Princess, having been “over” only a short time, and being unaccustomed
to American ways, could tell only of her far-away Russia.
Her story was so sad that all were glad it was not a long one. They
hoped that after she had been longer in our beautiful America, she
would be able to forget those dark days of her own country. They hoped
too that Russia, where these graceful hounds live, would see better
times, and that no more cruel wars would wreck her government.
Princess was made acquainted with all the dogs in the park. Each in
turn gave her a welcoming sniff, and assured her they would try to make
it pleasant for her, so she would forget the tragedies of her native
land.
She became a noted figure when led along the paths in the park. No one
could look at her without their minds reverting to that terrible war
and those helpless princesses of Russia, and the brave women who took
up arms against their enemies during the reign of terror.
The story Princess told was one she had heard in England. When she was
a puppy, she was taken by an English sailor, who was returning home
from the far East. At the kennel where she was finally left, she looked
more like a young sheep than a dog. With her long legs, long tail, long
head, small ears, and soft, silky coat, she was entirely unlike such
dogs as Pixie or Ruby.
At the English kennels, which belonged to some of the nobility, she
was well cared for. They were reluctant to part with her, but being in
straitened circumstances since the war, they needed all the money they
could get. So, when her present owners were traveling in that country
and offered a good price for her, she was allowed to come to America.
That was how it came about that she now was telling her story to a
group of American dogs.
In discussing the merits of the wolfhounds to prospective buyers, the
keeper of the kennels would tell that Princess was related to the
beautiful Russian hounds belonging to the Czar. Often, he would say,
before the war, the lovely princesses were seen leading these graceful
white creatures through the park around the royal palace at Petrograd.
When the royal family was destroyed, these dogs were scattered to
the four corners of the earth, as they were sold or carried off by
marauding armies. The Princess was fortunate in falling into the hands
of the English, who are great lovers of dogs. She could never think
of her ancestors, and of how fond they must have been of those sweet
princesses, without deep emotion; but, as there were no princesses in
this country, she would try to forget.