be without the Gallic graces! In general, I like a dog to whom I have been
properly introduced, with an exchange of credentials. While the dog is by,
let his master take my hand and address me in softest tones, to cement the
understanding! At bench-shows I love the beasts, although I keep to the
middle of the aisle. The streets are all the safer when so many of the
creatures are kept within.

Frankly, I would enjoy the country more, if I knew that all the dogs were
away on visits. Of course, the highroad is quite safe. Its frequent traffic
is its insurance. Then, too, the barns are at such a distance, it is only a
monstrous anger can bring the dog. But if you are in need of direction you
select a friendly white house with green shutters. You swing open the gate
and crunch across the pebbles to the door. To the nearer eye there is a
look of "dog" about the place. Or maybe you are hot and thirsty, and there
is a well at the side of the house. Is it better to gird yourself to danger
or to put off your thirst until the crossroads where pop is sold?

Or a lane leads down to the river. Even at this distance you hear the
shallow brawl of water on the stones. A path goes off across a hill, with
trees beckoning at the top. There is a wind above and a wider sweep of
clouds. Surely, from the crest of the hill the whole county will lie before
you. Such tunes as come up from the world below--a school-bell, a rooster
crowing, children laughing on the road, a threshing machine on the lower
meadows--such tunes are pitched to a marvellous softness. Shall we follow
the hot pavement, or shall we dare those lonely stretches?

There is a kind of person who is steeped too much in valor. He will cross a
field although there is a dog inside the fence. Goodness knows that I would
rather keep to the highroad with such humility as shall not rouse the
creature. Or he will shout and whistle tunes that stir the dogs for miles.