I have now a story of a roguish dog that I think we could not praise
so much for his goodness as for his cunning. A gentleman in Paris
was in the habit of crossing every day one of the bridges over the
Seine, on his way to his place of business. One day, a very dirty
poodle dog rubbed himself so against his boots as to make it
necessary to get a man, who sat at one end of the bridge with
blacking, to clean them. The next day the same thing occurred, and
again and again, till, at last, the gentleman suspected that the
bootblack had taught the dog this trick, in order by that means to
get customers. He watched, and saw, when he approached the bridge,
Master Poodle go and roll himself in a mud puddle, and then come and
rub himself against his boots. The gentleman accused the bootblack
of the trick. After a while the man laughed, and confessed his
roguery."

"That poodle was a brick," said Harry.

"One more story of dogs. A surgeon of Leeds, in England, found a
little spaniel who had been lamed. The surgeon carried the poor
animal home, bandaged up his leg, and after two or three days turned
him out. The dog returned to the surgeon's house every morning till
his leg was perfectly well.

At the end of several months, the spaniel again presented himself,
bringing another dog who had also been lamed, and intimating, as
plainly as piteous and intelligent looks could intimate, that he
desired the same kind assistance to be rendered to his friend as had
been bestowed upon himself.

But I am forgetting poor puss.