The Animal Story Book

f Scotland, where high hills slope down to the shores of a blue loch, and the people talk a strange la

t a Highlander, can pronounce properly. However, the dogs had a great many friends who could not tal

ot to get in the way more than so big a dog could help, and not to get too much excited when anything in the conversation suggested the likelihood of a walk. But his father and all his ancestors had led very different lives; they had been trained to go out on the mountains with men who hunted the wild deer, and to help them in the chase, for the deerhounds run with long bounds and are as fleet as the stag himself. Then,

ucky for his size, like the fierce little bird whose name he bore. Like a good many little people he lacked the dignity and repose of his big companion, and, though very good-tempered among his friends, was quite ready to bite if beaten, and did not take a scolding with half the gentleness and h

they were bid, and did not climb on the sofa cushions when their feet were muddy. There were very few houses on their side the water, and as their friends went about in boats as often as other people go out in carri

hich he can help. Sometimes their mistress took them for a walk, and then they knew that they must be on their best behaviour, and not wander too far away from the road and have to be whistled back, and not fight with the collies at the cottage doors, nor chase cats, nor be tiresome in any way;

lunch or tea, and the real joy of a dog's walk is to feel that you are getting further and further away from home, and that there are miles of heather and pine-wood behind you, and yet you are still going on and on, with chances of more hares and more squirrels to run after. Somet

mebody or something. Speireag would lie down for a minute, panting, with his little red tongue hanging out and his hairy little paws all w

along the road, there was nothing to tempt her to a mountain scramble or a saunter in the woods. The Bishop was very busy, and day after day the dogs would start up from the rug at the sound of the opening of his study door ups

to the house, an old friend whom they loved and trusted as a good dog always loves what is trustworthy. He was a frequent visitor, and had, in fact,

ay, 'I wish I'd remembered Righ and Speireag!' He always remembered them, and thought for them; and when he fed them after dinner, woul

p to the Pass of Glencoe, where stern grey hills and hovering eagles and a deep silent valley still seem to

hich endear a man to a dog or a child. He was brave and unselfish, and strong to love and to endure, and they loved him without knowing why; without knowing that he had lost his health from overwork in the service of the poor and suffering, and among outcasts so low as to be beyond the sympathy of a

rising steeply above, the lake being cold and grey below; the bank, that slopes away from the road to the water, in places covered with gorse and low bushes and heather, where an enterprising dog may hunt for rats and rabbits, or

, the shores of the lake nearer and nearer to each other, till, had they gone far enough, they would have reached the Dog's Ferry, a spot where the water is so narrow that a dog may easily swim across

y sky, and it was, the good Father thought, time to return. 'Never mind, little man,' he said as Speireag looked reproachfully

till it was time for evening service. They always attended chapel night and morning, and took their places at the foot of the steps, half-way, when both were present, between mistress in her seat and master at the place of his sacred office. To