn if any
from the wreck have been washed ashore, and to glean
tidings of their own comrades. As yet nothing has been
found. The coastguardsman on duty, pacing up and down,
suddenly stops in his walk: he is attracted by a strange
sound near him. He listens: the sound is repeated, but
he cannot tell what it resembles. It is certainly not like
a human cry. He looks round the edge of a rock, from
whence it seems to come, and now it is more audible; it
is like the feeble moaning of a dog in pain. Presently
he discovers, crouched behind a small piece of projecting
rock, a large black Newfoundland dog, wet and exhausted.
He goes nearer, to examine the creature more closely.
Can it be that this dog alone has escaped from that fright-
ful wreck, and if so, how has he come ashore? As he
approaches, the dog growls; he would pat the head of
the animal, but it will not allow him; and then the man
notices, as the dog lifts his head, something small and
white and round encircling his neck. It is the arm of a
little child, and nestling her tiny head in the soft neck of
the dog, she embraces her faithful guardian as trustfully
as though she lay sheltered in her mother's arms. The

12 The Shipwrecked Child.

coastguardsman looks again; he cannot tell whether the
child is alive or dead; but the hot breath of the dog, her
protector, and no doubt preserver, would seem to keep
her warm. It was a strange sight, and the weather-beaten
man, gazing at it, wondered that this pretty child, uncon-
scious of all dangers around, should cling with such confi-
dence to the dog, whose one thought seemed to be for
her safety, as it watched over her helplessness. And by
degrees, as he stood and looked at this touching sight,
the dog's sagacity told him that he who thus watched
meant to befriend the little one, and he so far trusted
him as to allow him to raise the child in his arms. But
not for one moment did the eyes of the dog wander from
his charge, whilst he kept close beside her. She did not
move, and at first the coastguardsman thought she must
be dead; but then he perceived that she breathed very
gently. Wrapping her in his own greatcoat, he turned
and walked rapidly in the direction of the station on the
cliff, followed closely by the dog, faint and tired.
Who was this child cast here upon the shore for him to
find? Was she of rich or poor birth? He could tell
nothing; but the little frock she wore, now discoloured by
the water, he thought must have been very pretty once,
and surely the even features and flaxen hair of the lovely
child would lead him to suppose that she was of gentle
descent. And what was he now to do with her and the

-.--~--- -- ,~---....\10-


Captain Audley's Inquiries. 15

dog? Again he stopped to ask himself who they were,
and why they had been cast in his way ? He was thus
pondering, and looking once more at the face of the un-
conscious child he carried in his arms, when the officer of
the coastguard came up to him and said-" What are you
carrying there so carefully, Humphreys ? "
I found this child on the beach out yonder, sir," he
said, quickly, in answer to the question-" washed ashore,
as I suppose, from last night's wreck, or rather brought
ashore by this big dog; for they were lying both together,
and her arms were round his neck."
What ? asked the officer, with surprise, as he came
nearer, and uncovered the face of the child.
"It's all true, sir, what I am telling you, and a little
darling she is, too; but, now that my missus is dead, I
don't see as how I'm to take care of such as her, so I was
a-considering about it when you came up, sir."
Captain Audley gazed earnestly at the little face. The
eyes were still closed, and the long lashes fell over the
pale cheeks. Where had he seen this child before ? Surely
somewhere; or else, whose was the image so engraven on
his memory, which the outlines of her face recalled ? He
could not tell, but every feature on that little face was as
familiar to him as though it had been his own child on
which he gazed. With a strange fascination he looked at
her again and again; then asked the man more -.. 1 .,-

16 The Child's New Home.

where he had found her, and bade him follow him home.
"You can leave the child with me," he said; I will
be responsible for her welfare. I lost a little one about
that age," he continued, as though speaking to himself,
whilst his voice faltered; I shall be glad to let this one
fill her place."
The poor man was only too glad to procure so good a
home for the little waif, of whom he had so strangely
become possessed, and drawing his coat still closer over
her cold face, he followed his officer home.
"Take her in yourself," the latter then said. "You
have a right to see what becomes of her."
This is better than I could have done for her," was
the poor man's remark, as tenderly he laid the infant on a
soft sofa in a comfortably-furnished room. The dog, mean-
while, had followed closely in the footsteps of those who
bore the little girl to her future home. He seemed to
understand what was taking place, for he wagged his tail
in token of approval; and when Humphreys stooped, to
imprint a kiss on the forehead of the child he had helped
to save, the dog, her first preserver and true friend, crept
near and licked gratefully the good man's hand. A woman-
servant was called, restoratives were applied, a hot bath
given, and soon the little girl recovered consciousness, and
tasted the warm food that had been prepared for her. But
when she opened her eyes, and found herself in a strange

Rover's Caresses. 17

home, amongst strange faces, she seemed frightened, and
began to cry. The Newfoundland dog went up to her,
and pressed his big soft head caressingly against her cheek.
She returned the embrace, and seemed somewhat com-
forted; but she still sobbed, and all she said was-"Wover,
w here mudder-where, where mudder ? "
Another wag of "Rover's" tail betokened his joy at
hearing the little voice again.

---- - -

-_- :[--.----_=- --Ua_ o

taken to his heart; "' or, if I have not seen this face, it-


" IT is more than a passing fancy that I have seen this sweet
face before," the captain said several times to himself, as
he gazed, with fond love, at the little girl he had already
taken to his heart; "or, if I have not seen this face, it
must be some other child who resembles her exactly.
Little Rosie," he continued, as the child, now recovering,
and wrapped by the servant in warm, dry clothes, sat
upon his knee-" my dear little sister Rosie! Why,
child, you are just like her; but she must be a woman now.
She was two years old, I should say just about your age,
five-and-thirty years ago, when I saw her for the last
And then the man of five-and-fifty, prematurely old,
with hair as white as snow from bitter griefs which he had
endured-having lost his wife, his only child, with every
tie that bound him to this earth severed-now looked back
upon the past, which for many a long year he had shut

The Captain's Sad Reminiscences. 19

out from his memory. How well he could remember that
night! How the face of this little stranger recalled every
circumstance connected with it to his mind; his mother
just dead, her second husband turning him, a lad of twenty,
adrift from home, without one word of parting, in punish-
ment for an offence. He could remember now, after the
lapse of five-and-thirty years, what he had felt then, when
he left home in quest of fortune, without hope or friends
-this little sister Rosie, his own precious little sister, his
mother's youngest born, clinging to him, and begging him
to tay and pay with Rosie."
The child's face had never been forgotten by her half-
brother during youth or manhood, and now he fancied he
could almost read that same kind of earnest look of
entreaty in the face of the child who sat upon his knee.
Many a time, during the years gone by, he had wondered
where Rosie was, and how it had fared with her; but he
had never dared go home to see, and then he lost sight of
his old home altogether. But why should this child,
picked up on the shore by the coastguardsman Humphreys,
bring back to his mind visions of his long-past, long-lost
youth; why should he look at her and think of Rosie?
"What is your name, little one ? he asked.
The child seemed shy and hung down her head, as though
afraid to speak; but the captain's voice and manner were
so kind when he coaxed her, that soon she took courage,

20 "Birdie" and Uncle."

and looking up into his face, she answered in soft tones-
"But that is not your whole name," he said. What
is Birdie's other name ?"
Birdie," she repeated.
"But have you not another name, darling ? Is it not
No," said the child again, "only Birdie; mudder tails
me Birdie." And to no other name would the child own.
Birdie had evidently been her mother's pet name for her,
and she knew no other. The good captain would have
liked to call her Rosie ;" but the little girl was deter-
mined, and had her way. Her new parent had to say
"Birdie," even as mother had said it.
"And 'our name ? asked the child; "what Birdie tall
'ou ? "
"Father," was the answer, spoken softly.
"No, not farder; 'ou not Birdie's farder; what Birdie
tall 'ou?"
Uncle," he said, as he kissed the pretty little deter-
mined face; "will you call me Uncle' ?"
"'Es," she said i.hlb-l,... i, and from that moment
Birdie called him, who was to act a more than father's
part towards her, Uncle Dorge."
And how old are you, little one ?" asked the good
captain further.

., .... *. '



Who brought Birdie here 23

Two," was the answer, and Birdie took pains to speak
the word distinctly.
"And where's mother ?" he then said, to see what the
child could remember.
She looked round the room, and again tears stood in
her baby eyes.
All dawn," she said; Birdie's mudder all dawn."
"Where has she gone, darling ?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Tall mudder for Birdie," she
sobbed; "Birdie wants mudder."
He saw that she was too little to be questioned-too
young to tell him anything respecting her past short life
-and Birdie as yet could hardly have known anything
but the name and the love of "father" and "mother."
He thought he would make one more effort, and drawing
her in a closer embrace, he asked very gently, or as it
must have seemed to the child, by the answer that was
provoked, very seriously, "And who brought Birdie here ?"
"Dod," she answered, and looked up to see if she had
said correctly; "Dod made Birdie, and Dod loves her."
"And did no one else bring her here ? "
Only 'ou and Dod; did 'ou and Dod bring Birdie here ?"
"Yes, darling," he said, and his lips quivered as the
words were wrung from his soul. God brought you
here-brought Birdie to be a comfort to me, and to fill
the place of another little one whom He has called away."

24 Birdie's Hacppy Home.

"And Wover," she said, looking round; "did Wover
bring Birdie too?"
The big dog heard his name, and in answer the shaggy
head was raised for the little hands to pat. And then
Birdie felt so tired, that when she leant back on the good
captain's arm, she fell asleep.
Very lovingly and thankfully did he receive this little
charge and her dog into his home. Very welcome he
made them, and it really seemed as though she had been
sent to cheer his days, after the many sorrows through
which he had passed; and though she often cried when
she first came, and asked "Wover," as she always called
the dog, "where mudder was," she soon became so happy
and contented in-her new home, with her loving guardian,
that she forgot that she had ever had another. Captain
Audley engaged a very good nurse for Birdie, with whom
he always left her when he was obliged.to go out; but, so
soon as he came home again, Birdie must be with him.
He loved her, if possible, almost more tenderly than he
had loved his own dear child, and he often wondered how
he could have lived before she came to cheer him. And
the child returned the love so lavishly bestowed on her.
When the captain was out on duty, she would often stand
at the low window and listen for the sound of his footstep,
and ask nurse, in a pitiful voice, "When Uncle Dorge
coming home to Birdie ? so anxious was she.

Birdie's Dread of the Water.' 25

Sometimes he took her with him; but she did not care
much for these walks by the sea-shore, even with him.
Anywhere else she was glad to go, but she had a dread of
the water, of which he tried often, but always in vain, to
cure her; and when the wind was high, she would sit on his
knee, with both arms round his neck, and her little face
buried in his coat, as though thus to find protection from
the terrors which a storm inspired.
And day by day Birdie grew more lovable and more
interesting, and often he who had adopted her asked him-
self what he would do if her parents lived, and ever claimed
her. He had made many inquiries, after that terrible
shipwreck, from which he always fancied his little treasure
must have been rescued, whether any on board had been
saved, but he could not hear of one escape.
And if she were, as sometimes he thought she might be,
Rosie's child, from the strong resemblance, did he still
long to see his sister once again? The question rose
often in his mind, but no answer came to it. Much as he
loved the memory of his little sister, if this were her child,
he loved her offspring better, and felt that he could not
give her up. But there was not much chance that her
parents, whoever they might be, had survived that night,
if they had been on board the ship that had foundered;
for the smack that had left Hampton a few hours before
the storm came on providentially lived through it, and when
Birdze. C

26 The Smack's Fruitless Errand.

shereturned the sailors said that, hearing in the morning-the
fearful tidings of the wreck, they had visited the scene of
the disaster, but although they had stayed many hours in
the hopes of picking up some one, their errand had been a
fruitless one.



I -~ ----r -_---a- -,-" ,'
i -\ ,--C t C .--'--^--" '.--



NEARLY eight years have elapsed, and every day and week,
and month and year, as it passed by, Birdie learnt to love
her guardian more, and he in turn became more fond of
his adopted niece. They were now seldom apart, and he
was so jealous of her that he would allow her no instruc-
tor but himself, and day by day she would bring her books
and say her lessons by his side. And they were pleasant
lessons, neither too long nor too short, too difficult nor
too easy; and thus with gentle training her little mind
was formed, and the happy days of her youth were spent.
Twice during these eight years the child had had a serious
illness, and then the good captain had nursed her tenderly.
It seemed almost as though he could not do enough for
Birdie. Often he had asked himself, if it would be just
for Birdie's parents to take her from him, even did they
live ?
"Is she not more mine than theirs?" he would say

28 The Visit to Margate.

"have I not taught and trained and loved her all these
years, and they knew her only as a babe ?"
Rover was growing old, but he was still strong and
active, and as true to his young mistress as on that day
when he saved her from a watery grave. And he was fond
of the kind captain, and often kept him company in his
walks. Rover knew well how he and Birdie were indebted
for their home to this kind friend, and he showed his
gratitude in a hundred ways.
Birdie had just recovered from her second illness, and
Captain Audley, thinking that a change might do her
good, had taken her to Margate. It was lovely summer,
and they were spending a very fine morning on the sands
together-Uncle George, Birdie, and Rover. The captain
was sitting down reading, whilst the other two amused
themselves-Birdie by digging with a large spade, which
she held in both her hands; and Rover was useful in
carrying for her a small pail, Uncle George's last purchase.
A lady, in widow's weeds, was also reading on the sands,
but from time to time she glanced up from her book, to
watch the child and dog. She appeared to be about forty
years of age; but there was an expression of sadness very
conspicuous on her face.
She would have been about that age now," she
murmured, looking at Birdie as she spoke; then, turning
her eyes towards the sea, she shuddered. Rover seemed

Rover Missing. 2g

attracted towards the lady, for he went up to her, and
sniffed and wagged his tail as though he would make
friends. She put out her hand to stroke the bushy head,
and Rover appeared pleased to gain notice. She won-
dered that the strange dog should leave his little playmate
and come to her. Birdie did not like to call Rover away,
and went quietly to sit beside her uncle, and tell him of
the dog's odd conduct. The lady rose and walked off, and
Rover followed her for a short distance, but soon returned
to his little mistress.
Very early the next morning the dog was missing
from the lodgings now occupied by Captain Audley and
Birdie. The child was very anxious when she could not
see him, and went to the door to look up and down the
street; but there was no trace of her loving, faithful
companion. Tears stood in her bright blue eyes as she
ran back into the house to tell Uncle George that she
thought Rover was lost for ever. He pacified her by
promising to go with her at once to look everywhere for
the missing dog. They walked through the town, but
Rover was nowhere to be found. They made inquiries of
those they met if any one had seen a large Newfoundland
dog. Most of the people they asked shook their heads;
-some had seen a dog, but it could not be Rover, for the
description did not tally. They went further, and on the
other side of the jetty, half a mile from the place where

30 The Captain's Foreboding.

they lived, they caught sight of Rover on the doorstep of
a house. What was he doing here, and why had he wan-
dered so far from home ? Birdie ran towards the dog, and
in an ecstasy of joy, she threw her arms round his big
neck and kissed him. "You naughty dog!" she said;
"why did you leave us, and frighten us so ?" Rover
seemed pleased to see Birdie, although he was evidently
not ready to follow her home immediately; for he still
sniffed at the door of the house, as if asking for admittance.
Isn't Rover funny, uncle ?" she said; "he won't come
with us, even now."
At that moment a face appeared at one of the windows.
Birdie recognized it directly, and whispered to her uncle
that it was the lady who was on the beach yesterday.
Captain Audley looked up quickly, and Birdie could tell
that he was agitated, though he said nothing. The face
had disappeared again from the window, and he had not
caught a glimpse of it. Why did he start ?-why did he
feel the blood rush into his face ? He did not know; but
he was angry with the dog for his conduct, and a fore-
boding crept into his mind that some evil, in which
Birdie was concerned, was in store for him. He took the
little girl's hand in his, and pressed it, saying, as she
thought, very oddly, Could you ever love any one better
than Uncle George, Birdie; and could you go away from
him ? The child was puzzled with the question, and was

____________________________ ---- .-,--=-- --_



Birdie's Talk about the Widow Lady. 33

considering how to answer it, when her attention was
called off by Rover jumping up at the window where the
lady had appeared, and barking loudly. The captain
walked quickly away, whistling to Rover, who now fol-
lowed them.
I wonder, uncle, why Rover. is so fond of that lady,"
Birdie said, in a serious tone ; "is it not funny ? and she
is so pretty !"
"What is she like ? asked the old man.
"Very pretty," said the child; "perhaps she'll be on
the beach to-day, and then you will see her."
"No," was the reply, spoken sternly; I do not care to
see her."
"But I want you to," Birdie said again. I am like
Rover, and should be so glad to know her."
"Why, child ?" asked the captain, seriously.
"Because she is so pretty, and looks so kind, and seems
so unhappy," said Birdie, with feeling.
Again Captain Audley took the little girl's hand in his.
Was it that a presentiment of half the truth came across
his mind, and made him fear? Could this lady, whom
Rover seemed to recognize, have any claim on Birdie ?
What if she knew her parents, and, discovering their child,
would win her from him ? He was so jealous of all her
love-he could not endure the thought of any one having
a care for Birdie but himself.

34 The Widow's Desire.

"I do not think we will go out again to-day, for fear of
losing Rover," he replied.
It was unlike the captain to make an idle excuse-but
then his whole manner was strange to-day.
"I wonder why Rover cares so much for her," Birdie
mused again, as though she could think of nothing else;
then she said, softly, Uncle, I want you so much to see
this lady, to tell me if I am like her at all."
"Why should you be ? he asked, quickly.
Because perhaps Rover thinks I am, and that's why he
likes her. He wouldn't care for her without some reason."
The captain made no further reply, and tried to change
the conversation. Every word that Birdie uttered seemed
to cause him fresh anxiety. He did not go out again that
day, and Birdie was content also to stay at home if her
uncle wished it, for she had no will apart from his, and
her happiness consisted in pleasing him.
And the lady in deep mourning had seen the dog, and
she had wondered at his conduct; but when she also
noticed the gentleman and little girl trying to entice him
away, she had left the window.
"The child has a sweet face," she said to herself; "I
should like to know her. I wonder whether she would be
as friendly as the dog. And the old gentleman-how
kind he looks !"
And, for the first time since she had been a widow,

The Past recalled. 35

she had a longing to make the acquaintance of strangers.
And whilst she thus thought, the past came back to her,
as it had come to Captain Audley when he had first seen
Birdie's face; but hers was a very different reflection from
his. She thought of a night when she had been at sea,
and a terrible storm had come on, and the vessel in which
she was a passenger was wrecked. She remembered how
she and her little infant-girl had left husband and father
in India, to come to England for six months, because she
was weak and ailing, and how, on the eve of arriving, the
storm had overtaken them. She had put the little girl,
as she thought, in a place of safety, and had left her dog
to watch, whilst she went to ask the captain if he could
give any hope, and what she could do for her child. She
was not absent many seconds, for she was anxious about
the little one, although she believed she had left her in
perfect safety. Every moment the storm raged more
fiercely, every wave dashed against the vessel with more
terrific force, and the captain gave no hope. She hastened
back to her child to catch her up and hold her in her arms,
that they might live or die together. But what was her
anguish when she could not find her-when she saw the
little berth empty, in which she had so carefully placed
her, and the dog gone also. What could it mean? In an
agony of spirit past description, the mother searched high
and low for her child, and told her woe to others. But

36 All Hope gone.

the little one was nowhere to be seen, and not very many
helped her in the search. Each person thought now of
himself in his hour of peril, and of those nearest to his
own heart; and the mother who had lost her child would,
no doubt, only be the first to suffer in the calamity that
seemed to threaten all. What should she do ? Should
she cast herself into the water and perish also ? In the
first moment of her grief she felt tempted to act thus, and
her remorse at having left her baby even for a few
moments, almost drove her mad, and she longed for death
to come and quench this misery, and reunite her to her
darling. But she thought also of some one else-her hus-
band, from whom she had so lately parted for six months,
the father of her lost child; what would be his grief if she
and the little one both perished? No-she must live, if
she could, to help to comfort him. And where was her
child? Could a wave have washed her overboard, and no
one have seen the disaster ? Could she really be beneath
those angry billows ? In all probability, and the dog
must have perished too. So the last hope died in her of
ever seeing her dear one again, and the vessel sank, and
her heart was intolerably wretched; but, for the sake of
him to whom the child was as dear as she was to her, the
poor mother clung to a portion of the wreck, and floated
with it. This was her last chance, her only hope of life,
and for her husband's sake she struggled hard against

Return to England. 37

death. All this Mrs. De Lisle remembered vividly to-day,
and what followed-how she found herself very ill, in an
outward-bound steamer, by which, she was told, she had
been picked up. And then for days she remembered no
more, except the one horrible, sickening thought continu-
ally present to her mind, even when fever was at its height,
that baby was drowned.
And thus she returned to India and rejoined her hus-
band, and told him the sad news of their little one's death
and her own seeming neglect. Together they mourned
the loss of their only child, and comforted each other, and
as each succeeding year went by, their chance of ever again
hearing of her grew less and less. Was it yesterday that
this had happened, which Mrs. De Lisle remembered so
well? No, not yesterday, but eight very long years ago,
and yet each circumstance was as fresh in her memory as
though it had been of quite recent date.
And now her husband has been dead a year, and she
has come to England and to Margate, to try to seek out a
dear friend who lived there many years ago.
But though this dear friend is also dead, yet the earth
holds others who are dear to her, albeit she knows it not,
and Margate, the very spot to which Providence has led
her, contains her whole world.



A WEEK went by, and each day the captain and Birdie
took their accustomed walk on the sands; but the child
looked in vain for the lady she was so anxious to point out
to him. Could it be that the lady had left Margate ? If
so, it was very provoking, for Birdie had made up her
mind to see Rover's friend on the beach again. Other
ladies and children were there, but there was no meeting
of the lady and Birdie.
One day Uncle George, not feeling very well, gave
Birdie permission to go out with Rover alone, on the
condition that they were not away long. Telling Rover
to fetch the pail, she took up her spade and hurried out.
She was very fond of playing on the sands, and to be
trusted there with Rover alone was a great treat. She
was sitting quietly, looking across the sands out upon the
sea, with Rover's big chin resting on her lap, whilst they
were eating a sweet biscuit together (Birdie had nothing

Birdie and the Lady. 39

good that she did not share with Rover), quite unconscious
that she was observed, when presently a lady, who had
been watching her for some minutes, came towards her,
and smiling, sat down at her side. Birdie looked pleased,
and Rover jumped up to welcome her, for the lady was
none other than his new friend.
Your dog has taken a fancy to me," she said, in a soft
voice; "is he generally so friendly with strangers ?"
I have never seen him make friends before," answered
Birdie; "I cannot think why he likes you so much."
"Do you mean that you could not like me, and are
surprised at his choice ?" she said, smiling.
Oh, no," replied Birdie, with warmth; "I do not mean
that, for I like you very much too."
The lady put out her hand for the child to shake.
Shall we be friends ? she asked. "Will you tell me
your name? "
Birdie hesitated for a moment. She thought of her
uncle, and of what he would probably say if he knew that
she was becoming acquainted with the lady he had said he
did not even wish to see; but she also knew that he would
not like her to be rude, and she could not refuse to tell to
this kind stranger her name.
My name is Birdie," she answered.
The lady started. "I had a little girl once who was
called Birdie."

40 Birdie Audley.

"And did she die ?" asked the child, sadly; "how
funny that her name was the same as mine."
"It is strange," echoed the lady, sighing; "she died
about eight years ago. If she had lived, she would have
been ten years old."
And I am nearly ten," said the other. "I shall be
ten in a month's time. When would your Birdie's birth-
day have been ? "
"To-day," said the lady, very sadly.
Captain Audley had believed Birdie to be about two
years old, from what he understood her to answer, when
he asked her age, and he had always kept her birthday on
the day that she had been brought to his home.
"And what is your surname ?" asked the lady.
"Audley," was the answer. Birdie Audley."
"Audley," repeated Mrs. De Lisle, and she dwelt upon
the word as she uttered it. "Is that your father who
comes to the sands with you ?"
"No, I have no father or mother. He is my uncle, and
is so good to me."
Have your parents been dead long ?"
The question was put simply, but Birdie did not know
how to answer it. She had grown up so naturally with
her unole, forgetting any other home that she might have
known before, and as he had never told her of her parents,
except that they were dead, she had no knowledge of them.

Drowned at Sea. 4

"I think so," she said.
The lady looked very pale. She could not have described
the sensation that passed over her when Birdie said these
words. She did not guess the truth; she had hardly
a presentiment, like the good captain; but she had a
strange longing to learn more of the history of this child
to whom she was speaking.
"And do you not remember your parents at all, dear ?"
I remember no one but dear Uncle George."
"And you have always lived with him ?"
"And you love him very dearly ?"
"Oh, so dearly," exclaimed the grateful child, "that I
could not love him more. But your Birdie," she continued,
as though she wished to hear more on this subject, "how
did she die ? Did you say it was long ago ? "
Eight years," the lady repeated. It seems a very
long while, but even now I cannot bear to think of her
dreadful death."
"I should like to know about it," said the child; will
you please tell me ? "
"She was drowned," answered. Mrs. De Lisle, sadly--
"drowned at sea."
"How dreadful! said Birdie, quickly. I am very
frightened of the sea. Uncle George says I am silly, and
wants to take me on it, but I will not go. Down Rover,"
Birdie. -

42 What do you call your Dog?"

she then added, speaking for the first time to her dog,
who was now annoying their companion by putting his
big head close to her face; down, Rover-how tiresome
you are!"
Again the lady glanced up with surprise, and now all
colour had faded from her cheeks.
"What do you call your dog ? she asked.
Rover," was the answer.
"And to whom does he belong-to you, or to your
"To both; but Uncle George says he is mine most. But
he really belongs to both of us."
Tears stood in Mrs. De Lisle's eyes when Birdie next
looked up at her.
"You are unhappy," she said.
The lady did not answer, but kept gazing at the child
and her dog. Birdie nestled close to comfort her.
"Don't cry," she said.
"I am all alone in the world," was the answer, "and I
have no one to love me."
"You have God," whispered the little girl, softly and
timidly. The good captain had not forgotten to mingle
with her education a knowledge and love of holy things.
He had strengthened, by precept and example, the faith
already begotten in Birdie when, at little more than two
years old, she had said that God had brought her to him.

A Mother's Instinct. 43

But I meant that I had no little girl to love me," said
the lady, smiling kindly, as though the answer had pleased
"May I love you?" asked Birdie; "I daresay Uncle
George will let me."
"I had a dog once," said Mrs. De Lisle, not answering
Birdie's question, "and his name was Rover."
"How funny!" exclaimed Birdie. "It is funny that
you had a Rover and a Birdie; perhaps we belong to you,
and your Birdie was not drowned, after all."
The child spoke at random and in jest; but her words
did not pass unheeded, for as the almost stranger clasped
Birdie in her arms, the mother's instinct told her that she
had found her child.
Mrs. De Lisle, quite overcome, sat looking steadfastly
into Birdie's face; but she did not speak again for some
time. At length she asked where her uncle lived, and
gave her own address, at which she was to ask him to call
at once.
Birdie then remembered Uncle George's admonition not
to stay out too long, and kissing very warmly her new
friend, she hurried home.
The child's heart was full-why she knew not; and
when she called Rover, and turned away from the dear
lady whom she thought so pretty, and who seemed so sad,
she could not look at her. Birdie thought much of the

44 Birdie's Sadness.

little girl who had been her namesake, and of her sad fate,
and of the other Rover. She had forgotten to ask what
became of him.
She did not seek out her uncle at once when she reached
home, as was her wont whenever for a few minutes she had
been absent from him; but she ran upstairs into her own
little room, and closing the door she flung herself across
her little bed, and sobbed as though her heart would break.
She was not aware, even now, why she was sad; but she
could not stop her tears, although she knew it would vex
her uncle to see her eyes red. If he asked why she had
been crying, what should she say? And when she gave
the message from the lady he did not wish to know, would
he be angry, or would, perhaps, that sorrowful expression
return to his face that she had seen on it often of late ?
She heard Captain Audley's step on the stairs, and his
voice calling to her. In a moment she had dried her tears
and had run to him; she could not disobey that call.
"Yes, uncle," she said; "do you want me ?"
I always want you, child," was the kind answer, as he
gazed anxiously at the tear-stained face, now held up for
him to kiss; "but why have you been crying?-has
Rover gone away again ?"
No, uncle," she said, as she burst into tears anew;
"but I did not know how much I loved you till to-day."
"And should that make my little girl sad? ?' he asked,

Uncle George's Inquiries. 45

as he led her into the sitting-room and took her on his knee.
No, uncle," she whispered; "but I don't know why I
am crying. I felt so unhappy, I could not help it."
Have you seen any one out of doors to-day ? he asked.
"Yes, uncle," she answered, with her usual candour;
"but I did not mean to displease you."
Again a deep cloud settled on his brow. What trouble
was in store for him, he wondered; what had made his
little one sad? He could bear any sorrow but one-he
could endure any trial but that of parting from her. Had
he loved her so fondly for these past eight years, only to
be separated from her at last?
"Was it that lady ?"
"Yes, dear uncle, and she told me something. I think
that is why I am so unhappy-but I do not know."
"What did she tell you? "
"So many things about herself. She had a little girl
once named Birdie, and a dog Rover, and seeing me made
her think of them again."
The sailor started.
Why should that remind her ? he asked. There
are many little girls, doubtless, called Birdie, and Rover is
a common name for a dog."
That was my father's name, uncle; and where did my
mother live ? the child asked, shyly. "I could not answer
the lady any questions about them."

46 Captain Audley's Anguish.

Why did she ask you any? "
"I don't know, uncle-but who were they ? I want to
know so much; but they could not have been as good as
you. Oh, uncle, I never could love any one in the whole
world as I love you."
Again he kissed her fondly, whilst hot scalding tears
came into his eyes. This assurance comforted him some-
what; but the child did not know the anguish her words
were causing one who had been more to her than father
and mother, and to whom she had been more than child,
for eight long years.
Ask me another time, child," he said; "I cannot talk
much to you to-day."
The lady told me to ask you," she then said, lowering
her voice, as though half afraid to deliver the message,
"to go and see her at once, uncle; she wants to see you
very much."
"She did not say, but this is her address; I suppose it
is the same house where we found Rover-and she said I
was to beg you to go; you will, uncle, won't you? "
Why should she want to see me? asked the captain,
anxious to find out how much of the thought of his own
heart Birdie shared with him.
"I don't know, only I want you to go so much."
"Some day-some day," he muttered, as he rose and

Mrs. De Lisle's Letter. 47

paced the room in evident agitation. Conscience was at
work within him, asking if he would do right to refuse to
the mother her child, to the child her mother; but he
could make no satisfactory answer to the hideous question.
It was a presentiment no longer that haunted him, but a
real fear, a true belief that Birdie had found her mother.
His own love rose up before him, his devoted love for
Birdie, unselfish as he had once deemed it-but now he
thought how wrongly-and he seriously asked himself,
"Could he bring about a separation between them? "
There was a knock at the door. The servant brought in
a letter. The captain open it, and read as follows:-

"Sir,-May I take the liberty to ask'you to call on me
at my lodgings, No. -, Paragon Terrace ? I am most
anxious to see you on a subject of much importance, and
shall be grateful if you can kindly make it convenient to
come at once.
I am, sir, yours faithfully,

The letter fell from his hands. "Rosalie!" What
could it mean? The same name by which he had called
his little sister. He had no thought of refusing to go to
see her now, or of deferring his visit. He felt puzzled,
staggered, dazed; but only one course was clear, only one
duty he recognized, one longing he felt-to see this lady,

48 Brother and Sister.

and if she were his sister, to restore to her the child he
had loved when he first saw her, he believed, for her sake.
"I am going out, Birdie, my child," he said, as she
threw her arms round his neck, and kissed him, to make
sure that she was quite forgiven. "Be happy with Rover
till I return." He clasped her in his arms-a long,
fervent clasp. It might be for the last time that he
could call Birdie his child-it might be that before long
he must resign her to another, or, at least, share her love
with some one else.
When Captain Audley arrived at the house where Mrs.
De Lisle lived, he was ushered into a prettily-furnished
sitting-room, where a young-looking woman, in widow's
weeds, rose languidly from her chair to greet him. On
her face, too, like on Birdie's, were traces of tears, and it
was strange how in that moment the faces resembled
each other. He stood and gazed at her. Again he saw
the little baby-face he remembered more than forty years
ago, when he had bidden his sister Rosie a long good-
bye ;" again he saw the little face of his precious adopted
child, as she lay that morning in the coastguardsman's
arms; and still more distinctly he saw the dear sweet face
of Birdie as he had just left her, when he looked upon the
features of the woman before him.
Rosie! he exclaimed, as he grasped her hand; am
I not right in calling you by that name ?"

Birdie's Mother. 49

A look of great astonishment rose in her face, as she
tried to unloose the hand that held her.
"You don't know me," he continued; how should
you, when you were only two years old when we parted ?
But I have never forgotten the little sister who was once
so dear to me. I am sure I am not mistaken. If you are
Rosalie De Lisle now, you were Rosie Holland once, and I
am your elder brother George."
"You my brother! she exclaimed, almost too greatly
agitated to speak; "you my good, kind brother, of whom
my nurse so often told me, and whom I have longed and
prayed to see for many years ? "
"Yes, Rosie, and by God's merciful providence we have
met again."
"And that child," she said quickly--" whose is that
child ?"
"Yours, Rosie."
"Mine?" almost screamed the mother, as she sank into
a chair.
And then followed, on both sides, an account of all that
had taken place on the occasion of that frightful storm, sc
far as they knew it; and when all had been satisfactorily
explained, no doubt remained on the mind of either that
Birdie was Mrs. De Lisle's own child. He told her how
he had loved the little one, first on account of her great
likeness to her mother, and afterwards because she was so

50 The Family Reunion.

gentle and so good. He recalled every look, every word,
every action of the child, as he remembered them, as soon
as she recovered consciousness, and related all to the
inquiring mother; and then the good captain's voice
faltered as he tremblingly offered to restore the child.
"Not restore her, dear brother-not give her up your-
self; she would never leave you; she told me only to-day
how much she loved you. Nor should I wish her to do so.
Your claim on her love is as great as mine; let me only
share it with you, and let us make our home together,
and be all in all to one another."
And Rover, what of him? Dear, good, faithful Rover!
Who could possibly think too well of his conduct; who
could love too much the noble animal who had so marvel-
lously saved the child? And what wonderful instinct had
led the faithful dog to recognize in the strange lady
at Margate his former mistress, after an eight years'
separation! Good, good Rover!
Birdie was more excited than surprised when her uncle
returned with the lady, and told her who she was. She
did not speak, but clung to her mother in mute delight.
Much had to be told again, for the child had to learn how
Uncle George had found her, and where her mother had
been all this time, and Captain Audley had to give an
account of his life from the age of twenty.
Birdie unloosed her hold of her mother to caress Rover.


... ........
,!, ,.I 1,1,, ,

"- II" II II !,JI,.'~~ l
-. c, i. ,


u:: ,.', ..

ltI ]0 E2
~. '&


Birdie's Complete Happiness. 53

"You darling dog," she said, with the tears of gratitude
streaming from her eyes; I ought to love you even better
than I do. You have always been a dear pet to me, but
now you are dearer than ever."
No words could describe Birdie's jo5, nor her mother's.
And to think that this reunion had taken place on Rosie
De Lisle's real birthday. To-day she was ten years old,
and her uncle, indeed her own uncle, told her, in jest,
that he had given her a mother for a birthday present.
How mysterious are the ways of God's providence !
Rosalie Audley De Lisle" became her name hence-
forward, but she still called herself, and made others call
her, "only Birdie."
The child seemed not to have a wish unfulfilled. To
have a mother, and to keep uncle too! To sit on his
knee and learn her lessons, and then to run and tell her
mother how she loved him. Rover was very happy now
that his mistress had returned to him, and his old age was
made peaceful in knowing himself beloved by all; and if
he could have looked back upon his gallant conduct, he
would have rejoiced at the happiness he had been per-
mitted to bring about. But he did not think of himself-
for dogs are not proud, and they are most unselfish,
and when they do kind actions, although they appreciate
fondness, they look for no reward. My tale of "Birdie
and her Dog" is now finished.

54 The Old Sailor's ltappiness.

The only drawback to perfect happiness was in the
thought that Birdie's father had not been spared to meet
his darling once again. But man must not question the
ways of the Almighty, The widow, reunited to her child
on earth-the child whom for many years she had mourned
as dead-falls on her knees to thank our Heavenly Father
for His goodness, and asks, in silent prayer, that she may
meet her husband in another and a better world..
Down the sunburnt cheeks of the old sailor the tears
trickle as he joins in the thanksgiving; but they are soon
wiped away, and when Birdie next glances up at him, she
finds a happier look on his face than she ever remembers
to have seen there before.

:-_-- ==:..-: --. ___


"WHY that's Oscar' come home again!"
A little girl, sitting near the window of a pretty house,
a short distance from town, uttered these words as she
quickly jumped from her seat, threw down her doll, and
looked out on to the lawn.
"Yes, mother, see! that is really Oscar coming here."
She spoke eagerly, and in her excitement she did not
notice that the lady whom she addressed had left the room.
She opened the window, stepped out, fastened it again,
and ran across the lawn.
Varlo was quite right. Nearly a quarter of a mile away
she had recognized Oscar, and he it was who now came
panting towards her. He crawled feebly along-he had
hardly strength to wag his tail to show his joy at
having met her again. Hisa tongue was parched, his feet
were so swollen that you could hardly tell they were feet

56 Poor Oscar's Distress.

at all, and his coat was covered with mud and dust. He
put his nose lovingly into Varlo's outstretched hands, and
then fell at her feet. She sat down beside him, and lifting
with great difficulty his big head, she slipped her knees
under it to make him a pillow.
What was the matter with poor Oscar?
How glad Varlo had felt to welcome him back, but what
was her grief now to see him so ill! She could not think
what ailed him: he was either dying or fainting-yet she
did not know if dogs could faint.
Oh, dear Oscar !" she said, as caressingly she put both
arms round the neck of the dog: "don't die now you've
come back to Varlo."
She looked towards home. If only some one from there
would come and help her-would come and tell her how
to make Oscar well! She had heard of water being given
to people when they fainted; she wondered if any would
do Oscar good now-but how could she get it ? If she left
the dog, he might be worse when she came back to him;
if she moved, just a little bit, his head would be uncom-
fortable. She could make no one see her. The windows
of the house looked a long way off, and yet she had seen
Oscar quite plainly from one of them. But perhaps no
one was at that window now, and sitting there on the grass
she must look very small.
Mother" could not have heard what she said as she



Birdie. E

Mrs. Briant not at Homie. 59

ran out, nor could she have seen her little daughter leave
the house without hat or jacket, or she would have been
after her before now.
Oh, mother," Varlo cried, as shivering with cold her-
self she wrapped her small skirts round Oscar's face to keep
at least that part of his big body warm; do come and help
poor Oscar You see he would not let you be unkind to
us; he wouldn't let us be separated."
But no mother heard, no mother came to the rescue of
dog or child!
Mrs. Briant was not at home. A few minutes after
Varlo had joined Oscar on the lawn, her mother had
looked into the dining-room again, with her bonnet on, to
tell her that she was going to call on her uncle; but not
finding the child there, she fancied she was with her dolls
in the nursery, and only waited to tell the servants that
she was going out for a short time, but would soon be
back. When they missed the little one, they fancied she
had accompanied her mother, running on before her as
was her wont so often. Mrs. Briant had no intention of
staying longer than an hour with her brother; but he per-
suaded her to remain on, and more than three hours
elapsed before she started to go home.
Meanwhile Varlo was trembling and aching with cold
and cramp. It was quite dark now, and the night air was
very chilly. Tears stood in the little girl's eyes; she felt

60 Varlo asleep on the Lawn.

as much lost here, on her mother's lawn, as if she were
miles away, for she could not move until Oscar awoke.
She would not for all the world leave him, for one minute,
when he might be dying. If only some one would pass
this way! But still no one was in sight, and this was not
surprising, for the path across the lawn was private, be-
longing exclusively to members of Mrs. Briant's household.
At length, thoroughly exhausted and benumbed, Varlo fell
An hour later Mrs. Briant returned from paying her
visit. Her brother, who was her escort home, persuaded
her to take the short cut across the lawn. As they walked
they imagined they saw something like a tiny shadow in
the distance, and going towards it, to their great horror
they found Varlo, without any further covering than her
frock and pinafore, fast asleep on the grass, and Oscar,
now somewhat revived, watching her. Mrs. Briant could
hardly believe her eyes. She was so astonished to see the
big dog again, but her anxiety on behalf of her child was
greater even than her surprise at the presence of the dog.
Her brother lifted the little sleeping one into his arms,
carried her gently home, and Oscar limped slowly behind.
The servants were astonished when they saw their mis-
tress and her brother return home with their strange
burden. In answer to questions put to them, they said
that they had not seen Miss Varlo since their mistress went

Oscar's Story. 61

out, and that they had all thought she had gone with her
mother. It was quite evident that the child had been
sitting on the damp grass for hours.
She was put from a hot bath into warm flannels, and
to bed, whilst the groom attended to Oscar's wants, brush-
ing his shaggy, dirty coat, bathing and poulticing his poor
sore feet, and then helping him upstairs to lie in front of
the bright fire in Miss Varlo's room.
Mr. Melrose had been abroad for four years, and .had
but last night returned to England, so he knew nothing
of Varlo's dog. Mrs. Briant related his story to him at
the child's bedside. Oscar had been given to Varlo when
she was two years old, now three years and a half ago.
From that time they had been playmates and fond com-
panions, till it was thought advisable to separate them for
a short time. The dog was valuable, and in consequence
was often stolen for a reward, each time he was missing
Varlo crying bitterly, and feeling sure that "this time he
must be gone. for good." Mrs. Briant had made up her
mind shortly to leave her present home, and take up her
abode at Beaulieu, a small village in the New Forest, in
Hampshire, there to join friends who were preceding her
by a few months. These friends offered to relieve her of
further anxiety with regard to the dog, by suggesting that
they should take him with them to Beaulieu, where they
would keep him very carefully until his little mistress ar-

62 The Escape from Beaulieu.

rived. Mrs. Briant was very glad to accept the kind offer;
but Varlo was inconsolable at the thought of her
favourite leaving her even for a few months-a few months!
In the eyes of a little girl of Varlo's age these months
seemed years.
It was a long journey for the dog to make. He was first
sent by carrier to Southampton; from thence he was
ferried ten miles over the Southampton Water to Hythe;
and Beaulieu was again distant from Hythe about eight
miles. When he reached this village he was tied up for fear
of being lost. All this Mrs. Briant knew for certain; the
condition of the poor travel-stained dog helped her to fill
in the outlines of the story, which were afterwards authen-
ticated as well as they could be. It seems that when Oscar
had been safely tied up for four weeks, he effected his'
escape. A week elapsed before her friends sent the news to
Mrs. Briant, hoping by means of advertisements to recover
the lost dog; but search was made in vain for him in every
direction, and then the letter with the bad tidings was
despatched, but it did not arrive until the day after Oscar's
return. The poor dog must have been a whole week
making his return journey. No wonder that he was faint,
footsore, and well-nigh dead with fatigue when he
reached home. How often little Varlo, and the house in
which she-his dear little playmate-lived, and the wood,
in which they had so often romped together, must have

An Unpleasant Week's Travelling. 63

been in his thoughts as he journeyed along the dusty
roads, and during his four weeks' sad imprisonment across
the water! How hungry, how thirsty he must have been
as he travelled on-how anxious lest by any unforeseen
accident he should miss irrevocably his way First he had
to find the road from Beaulieu to Hythe, then to swim
ten miles across the Southampton Water-for who would
trouble to ferry over a strange dog ?-and then there was
the long wearisome walk from Southampton to London,
which must have perplexed him sorely, as a carrier's cart
had conveyed him swiftly over the ground before. Poor
Oscar! he had had a very tiring, unpleasant week of toilsome,
difficult travelling; but now he was rewarded, for he was
at home again, and well loved and carefully tended, and
as Varlo had taken a severe cold and required gentle
nursing, the two invalids were doctored and recovered
How the little girl now clung, more than ever, to her
dog, need not be told-how well the faithful creature
served her in future can be easily imagined.
He returned later to Beaulieu with the family, but there
was no necessity for collar or chain then, for he did not
attempt to run away again. It was not one place that
Oscar disliked, nor another for which he cared; it was the
presence-dear faithful fellow-of those he loved which
endeared any spot to him.

1.1 - -I
'K- ~-'~


A FEW years ago, a shepherd was on his way from the
Cheviot Hills in Northumberland, to the Cleveland Hills
in Durham, with a beautiful drove of white lambs. They
had to cross the River Tyne at North Shields b3 the steam
ferry, and great was the confusion and excitement amongst
the flock, caused by the noise of the steam-engine and
paddle-wheels and the rushing of the water. However,
they got over safely, and soon came close to a large
manufactory (of which there are many in North and
South Shields), where they saw signs of what seemed to
them a thunderstorm; but which was simply the chimney
puffing forth a cloud of dense black smoke. They now
became more alarmed; it was a new world to them, and
they were not at all at home in it. The poor little lambs
missed the quiet of their mountain home. They fled for
escape, running down all manner of streets, lanes, and

'om a Photograph by] "WANDERING WILLIE." [M1'r. u!,tley, South Shields.

The Fruitless Search. 67

But, you will ask, who is "Wandering Willie"? He
was the shepherd's faithful dog, and if you read on you
will see how it is he came to earn his name. When
"Willie" saw the lambs running hither and thither, he
would like to have followed them all at one and the same
time, but as he could not divide himself into six or seven
parts, this was impossible. However, he did the best he
could, pursued the lambs in turns, and by running and
twisting here and there he at last got them into one flock,
and brought them all to the presence of his master. On
first counting them over, one of their number was thought
to be -;- ;iii;. and the drover raised a cry in Willie's
ear which he well understood. Away he ran in faithful
chase of the supposed missing lamb, and in his absence
the drove was found to be complete. The autumn sun had
now gone down, the toil-worn shepherd had four miles to
go before resting his weary charge, and he moved onward.
The dog meanwhile, which was expected to follow, did not
return for hours. He had sought through the town in
every conceivable corner for the supposed missing one, and
late at night was once more at the ferry in quest of his
master. He was not there, nor was he anywhere to be
found. Men came and went, but in none of these could
the poor animal identify the friend who was lost.
Few things are more sad than to see a faithful dog
searching for a lost master. He is most miserable, and

68 Willie Inconsolable.

will not receive consolation from others. Such was the
pitiable condition of Willie. He lay down in the track
of his companion of the morning moaning over his loss,
and almost dead with work and want. He lingered on the
spot for months, refusing the kindest efforts to win him
from his despair. He could only be lured into a meal by
placing it within his reach, and leaving him unlocked at
until he had eaten it. He seemed to think that whatever
interest was manifested in his welfare was but meant as a
bribe to induce him to forget his former master, and enter
the service of some new friend; and he would enlist under
no leader in the place of him whom he had followed from
the hills. Hour by hour, night and day, has he been
crossing the river by the ferry, making over and over
again the passage which he had first undertaken on his
arrival from the Cheviots.
Poor Willie's master, the shepherd, returning in the
following autumn with another flock, heard of his long
lonely wanderings, but missed him by a few minutes, and
could not recover him on that journey. Before the next
autumn the shepherd died, so Willie must now wander
in vain to find the master he so much loved.
Wandering Willie is now getting old, and the winters
have been very trying to him; but he continues as
earnestly as ever his daily and nightly wanderings in
search of his long-lost master. He has, however, lately

Responding to Kirndness. 69

begun to respond more to the kindness which all the ferry-
men, and every one who knows his story, have bestowed
upon him. He has even been seen at last to wag his tail,
and has accepted food more readily, and with expressions
of gratitude.
It is to be hoped that before long he will see that it is
useless, to search for his late master, and that he will
attach himself to one of his many kind friends, with whom
he may end his days in peace and happiness.

_-" fif -.- ,




THE great sagacity and intelligence of the sheep-dogs that
come to London must have been noticed by many. I have
seen one of them run, over the backs of the sheep in a
crowded street to get at the further end of them, in order
to turn them, and this on the slightest signal from his
master. When I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Hogg,
the Ettrick Shepherd, in London, he was kind enough to
relate to me some interesting anecdotes in natural history.
During the time in which lambs are weaned, the Ettrick
Shepherd had seven hundred of them under his care. As
is sometimes the case, especially at that time, they broke
away in the middle of the night, and scampered off in
three different parties across the hill, in spite of all the
shepherd and his assistant could do to keep them together.

,_ ,.. .. ,. .

Sirrah in Charge. 73

"Sirrah," cried the shepherd in great affliction, addressing
his dog, "my man, they're awa'." The night was so dark
that he did not see the dog, but the faithful animal had
heard his master's words, and without more ado, he silently
set off in quest of the flock. Meanwhile the shepherd and
his companion spent the night in scouring the hills for
miles round, but could see nothing of the flock or the dog.
On their way home in the morning they discovered a body
of lambs at the bottom of a deep ravine, called the Flesh
Cleuch, and the dog standing in front of them, looking all
round for some relief, but still standing true to his charge.
Not one of the whole flock was wanting.


A MAJOR in the army had a very sagacious pointer, which
was kept in a kennel with several other dogs. His game-
keeper having one day gone into the kennel, dropped his
watch by some accident. On leaving the place, he
fastened the gate as usual, but had not gone far from it,
when he heard that it rattled very much; on looking round
he saw his favourite pointer standing with her fore-paws
against it, and shaking it, evidently for the purpose of
attracting his attention. On going up to her, he found
her with his watch in her mouth, which she restored to
him with much seeming delight.-Jesse's "Anecdotes."
Birdie. F

74 The Affectionate Scotch Terrier.

LET me here record an instance of strong attachment
shown me by my favourite old dog Trim." He was a
rough Scotch terrier,; he loved me most faithfully, and
showed it in a thousand ways. Trim always slept under
my bed at night, awoke me by jumping upon it at exactly
the same time every morning, and accompanied me
wherever I went. He was, moreover, somewhat of a
Pickle, and ready for any mischief. I think I now see
his honest countenance watching me as I was preparing
to take my walk. Having occasion to be absent from
home for some time, I left him behind me. It was the
first time we had been separated, and my poor dog was
miserable. He wandered about the premises, and got
under my bed as usual; but my room being occupied by
some one else, he was driven from it, and from that time
my favourite dog was seen no more in the house.
The last I heard of Trim was from the post-boy who
drove me when I left my residence. He had a day or two
afterwards found out and followed the same chaise many
miles, barking now and then, and looking up to it, sup-
posing, no doubt, that I was in it. When the chaise
stopped, and the door was opened, he jumped into it, but
not finding me he disappeared, and I never could hear
of him afterwards. My own conviction is, that he again
set out for his master, and died untimely.-Jesse.

Gathering the Ewes together. 75

I HAVE discovered a good story about Nimble," the dog of
John Hoy, the shepherd, and it is connected with a snow-
storm. I will tell it here. One day, when the drifting
snow was quickly filling up the hollows of the hills and
the channels of the torrents, John Hoy, after gathering
together his ewes, found that he wanted about a hundred
of them. He returned once more to the heights, and
having sought for them the whole day in vain, began to
fear that they had been overwhelmed with snow in some
ravine. With a heavy heart he returned home. Just
before the evening closed in the weather cleared up a
little, and as a last resource he sent off Nimble by her-
self. She had found the scent of the stray ewes on the
hill while her master was looking for them; but not hav-
ing received orders to bring them, she had not the means
of communicating the knowledge she possessed. As soon,
however, as John told her to go and gather, she bounded
away; and in a few minutes he saw her, by the last gleam
of the waning day, at a distance of nearly a mile, bringing
the ewes round the hill, with her tail erect, and appa-
rently very happy at having relieved her master's anxiety
about the missing flock. M.
THE following amusing account of a dog has been sent me
by a gentleman of my acquaintance, and I give it in his

Gathering the Ewes together. 75

I HAVE discovered a good story about Nimble," the dog of
John Hoy, the shepherd, and it is connected with a snow-
storm. I will tell it here. One day, when the drifting
snow was quickly filling up the hollows of the hills and
the channels of the torrents, John Hoy, after gathering
together his ewes, found that he wanted about a hundred
of them. He returned once more to the heights, and
having sought for them the whole day in vain, began to
fear that they had been overwhelmed with snow in some
ravine. With a heavy heart he returned home. Just
before the evening closed in the weather cleared up a
little, and as a last resource he sent off Nimble by her-
self. She had found the scent of the stray ewes on the
hill while her master was looking for them; but not hav-
ing received orders to bring them, she had not the means
of communicating the knowledge she possessed. As soon,
however, as John told her to go and gather, she bounded
away; and in a few minutes he saw her, by the last gleam
of the waning day, at a distance of nearly a mile, bringing
the ewes round the hill, with her tail erect, and appa-
rently very happy at having relieved her master's anxiety
about the missing flock. M.
THE following amusing account of a dog has been sent me
by a gentleman of my acquaintance, and I give it in his

76 A Close Attendant.

own words: We had started from Geneva, on our way to
Basle, when we discovered that a dog was following us.
We found on inquiry that it did not belong to the
voiturier, and we then concluded that it would not be our
companion for any considerable distance, but would take
to the right or left at some turning, and so go to his home.
This, however, was not the case, for he continued with our
carriage through the whole of the day's journey. When
we stopped for the night, by close attendance on us as we
alighted, and sundry wags of the tail, looking up into our
faces, he installed himself in our good graces, and claimed
to be enrolled a regular member of the cortege. Give this
poor dog a good supper, for he has followed us all day,'
was the direction to the people of the inn; and I took care
to see it obeyed. This affair of the dog furnished conver-
sation after our dinner. We were unanimous in the
conviction that we had done nothing to entice the animal,
and washed our hands of any intention to steal him. We
concluded that he had lost, his master, and, as all well-
educated and discriminating dogs will do in such a
dilemma, that he had adopted other protectors, and had
shown his good sense and taste in the selection. It was
clear, therefore, that we were bound to take care of him.
He was a stout dog, with a cross of the mastiff in him;
an able-bodied trudger, well-formed for scuffling in a
market-place. He was a dog also of much self-posse ssion

The Attachment explained. 77

In our transits through the villages he paid but little
attention to the curs which now and then attacked him.
He followed us to Basle; we assigned to him the name of
'Carlo,' to which he had already learned to. answer readily;
we became quite attached to him, and the affection
appeared to be mutual. At Basle we told the innkeeper
the story, and added that we had nothing to do but to
take the dog to England with us, as we could not shake
him off. The landlord smiled. Why,' said I, is it your
dog?' 'No,' said he. Does he belong to any one that
you know ?' 'No' replied the host. 'Why do you smile
then?' 'Vous verrez?' 'Well, but explain.' 'Well
then,' said the landlord, this dog, which belongs to no
one, is in the habit of attaching himself to travellers
passing between this place and Geneva. He has often
been at my house before. I know the dog well. Be
assured he will not go further with you.' We smiled in
our turn : the dog's affection was so very marked. 'II y
trouve son compete said the landlord-'c'est son gagne-
pain!' We smiled again. Encore,' resumed the land-
lord, vous verrez.'
The next morning the dog was about as usual. He
came to us, and received a double portion of caresses for
past services; also some food in consideration of the long
trot before him. The horses were to-we jumped into the
carriage, and off we started. Hie, Carlo! Carlo--Hie

78 Recognition of Portraits.

Carlo !' Not a leg did he wag, but only his tail. 'Carlo,
Carlo, Carlo!' But he would not stir. He stood watch-
ing us with his eyes, as we rolled along, and then, turning
round, walked leisurely up the inn-yard; whilst the
amused landlord stood at his door laughing."-Jesse's
"Gleanings in Natural History."


MR. EDWARDS, Lord Jersey's trainer at Newmarket, had
the care of his lordship's celebrated horse Glencoe," and
a great affection existed between Glencoe and a large
Newfoundland dog of Mr. Edwards'. The dog lived in the
stable with the horse, and followed him when he was taken
out to exercise. While this friendship existed, Glencoe
was parted with. The dog was inconsolable, refused to eat,
and it was supposed would have died. On being brought
from the stable by his master into his sitting-room, which
had several portraits of horses hung against the wall, and
that of Glencoe amongst the rest, the dog fixed his eyes
on the likeness of his late companion. At first he began
to wag his tail gently, but at last showed the greatest
excess of joy, jumped up to the picture, and it was
evident that he had discovered the likeness of his absent
friend. This anecdote may be thought extraordinary, but
the celebrated Dr. Pearce, Bishop of Rochester, mentions

Lady Kneller's Dog. 79

one almost similar to it. He says that when he was one
day visiting Sir Godfrey Kneller, at his country seat at
Whitton, near Hounslow, he took him into his summer-
house, where there was a whole-length picture of Lady
Kneller, which was much damaged and scratched at the
bottom. Upon the Bishop expressing a curiosity to know
how it became so injured, Sir Godfrey said it was owing
to a favourite dog of Lady Kneller's, who, having been
accustomed to lie in her lap, scratched the picture in that
manner in order to be taken up. This made the Bishop
mention that Zeuxis had painted a bunch of grapes upon
a boy's head so naturally that a bird pecked at them.
Sir Godfrey answered "that if the boy had been painted
as well as the grapes, the bird would not have ventured
to peck at them."


MR. A. H. BULLEY was in the winter of 1816 caught in a
heavy snow-storm late in the afternoon, and being several
miles from any habitation, had nowhere to seek shelter.
Having battled with the thick falling flakes and wild
blinding drift from four o'clock in the afternoon till eight
at night, he was fairly overcome, sunk at last among the
snow completely overpowered, and was immediately in a
state of oblivion. The place where he had fallen was in

80 Mr. Bulley's Providential Deliverance.

an open field near the village of Birtly, and on the pro-
perty of a farmer named Smith. In about half an hour
after he had succumbed to the storm the snow ceased
falling, the sky became clear, and a strong frost set in.
It happened providentially for Mr. Bulley that a young
man; a servant to Mr. Smith, took advantage of the night
to go in search of hares, which were plentiful in the neigh-
bourhood. At that time the skins of these animals were
worth considerably more than the carcases, being valued
from one to three shillings apiece. After this young man
had been out some time, his dog came up to him in an
unusually excited manner. He looked about him, but
could see nothing, although the stars shone brilliantly.
The dog, however, let him have no rest until he made him
acquainted with his own discovery. Seeing that his
master was undecided, he caught hold of the corner of his
plaid, and held it in his mouth until he brought him to
where Mr. Bulley lay, who in a short time was restored to
consciousness, and conducted to the house of the farmer.
The above fact was communicated in 1867 to Frank
Buckland, the eminent naturalist, and appeared for the
first time in the pages of Lanid and Water.


MR. POYNDER, the brother to the Treasurer of Christ's
H-ospital, brought home from Newfoundland a dog, a

A Clever X I ,'.:,, ,,71.i, ,7 Dog. 81

native of that country. This animal had established a
strong claim on his master's affection, from the circum-
stance of his having twice saved his life by his sagacity in
finding the road home, when Mr. Poynder had lost his
way in snow-storms, many miles from any shelter: and
when his master had embarked for England, and had left
him to the care of friends at Newfoundland, the dog had
swum more than three miles to the ship in order to rejoin
him. Mr. Poynder landed at Blackwall, and took the
dog in a coach to his father's house at Clapham. He was
there placed in a stable, which he did not leave until the
second day after his arrival, when he accompanied his
master in a coach to Christ's Hospital. He left the
coach in Newgate Street, and proceeded through the
passage leading to the treasurer's house; not being able
to gain admittance at the garden entrance, Mr. Poynder
went round to the front door, and thinks he left the dog
at the garden entrance, for he did not recollect seeing him
afterwards. In the hurry and excitement of meeting his
friends, he for a few minutes forgot his dog, but the
moment he recollected himself he went in search of him.
He was nowhere to be seen, and his master hastened to
prepare his description and to offer a reward in the public
papers. Early, however, next morning a letter arrived
from the captain of the ship in which Mr. Poynder had
sailed from Newfoundland, informing him that the dog

82 Warning of Dange.

was safe on board, having swum to the vessel early on the
previous day. By comparing the time on which he arrived
with that when he was missing, it appeared that he must
have gone directly through the. city from Christ's
Hospital to Wapping, where he took to the water.


IN the autumn of 1869 there appeared in the columns of
a Belfast newspaper, the Northern Whig, the following
account of a very wonderful dog. The dog in question is
a Newfoundland, the property of a captain who sails one
of the steamers running between Belfast and Barrow-in-
Furness. The vessel generally makes the trip during the
night. As soon as her steam is up Bob," certain occa-
sions being excepted, mounts to the gangway and takes
his place beside his master, or whoever else may be on the
look-out. There he sits all through the voyage, keeping
a sharp look-out ahead. Whenever the lights of any
strange vessel come into view in the path of the steamer,
Bob barks out a loud warning, and should the captain or
mate not seem to take any notice by at once shouting out
directions to the man at the wheel, Bob keeps on barking
until the orders are given, or he is informed by a pat on
the head that all is right'and that there is no danger to be
feared. However, on the exceptional occasions Bob, as

Instinct exercised. 83

soon as he sees preparations being made for leaving the
harbour, goes on shore, and no entreaties will coax him
back on board. Should he suspect violent measures are
about to be resorted to, he trots off and disappears into the
town. At such times as Bob deserts his ship, the night
before the voyage is completed is certain to prove wild and
stormy, although there are no signs of rough weather at
the time of the vessel's departure. By what exercise of
instinct-or may it not be termed process of reasoning-
is Bob enabled to foretell the weather, as many other
animals often do, cats and sheep for instance ? Is Bob a
coward in deserting his ship, or does he wish to impress
upon his master that the voyage he is about to undertake
is fraught with danger and disaster ?


A FARMER in a village in Lincolnshire has a dog remark-
able for his sagacity. If he accidentally or purposely
leaves his gloves, stick, or handkerchief on any part of his
farm during his morning's walk, and upon his return home
indicates his loss by certain signs to his dog, away the
animal will go and find and bring them. If any well-
dressed person goes into the farmyard during the day, the
dog takes no notice. If, however, a beggar enters the
premises, the dog instantly goes to him, gently lays hold

84 The Careful Conductor.

of his stick or clothes, and leads him to the door of the
dwelling-house, and sees him safe off the premises under
similar precautions. But in the night the faithful animal
will apprehend all persons without distinction, and never
quits his hold until bidden by his master or mistress. The
latter has a sister living on an adjoining farm. In order
to facilitate the communication between the two houses, a
single plank was thrown across a deep drain. The wife of
the owner of the dog constantly and fearlessly entrusts her
little children to his care, when they are anxious to visit
their aunt. The animal halts the little tribe when he
comes to the narrow bridge, and conducts them over it one
by one, always taking firm hold of the child's garments
behind; and when he has safely conducted one child he
returns for another. He then waits for their return, and
conveys them home in a similar manner.


THE following anecdote is given on the authority of the
Naturalist's Note Book. A miller at the small town
of Needham, in Suffolk, possessed a large dog of the
Newfoundland breed, and having no longer any use for
him, resolved to send him to his brother, a miller at
Woodbridge. This was done by train; the dog was
put in the train at Needham Market in a proper com-

Fi;*1,: the Way Home. 85

apartment, and from thence went to Ipswich, and thence
to Woodbridge, altogether a distance of nineteen miles.
Upon the dog's arrival at Woodbridge, its new owner
shut it up for two days. On the following Sunday
night, about nine o'clock, the dog was let out, and
was supposed to have accompanied his master into the
house; however, this was not the case, for to the surprise
of the miller and his men at Needham, upon their going
into the yard to commence work at 6 A.M., the dog quietly
came out of its kennel and frisked about with joy at seeing
its old master. How long the dog had been there no one
could tell. He was safe at Woodbridge at 9 P.M., Sunday
night, and he had evidently been at home some time be-
fore 6 A.M. Monday morning; and what is the more sur-
prising, he had never travelled to Woodbridge previously.


THE Rev. F. O. Morris, B.A., in his Records of Animal
Sagacity," gives the following fact:-" A child, playing on
Roshe's Wharf with a Newfoundland dog belonging to his
father, accidentally fell into the water. The dog immedi-
ately sprang after the child, who was only six years old,
and seizing the waist of his little frock, brought him into
the dock, where there was a stage, by which the child held
on, but was unable to get on the top. The dog, seeing it

86 Scving Two Brothers.

was unable to pull the little fellow out of the water, ran
up to the yard adjoining, where a girl of nine years of age
was hanging out clothes. He seized the girl by the frock,
and notwithstanding her exertions to get away, he suc-
ceeded in dragging her to the spot where the child was
still hanging by the hands to the stage. On the girl
taking hold of the child, the dog assisted her in rescuing
the little fellow from his perilous situation, and after licking
the face of the infant it had thus saved, it took a leap off
the stage, and swam round to the end of the wharf, and
immediately after returned with his hat in his mouth."


MR. YATES, a gentleman well known in London, was one
fine summer's morn taking his usual walk in Hyde Park
accompanied by his Newfoundland dog, which was gam-
bolling about in all the joyousness of health and liberty.
When Mr. Yates had gone some distance along the margin
of the Serpentine, he observed his dog in the act of
bringing something out of the water, and when he got up
to him he found that he had landed the body of a boy,
living, but insensible. As soon as the dog had landed the
youth, he again bounded into the water, and in the course
of a very short time he landed another boy, fairly
exhausted. The boys the dog had rescued were brothers

-O H-- OII "s


A Strikig Case of Sagacity. 89

the sons of an independent gentleman; their respective
ages were sixteen and fourteen years; they had gone into
the water at the same time; the elder, however, came
out, leaving his brother to enjoy his wild frolics: but
while in the act of dressing, he saw that his brother was
drowning. Without losing a moment of time, he plunged
into the lake, and it was when both the boys were all but
lost that the dog saved the life of the younger, who was
the most exhausted, after which he rescued the other. As
a reward for his gallantry, the dog was invited to a sort of
public ovation at a dinner party given by the father of
the boys. Had the dog made the elder boy the first
object of its exertions, the younger would inevitably have
perished. That it acted as it did, is one of the most
striking instances of animal sagacity on record. Edmund
Yates, a son of Mr. Yates, a well-known litterateur,
attests to the truth of the above adventure of his father's

ONE day in the summer of 1875 a little child fell off the
steps of the Thames Embankment into the river. No
boat was at hand, and the child was likely to perish. Just
at the right moment a gentleman with a beautiful dog
came up. A few words and the pointing of the finger
told the sagacious animal what to do. He dashed into
Birdie. G

90 "Bonner finding the Ship.

the Thames, dived after the sinking child, and soon swam
with her to the steps. Everybody began praising the dog,
and wanted to know whose it was. Never mind," said
the kind gentleman, "what my name is; the name of my
brave dog is 'Ready."' And off they walked. The child
soon recovered.


CAPTAIN DANCE, who as commodore of a fleet of Indiamen
successfully repelled the attack of a French squadron
under Admiral Linois during the war, brought with him
from China a native dog. After his ship was at her moor-
ings in the Thames, he ordered a chaise, had the dog put
in it, and drove with it to his house near Leatherhead, in
Surrey, where "Bonner" was safely made over to Captain
Dance's sisters. The next night, as the Indiaman was
getting under way for the docks, one of the sailors heard
a loud barking amongst the rushes on the Kent side of
the river, and immediately exclaimed that it was Bonner's
bark. This was declared by his shipmates to be impos-
sible, as the captain had taken him away the day before.
The man, however, persisting that he was correct, a boat
was at length lowered, and on arriving at the side of the
river, Bonner was discovered among the rushes, and was
taken on board.

I A~' ~ _- .-. ._

.......- . .

z2-U ERE E

The Sagacious Newfoundland Dog. 93

Here was an instance of a foreign dog being brought to
a strange country, and taken in a carriage to a distance of
some twenty or twenty-five miles from the ship he had just
left, finding his way back to it through a country essen-
tially different to his own-a different soil and climate,
different objects and different people.
By what instinct the dog was enabled to do this won-
derful feat it is not easy to define. We can only give the
fact as received from the most respectable authority.


ONE of the late chaplains of the embassy at Lisbon brought
to England with him a Newfoundland dog, so large that
he was obliged to go by sea from Torquay to London, as
no public coach would convey him. Though so immense
in size he was very gentle, though perfectly aware of his
own powers. When his master was at the hotel at Tor-
quay, the waiter spoke savagely to the dog, and tried to
prevent him going where he wished. With one stroke of
his paw he felled the waiter, and then passed on without
doing him any further mischief. When his feet were
dirty he always entered the passage and ascended the
stairs on tiptoe to avoid being detected, but when his feet
were dry he trod with all his weight, and made as much
noise as a pony. After being two days at the hotel, he

94 Begging the Servant to pomp.

wanted water. A gentleman who related the circum-
stance saw the dog go to the kitchen, take up a pail in his
mouth, and carry it to the pump in the yard. He sat
down by it till one of the servants came out, and then his
gestures were so significant that the man pumped the
pail full. When he had drunk a sufficient quantity of
water, he took up the pail again and carried it to the same
place in the kitchen from whence he had taken it.


MR. HERRIOT, who in 1862 held the office of a district
registrar in Edinburgh, was wont to relate the following
anecdote. He was in the habit of spending his annual
holidays with a friend who held a sheep-farm on the
southern slope of the Ochil Hills, not far from the little
smoky town of Alloa. During his visits he had formed a
very friendly acquaintance with one of his host's dogs,
named Rab," and upon the occasions of Mr. Herriot's
visits he always asked, after the usual inquiries about the
family, how the dog was getting on. Mr. Herriot went
down to spend his holidays with his friends in Stirling-
shire, in the autumn of 1859, and upon inquiring for his
canine friend, the guid wife" informed him that he was
"dead and gane," but added, by way of consolatory infor-
mation, "he has left another behind him just as good as

Bringing Home the Diseased Sheep. 95

himself. Mr. Herriot observed that his death must have
been a great loss, as he was such a sagacious animal.
"Indeed," answered the guid wife, "you may well say
that. We've had many a good colley since we came to
the farm, but we never had one like him. Last autumn,
after you went away hame, Rab left hame one after-
noon, and about the gloaming he brought a sheep down
from the hill, and, though you would hardly believe it, he
went nine times to the hill and brought a sheep hame wi'
him every time." But," asked Mr. Herriot, with surprise,
"why did Rab bring the sheep home? "
"That's just where the whole matter of the brute's
wiseness lies," she replied; every one of those nine sheep
was diseased, and he brought them hame for the double
purpose of getting cured and preventing the rest o' the
flock from being smitten with the disease."


A FRIEND of mine had a poodle dog possessed of more than
ordinary sagacity, but very little under command. To
keep him in better order, his master purchased a small
whip, with which he corrected him once or twice during a
walk. On his return the whip was put on a table in the
hall, and the next morning it was missing. It was soon
afterwards found concealed in an out-building, and again

96 Hiding the Whip.

made use of in correcting the dog. It was again lost, and
again found hidden in another place. On watching the
dog, who was suspected of being the culprit, he was seen
to take the whip from the hall-table, and make off with it
to another hiding-place J.

1 ..'K.

--.u ---^1 *



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