He had brought a new dog home with him, but no one but Eddie had noticed
it yet. He was stroking and patting it, saying, "Poor fellow, what kind of
a dog are you?"

"A French poodle," said Mr. Ross, coming up to them, "A good watch dog,
and excellent for scaring up the wild ducks for the sportsmen. Do you and
papa keep up the shooting lessons, master Eddie?"

"Yes, sir; papa has always said he meant to make me as good a shot as
himself, and mamma says it was never his way to give up till a thing's
thoroughly done," returned the boy, proudly.

"And you don't equal him as a shot yet, eh?"

"No, sir! no, indeed! Why, even cousin Cal Conly--a big man--can't shoot
as well as papa."

"What an ugly dog!" exclaimed the other children, gathering round.

"What did you buy it for, papa?" asked Gertrude.

"Not for beauty, certainly," laughed Mr. Ross, stroking and patting the
shaggy head of the dog, who was covered with curly hair of a dirty white,
mottled with dull brown, "but for worth which is far better. Isn't it,
Ranger?"

A wag of his bushy tail, was Ranger's only reply.

"Will he bite?" asked little Herbert, shrinking back as the newcomer
turned toward him.