Now, Mr. Morris had been brought up in the country, and knew a great
deal about animals, so I was inclined to think he was right. And sure
enough, in a few days, we heard that the colt was dead.

Poor James Dobson felt very badly. A number of the neighbors' boys went
into see him, and there he stood gazing at the dead colt, and looking as
if he wanted to cry. Jack was there and I was at his heels, and though
he said nothing for a time, I knew he was angry with the Dobsons for
sacrificing the colt's life. Presently he said, "You won't need to have
that colt stuffed now he's dead, Dobson."

"What do you mean? Why do you say that?" asked the boy, peevishly.

"Because you stuffed him while he was alive," said Jack, saucily.

Then we had to run for all we were worth, for the Dobson boy was after
us, and as he was a big fellow he would have whipped Jack soundly.

I must not forget to say that Billy was washed regularly--once a week
with nice-smelling soap and once a month with strong-smelling,
disagreeable, carbolic soap. He had his own towels and wash cloths, and
after being rubbed and scrubbed, he was rolled in a blanket and put by
the fire to dry. Miss Laura said that a little dog that has been petted
and kept in the house, and has become tender, should never be washed and
allowed to run about with a wet coat, unless the weather was very warm,
for he would be sure to take cold.

Jim and I were more hardy than Billy, and we took our baths in the sea.
Every few days the boys took us down to the shore and we went in