PYX, B. A. 



393 



what his name meant and his old mis- 

 tress said : "Taro means great man, a hero; 

 in your country you call them George 

 Washington." 



He is a very handsome little fellow, with 

 beautiful manners; he and I have been 

 great friends from the first moment we met. 



But the greatest happiness of my life 

 came to me after I had been in this new 

 home a few months. One day my mistress 

 took me with her to call on a friend. This 

 lady has a very fine fox terrier called But- 

 tons. The lady is an army officer's wife, and 

 named her dog after the brass buttons of the 

 army, at least so she laughingly said, and I 

 guess it is so. He has the cutest little sword 

 that he has been taught to hold up when she 

 tells him to "Present arms." He is larger 

 than I am, but we are marked nearly the same. 



That afternoon as our two mistresses were 

 busy talking — my, but can't the ladies talk 

 fast when they get together ? — Buttons and 

 I had a fine romp around the palms, and 

 then we laid down in the shade to rest and 

 visit a while. I asked him if he had always 

 lived in California. He said: 



"No, indeed. I was born in Seattle." 



"Why," I exclaimed, "so was I!" And 

 then I told him when and where I was born, 

 and we found we were brothers! He re- 

 membered well when he and the rest of them 

 went to the bench show and I was left 

 behind. I asked him if they got the ribbon, 

 and he said: "Bet your life, there wasn't a 

 thing there could touch us." He said he 

 often wondered what had become of me. 

 He was taken away a few weeks after the 

 show and lived for some time at the Presidio 

 at San Francisco, and then his master was 

 sent south and he, of course, came too. 

 He said he didn't like the army very well, 

 there was too much moving around ; by the 

 time he got settled and had begun to feel at 

 home he would have to trot. However, I 

 think he is pretty proud of it all, for you see, 

 he is a lieutenant; yes, Lieutenant Buttons 

 is on his collar and on his sword. 



I gave him, as briefly as I could, a history 

 of my life from the time I left our mutual 



home to dale, and I was surprised lo see 

 what an interesting tale it made. So I re- 

 solved I would write my autobiography; 

 for if Buttons was a lieutenant I was 

 determined to be something, too. I think 

 Pyx, B.A., would look well; most folks 

 would think it meant Bachelor of Arts, but, 

 of course, I know it means Bum Author; 

 but I was determined not to be outdone by 

 my stylish brother. 



He seemed real glad to hear of our mother, 

 and we parted that afternoon both much 

 happier for our knowledge of each other. 

 Since then, we are as much together as our 

 respective mistresses will allow, but I live 

 in daily dread of his being ordered away. 



Now there is but little more to tell. My 

 life is so quiet, so easy; each day brings me 

 only added comfort and pleasure; my past 

 with its many adventures, furnishes me 

 thought food for many a dreamy hour. 



Lately I have not been very well; that 

 old cough has come back, and now I realize 

 how kind was my master when he found me 

 this good home, for I know I am infinitely 

 better off here in sunny California than up 

 on the Arctic seas. But I often think of that 

 beautiful light in the sky — of its grandeur, 

 its mystery, and of the strange feelings that 

 vibrated through me as I gazed, and I won- 

 der if I will ever see the like again. 



Perhaps in the great Somewhere the Artist 

 reproduces all the things he has made, mak- 

 ing them more beautiful, far better, and 

 surely my little dog mind is just as much His 

 handiwork as are the Northern Lights. 



Maybe I, too, will live again, who knows ? 



Pyx, B.A. 



"Why not? In Heaven's inheritance 

 Space must be cheap where worldly light 

 In boundless, limitless expanse 

 Rolls grandly far from human sight. 

 He who has given such patient care, 

 Such constancy, such tender trust; 

 Such ardent zeal, such instincts rare, 

 And made you something more than dust, 

 May yet release the speechless thrall 

 At death — there's room enough for all." 



