



It was not long until she attached her- 

 self to' me, and followed me wherever I 

 went. She was my companion in the 

 long, solitary walks which I had to take 

 through the dense woods to the store and 

 postoffice, which were three miles away 

 from our home. There was a genuine 

 comfort in taking her with me, especially 

 when the afternoons sank into twilight 

 and the bats came out of their hiding 

 places among the trees to circle about 

 my pathway, while screech-owls and 

 whip-poor-wills sent forth their lonely 

 and plaintive calls from the darkness of 

 the forest depths. 



One day as I sat reading, with Vic 

 lying upon the floor beside my low chair, 

 I stroked her head while I read, as was 

 often my custom. Suddenly the poor 

 old dog rolled over in a dreadful spasm. 

 My sisters and I fled from the room in 

 terror. As soon as the fit was over, 

 mother drove the dog from the house. 



The animal went out and hid under 

 a corn-crib, where she remained for sev- 

 eral days. During this time of her sick- 

 ness a strange thing happened. As 



Queen Victoria was of a fine breed of 

 dogs, many of the neighbors had secured 

 her puppies, which had grown to be big 

 dogs. How these dogs learned that their 

 mother was ill I do not know; but I do 

 know that within a day or two after she 

 became sick they began to come to see 

 her. Some of these dogs belonged to 

 near neighbors, but others were entirely 

 strange to us and we never saw them 

 at any other time. Two, that belonged 

 to near neighbors, were particularly at- 

 tentive to her, coming frequently and 

 bringing bones and other things for her 

 to eat. We children were much affected 

 by this evidence of kindness and even 

 shed tears as we saw them bring her food 

 which she could not eat. 



Father was away from home when Vic 

 was taken sick. As soon as he returned 

 and learned of her condition he sent for 

 a neighbor to come and shoot her, as he 

 feared she might go mad. 



For a day or two after this the dogs 

 continued to come to see her, but when 

 they found that she was dead they went 

 away, never to return. 



Mary McCrae Culter. 



THE OLD AUTUMN STORY. 



Frost-touched maples hedge the highways ; 



Yellow, red and crimson tints 

 Glow along the bosky byways 



Where the autumn sunlight glints. 



Bleak and bare, the locusts ragged, 



Standing stark beside the lane, 

 Shed from knotty, gnarled and scragged 



Limbs their summer vestments plain. 



Up the browning hillsides scramble 

 Crowds of shouting village boys, 



Through the brush and through the bramble, 

 Eager for nut harvest joys. 



Squirrels are scampering 'mongst the falling 

 Chestnut burrs and crispy leaves ; 



Everywhere is nature calling, 



O'er us steals the spell she weaves. 



All the hills aflame with glory, 



All the valleys hung with haze. 

 'Tis the year's old autumn story, 

 hearts to mellow days. 



Tuning 



Frank Farrington. 



163 



