"The family friend for ten years or more
That basked in the garden and dozed in the hall,
And listened for songs on the mat on the door."
Tupper.
"Just like our Tiny!" said little Ada Mair when she first saw the
subject of my present sketch. "Just like our Tiny!" repeated her wee
sister Ailie, going directly up, throwing her arms about Charlie's neck
and kissing him.
Charlie, you will understand, was the dog's name, a small black and tan,
with a coat as dark as a raven's wing, and as soft and sheeny as satin.
Not, mind you, that it was soft in reality, only it felt so. The tan in
Charlie's cheeks, and eyebrows, and neck and feet, was of the richest
mahogany, and his eyes were like the eyes of a young seal, or some
lovely gazelle. Altogether we were all very fond of Charlie, and not a
little proud of showing off his tricks to strangers, and we were
positively astounded when one day we were told by a gentleman who knows
a very great deal about dogs, that although our Charlie was "a very
pretty fellow," still he was not quite well enough shaped in the head,
too short and broad in fact, to take a prize at a show.
"O! you _must_ be mistaken," said our maiden aunt, bristling up; "_we_
think him perfection."