THE FAITHFUL DOGS.
"O, cousin Minnie," cried Ida, "here are some beautiful stories. Let me
read them to you."
"An English terrier was brought up in a family where there was a little
girl, with whom he was a great favorite. For hours together they amused
each other, the dog readily yielding obedience to every wish of his
little friend. One day, however, when they were at play in the nursery,
the mother was startled by a quick snarl from the terrier, expressive of
temper and violence.
"Alarmed for her child, she rushed to the dog and drove him angrily
away; but after the closest examination, she could find no trace of
injury inflicted on the little girl, and she soon, forgot both the
outcry and alarm.
"Meantime poor Fido had not ventured from the corner where he had been
driven in disgrace, but remained for a long time pensive and quiet in
his retreat. At last, when his little playmate began to look round for
him, he came slowly forward to the mother of his companion, and sitting
directly before her, with a touch of his paw solicited her attention.
"'What is it, Fido?' she asked.
"He rose gently, and placed something on the carpet at her feet.
"It was a pin, which she lifted up and examined, every motion closely
watched by the dog. His pleading eye was too obvious to be
misunderstood, and by questioning the child, the whole was soon
explained. The pin had come in her way, and, in the fun of childhood,
she had tried to make a pin-cushion of Fido's nose. The snarl was
caused by pain, and the snap following removed the dangerous weapon from
unsafe hands.
"The lady patted the dog, calling him 'good Fido,' when he at once
turned to his favorite, to assure her of his forgiveness, and to ask
that they might be friends again. And so they were ever after."
"That is a very good story," said Minnie, smiling. "I wish you would
read another one as good."
"Here is one," responded Ida, having cast her eye over it, "which is
rather sad."
"A gentleman named Llewelyn had a fine hunter, which he called Gelert.
One day, the dog refused to accompany his master to the chase, which
made him very angry.
"Gelert always kept sentinel at night at the door of his bedchamber,
and, on his return from the chase, Llewelyn met the dog coming from the
room, covered with blood. He entered in great haste, alarmed for the
safety of his child, when he found the bed overturned, and the coverlet
stained with gore. In an agony of apprehension, he called aloud to his
boy, but received no answer, and rashly concluded that the babe had been
killed by Gelert.
"Without stopping to reflect upon the fondness the animal had always
manifested for the child, he ran his sword through the poor creature's
body.
"Roused from his slumber by Gelert's dying yell, the infant awoke, when
the father, advancing, found to his heart-rending remorse, a gaunt wolf,
torn and bleeding, tremendous even in death, lying on the floor near the
tender nursling. The faithful dog had seen the wolf prowling about,
and, refusing to accompany his master to the chase, of which he was
extremely fond, placed himself near the couch of the boy, and in the end
saved his life, though, as it proved, at the sacrifice of his own.
"Llewelyn, who never could forgive himself, afterwards built a chapel,
and raised a tomb to the memory of his faithful dog, who fell a victim
to a momentary passion. This tomb is still called Beth-Gelert, or the
tomb of Gelert; multitudes have there heard the account of his bravery
and his untimely death."
"How very sorry he must have been!" exclaimed Minnie, tears filling her
eyes.
"Read that account of the Stockholm dog," said Mrs. Lee.
"Yes, aunt; but first here is a story of the fidelity of a dog, which is
very affecting."
"A French merchant, having some money due from a correspondent, set out
on horseback, accompanied by his dog, on purpose to receive it. Having
settled the business to his satisfaction, he tied the bag of money
before him, and began to return home. His faithful dog, as if he entered
into his master's feelings, frisked round the horse, barked, and jumped,
and seemed to participate in his joy.
"After riding some miles, the merchant alighted to repose himself under
an agreeable shade, taking the bag of money in his hand, and laying it
down by his side under a hedge, when, upon remounting, he unfortunately
forgot it.
"The dog perceived his want of recollection, and wishing to rectify it,
ran to fetch the bag; but it was too heavy for him to drag along. He
then ran to his master, and by crying, barking, and howling, tried to
remind him of his mistake.
"Unfortunately, the merchant did not understand his language; but the
assiduous creature persevered in his efforts, and after trying to stop
the horse in vain, at last began to bite his heels.
"The gentleman, absorbed in some reverie, wholly misunderstood his
animal's expostulations, and entertained the alarming apprehension that
he had suddenly gone mad. Full of this suspicion, in crossing a brook,
he turned back to see whether the dog stopped to drink. The faithful
creature was too anxious concerning his master's business to think of
it, but continued to bark and bite with greater violence than before.
"'Mercy!' cried the affrighted merchant, 'it must be so? My poor dog is
certainly mad. What shall I do? I must kill him, lest some greater
misfortune befall me; but with what regret! O, could I find any one to
perform this cruel office for me! But there is no time to lose; I myself
may become a victim if I spare him.'
"With these words he drew a pistol from his pocket; and with a trembling
hand took aim at his faithful servant. He turned away in agony as he
fired; but his aim was too sure. The poor animal fell wounded, and
weltering in his blood, still endeavored to crawl toward his master, as
if to tax him with ingratitude. The merchant could not bear the sight:
he spurred on his horse with a heart full of sorrow, and lamented that
he had taken a journey which had cost him so dear. Still the money never
entered his mind; he only thought of his poor dog, and tried to console
himself with the reflection that he had prevented a greater evil than he
had suffered a calamity by despatching a mad animal. But even this
thought did not quiet him.
"'I am most unfortunate,' said he to himself; 'I had almost rather have
lost my money than my dog.'
"Saying this, he put out his hand to grasp his treasure. It was missing;
no bag was to be found. In one instant his eyes were opened to his
rashness and folly. 'Wretch that I am!' he cried; 'I alone am to blame.
I could not understand the caution which my innocent and most faithful
friend gave me; and I have sacrificed him for his zeal. He only wished
to inform me of my mistake; and he has paid for his fidelity with his
life!'
"Instantly he turned his horse, and went off at full gallop to the
place where he had stopped. He saw with half averted eyes the scene
where the tragedy was acted; he perceived the traces of blood as he
proceeded; he was oppressed and distracted; but in vain he looked for
his dog; he was not to be seen on the road.
"At last he arrived at the spot where he had alighted. But here his
heart bled afresh. He was entirely overcome. The poor dog, unable to
follow his dear but cruel master, had determined to consecrate his last
moments to his service. He had crawled, all bloody as he was, to the
forgotten bag, and in the agonies of death, he lay watching beside it.
[Illustration: THE DOG FAITHFUL TILL DEATH. Page 92.]
"As soon as he saw his master, he testified his joy by wagging his tail.
He could do no more; he tried to rise, but his strength was gone. The
vital tide was ebbing fast; and even the caresses of his master could
not prolong his life for a few moments. He stretched out his tongue to
lick the hand that was now fondling him in the agonies of regret, as if
to seal forgiveness of the deed that had deprived him of life. He then
cast a look of love on his master, and closed his eyes in death."