134 OUR DOGS. 



awake, impertinent, frisky, and wicked a little elf as ever 

 was covered with a shock of rough tan-colored hair. 



His mistress no sooner gazed on him, than she was in 

 spired to give him a name suited to his peculiar character ; 

 so he frisked into the front door announced as Wix, and 

 soon made himself perfectly at home in the family circle, 

 which he took, after his own fashion, by storm. He entered 

 the house like a small whirlwind, dashed, the first thing, 

 into the Professor s study, seized a slipper which was dang 

 ling rather uncertainly on one of his studious feet, and, 

 wresting it off, raced triumphantly with it around the hall, 

 barking distractedly every minute that he was not shaking 

 and worrying his prize. 



Great was the sensation. Grandma tottered with trem 

 bling steps to the door, and asked, with hesitating tones, 

 what sort of a creature that might be ; and being saluted 

 with the jubilant proclamation, &quot;Why, Grandma, it s my 

 dog, a real genuine, Scotch terrier ; he 11 never grow any 

 larger, and he s a perfect beauty ! don t you think so ? &quot; 

 Grandma could only tremblingly reply, &quot;O, there is not 

 any danger of his going mad, is there ? Is he generally so 

 playful ? &quot; 



Playful was certainly a mild term for the tempest of ex 

 citement in which master Wix flew round and round in 

 giddy circles, springing over ottomans, diving under sofas, 

 barking from beneath chairs, and resisting every effort to 



