"What a loss it will be to you when he dies!" I said.

He looked grave for an instant, then replied cheerfully--

"Of course I shall miss the dear fellow--but not more than he will
miss me; and it will be good for us both."

"Then," said I,--a little startled, I confess, "you really think--"
and there I stopped.

"Do _you_ think, Mr. Gowrie," he rejoined, answering my unpropounded
question, "that a God like Jesus Christ, would invent such a delight
for his children as the society and love of animals, and then let
death part them for ever? I don't."

"I am heartily willing to be your disciple in the matter," I replied.

"I know well," he resumed, "the vulgar laugh that serves the poor
public for sufficient answer to anything, and the common-place retort:
'You can't give a shadow of proof for your theory!'--to which I
answer, 'I never was the fool to imagine I could; but as surely as you
go to bed at night expecting to rise again in the morning, so surely
do I expect to see my dear old Memnon again when I wake from what so
many Christians call the sleep that knows no waking.'--Think,
Mr. Gowrie, just think of all the children in heaven--what a
superabounding joy the creatures would be to them!--There is one
class, however," he went on, "which I should like to see wait a while
before they got their creatures back;--I mean those foolish women who,
for their own pleasure, so spoil their dogs that they make other
people hate them, doing their best to keep them from rising in the