How Animals Talk 



One summer afternoon I was reading by the 

 open window, while my old setter, Don, lay flat 

 on his side in the shade of a syringa-bush. He had 

 scooped out a hollow to suit him, and was enjoying 

 the touch of the cool earth when a fat little terrier, 

 a neighbor's pet, came running with evident ex- 

 citement to wake the old dog up. Don half raised 

 his head, recognized his friend Nip and thumped 

 the ground lazily with his tail. 



"It's all right, little dog. You're always excited 

 over something of no consequence; but don't 

 bother me this hot day," he said, in dog-talk, and 

 dropped his head to sleep again. 



But Nip was not to be put aside, having some- 

 thing big on his mind. He nudged Don sharply, 

 and the old dog sprang to his feet as if galvanized. 

 For an interval of perhaps five seconds they stood 

 motionless, tense, their noses almost touching; 

 then Don's plume began to wave. 



"Oh, I see!" he said; and Nip's stubby tail 

 whipped violently, as if to add, "Thank Heaven 

 you do, at last!" The next moment they were 

 away on the jump and disappeared round a corner 

 of the house. 



Here was comedy afoot, so I slipped out through 

 the back door to follow it. The dogs took no notice 

 of me, and probably had no notion that they were 

 observed; for I took pains to keep out of sight 



