ALONG FOUR-FOOTED TRAILS 



bed that night I found the little brute curled 

 snugly under my pillow. Here and there was a 

 white feather sticking to his shaggy hair, giving 

 him a most comical appearance. 



In the early morning Mongola would climb 

 up the stairs to my room and crawl upon my 

 bed. If I pretended to be asleep he would nip 

 my ear or pull my hair until I noticed him. At 

 other times he would root his way under the 

 covers and nestle in my arms. He was too 

 mischievous to remain quiet for any length of 

 time. As soon as I was dressed he would climb 

 upon my shoulder to be carried downstairs 

 again. 



One night I was awakened by a noise in the 

 pantry below. Crash after crash rang up through 

 the hole in the floor that was intended for a 

 stove-pipe. Another crash, then a thump fol- 

 lowed, a growl from Mongola and a sharp little 

 squeak. Then all was quiet. Presently the 

 familiar thump, thump, thump of Mongola's 

 cushioned paws ascending the stairs and pat- 

 tering across the floor to my bed. I could see 

 quite plainly as the light from the full moon 

 came in at the window. How strange Mongola 

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