238 AROUND AN OLD HOMESTEAD. 



and roots, and push itself under my hand, in his dog- 

 gish ways. No more do I hear his answering httle bark 

 when I whistle. 



IVIac did n't amount to a great deal in practical use- 

 fulness, although he did what he could even in that 

 line. He never learned to hunt (though how he loved 

 the -^-^-oods ! ) , but he was a good watch-dog, and as 

 fatal a mouse catcher as the best trap. No, I can 

 ne^■er play the traitor to Mac, and say that he had his 

 blemishes, and that perhaps another dog would take his 

 place better. It is true, he did ha\-e his little stub- 

 bornnesses; but he really ne\'er meant harm to his fellow 

 dogs (except for self-protection, when he showed the 

 pluck of a bulldog) or to any In'ing thing, and he won 

 his way through life by the most winsome and lo-s'ing 

 ways, and we were all the better for his little preoence. 

 I have seldom seen in man or beast an instance of 

 truer, sincerer appreciation of kindnesses and evident 

 gratitude for them. And so I loved him with my 

 Avhole heart. 



Mac was my first dog. I taught him all his dozen 

 tricks; and how he did enjoy and relish their perform- 

 ance ! He and I understood one another perfectly. I 

 can not possibly forget him. It is painful to know 

 grief, even for a dog; and I can ne\-er think of him 

 without a pang. But his — even with the pain — will 

 always be a pleasant memory. I can only hope that 

 he has fallen into good hands. 



MAC S COLLAR. 



