A STRING OF DOG TALES 301 



THE TOPER'S DOG. 



The train stood in front of the row of false- 

 fronted frame houses which sprawled along the 

 narrow unpaved street of the town. To add to the 

 general appearance of discomfort, a drizzling rain 

 was falling. 



The train was making one of those long, silent, 

 unexplained stops to which Southern trains are ad- 

 dicted. No one got off and no one got on the cars, 

 which were apparently only resting their wheels. 



Suddenly a small animal appeared on the scene, 

 and the sight of it was eagerly welcomed by the 

 many passengers. Some cried, "It's a fox;" others 

 said that it was a 'coon, and yet others declared 

 it to be a 'possum, but these wild guesses only 

 showed a lamentable ignorance of natural history. 



It was only a poor little wet, bedraggled dog, 

 evidently in search of something and thoroughly 

 knowing its business. 



Almost every other house was a barroom, and 

 the steps, latches or knobs of the doors to these 

 places received the dog's most careful inspection. 

 But a little chapel was passed without notice, and 

 so was the one-story printing office. The dog 

 paused, however, at the drug store long enough to 

 rear up on its short hind legs and sniff the door- 

 knob in a casual manner before it went on its way. 

 It gave a perfunctory sniff at the thumb-latch of 

 the grocery store, critically inspected the doorway 

 to the post-office, threw up its nose to catch the scent 

 of the upper currents of air as it passed the general 



