Rose is our old dog. Her hair is as curly as dandelion stems. Her tail
waves like a great feather duster.
When we say "Good dog," it thumps like grandpa's cane when he walks
up-stairs. Now I will tell you why we call her "Good old Rose."
One day papa sent Lily to the store. Lily is six years old. The store
is just beyond the railroad track.
"Rose, take care of Lily!" said papa. Rose wagged her tail for "yes,
sir!" and off they went. She trotted along by Lily's side. Lily felt
very grand to go to the store all alone. She didn't know that Rose was
taking care of her.
All at once Rose caught Lily's dress in her teeth. They were just
going to cross the track.
"Let me go!" said Lily. But Rose pulled her back hard. Lily looked up
and down the track. There was no train in sight. But Rose _heard_ it
shake the ground. "You shall let me go!" cried Lily. "Bad Rose!" and
she jerked the dress, and tore it out of Rose's teeth, and ran. Then
Rose jumped right at Lily and threw her down on the ground, and
dragged her back again.
Just that instant the train thundered round the curve. But Lily was
safe. How the men in the train cheered! how the ladies waved their
handkerchiefs! Rose hadn't any handkerchief, but she waved her tail,
and that is all a dog can do.