OUR DOGS. IO3 



Then Johnny and Bill and all hands would spring from the 

 carriage in full chase of the rogue ; and all of us shouted 

 vainly in the rear ; and finally the rascal would be dragged 

 back, panting and crestfallen, to be admonished, scolded, 

 and cuffed with salutary discipline, heartily administered by 

 his best friends for the sake of saving his life. &quot;Rover, 

 you naughty dog ! Don t you know you must n t chase the 

 sheep ? You 11 be killed, some of these days.&quot; Admoni 

 tions of this kind, well shaken and thumped in, at last 

 seemed to reform him thoroughly. He grew so conscien 

 tious, that, when a flock of sheep appeared on the side of 

 the road, he would immediately go to the other side of the 

 carriage, and turn away his head, rolling up his eyes 

 meanwhile to us for praise at his extraordinary good con 

 duct. &quot; Good dog, Rove ! nice dog ! good fellow ! he does n t 

 touch the sheep, no, he doesn t.&quot; Such were the rewards 

 of virtue which sweetened his self-denial ; hearing which, 

 he would plume up his feathery tail, and loll out his 

 tongue, with an air of virtuous assurance quite edifying to 

 behold. 



Another of Rover s dangers was a habit he had of run 

 ning races and cutting capers with the railroad engines as 

 they passed near our dwelling. 



We lived in plain sight of the track, and three or four 

 times a day the old, puffing, smoky iron horse thundered 

 by, dragging his trains of cars, and making the very ground 



