little, red eyes, and never even glanced at a queer-looking, gray cat
that was watching me, too, from her bed in the back of the vacant
horse stall. Out in the sunny yard, some pigeons were pecking at
grain, and a spaniel lay asleep in a corner.

I had never seen anything like this before, and my wonder at it
almost drove the pain away. Mother and I always chased rats and
birds, and once we killed a kitten. While I was puzzling over it,
one of the boys cried out, "Here is Laura!"

"Take that rag out of the way," said Mr. Harry, kicking aside the
old apron I had been wrapped in, and that was stained with my
blood. One of the boys stuffed it into a barrel, and then they all
looked toward the house.

A young girl, holding up one hand to shade her eyes from the sun,
was coming up the walk that led from the house to the stable. I
thought then that I never had seen such a beautiful girl, and I think
so still. She was tall and slender, and had lovely brown eyes and
brown hair, and a sweet smile, and just to look at her was enough
to make one love her. I stood in the stable door, staring at her with
all my might.

"Why, what a funny dog," she said, and stopped short to looked at
me. Up to this, I had not thought what a queer-looking sight I must
be. Now I twisted round my head, saw the white bandage on my
tail, and knowing I was not a fit spectacle for a pretty young lady
like that, I slunk into a corner.

"Poor doggie, have I hurt your feelings?" she said, and with a