“ PUNCH ” 
53 
funerals, when the mourners had left the grave, and it had been 
carefully filled in and covered with wreaths sent by sympathising 
friends. Punch would creep through the rails which divided the 
garden from the churchyard, and fetch wreath after wreath off 
the grave into the garden and lay them at our feet. It was 
very wicked, but very comical. Of course we had to wire the 
railings so that he could not get through to commit these 
desecrating acts. He got very knowing and when he was 
scolded and detected a whip in our hands, he would retreat 
behind a very thick box tree and there remain till he thought 
our anger was appeased. 
He won the hearts of many people. The post-mistress 
loved him and insisted on giving him milk when he went to the 
post-office. One day he found a bundle of rabbit tails in her 
shop which she was carefully keeping for making a savoury stew. 
\"ery quietly did he take possession of them and carried them 
triumphantly back to the Vicarage with the intention of burying 
them. He was sent back, doing penance by being made to 
carry a basket containing a whole rabbit tied round his neck to 
make amends for his theft. The post-mistress was very amused, 
and told him he was a very clever dog, and was quite indignant 
that we had thought it necessary to compensate her for her loss. 
He was very seldom guilty of stealing. He was too well fed at 
home to seek food elsewhere. 
Poor Punch was very unhappy when we went away : he 
would sit on the seat of our little carriage, when it came back 
from the station, till turned out by the coachman, and then he 
lay in front of the stable door. Very rarely could he be per- 
suaded to eat any food for two days, and he was wild with joy 
when we returned. He had a curious custom on Sunday 
mornings when we had gone to Church of jumping up on the 
table in the dining room and lying there till he saw us coming 
back up the garden path. One winter we went to Bournemouth 
and took Punch with us. He was very happy and got greatly 
admired. People used to stand on the cliff and watch him 
swimming out into the sea to fetch the little barrel we used to 
throw for him. They often passed remarks on his beauty and 
noble appearance. One lady remarked, “ He is a beautiful dog, 
and he knows it, too ! ” I was always glad when he was safely 
back on the shore : the waves seemed so big and Punch so 
small that he looked as if he mmt be overwhelmed. But he 
loved it, and always came back safe and sound, barking with 
plea.sure and excitement. 
Now he is getting old and blind and deaf, but he still holds 
the same place in our affections, and is very much privileged. 
P.S. — Since writing this, the dear old doggie has died, and 
we are very sad without him. He is buried in the garden, and 
we have planted primroses and violas over his little grave. He 
died very quietly, after a long life of loving care and happiness. 
k. M. Greenwood. 
