FIDO FIDES. 
265 
me to see the culprits looking through their prison bars 
with envious looks at Pido. Poll says, in a serious voice, 
“Naughty Dog.” Betty says, “ Hang that Pido;” and 
my pretty, amiable, forgiving “Dyardac” (self-christened) 
whistles the chromatic scale in a low, sweet tone, as if 
engaged in a music lesson. Now Pido knows that cer¬ 
tain speeches refer to him, and with a flip of his ears, 
he springs up with his fore-legs on my knee, and fixing 
his bright eyes full on mine, sets his tail wagging at a 
rate of rapidity which threatens to wag it off. Now 
Pido speaks. You, my reader, would call it “ a whine ;” 
but the words are, “ You don't mean to hang Pido, do 
you?” Being m a mischievous mood, I pucker my 
mouth, frown slightly, and mutter “Well, we shouldn't 
miss him much, he's a noisy dog.” Pido plunges for¬ 
ward with a force that nearly throws me from my seat; 
he is at my neck—not to harm me, but to put his warm 
face against mine, and say, in a louder tone than before, 
“You'd never forgive yourself.” “No Pido, no; good 
dog.” 
Little events of this kind are fully as suggestive to me 
of the diversity of talents with which animals are gifted 
as the most curious anecdotes that abound in the books. 
If I am in the garden, and I tell Pido to fetch my cap, 
the cap is brought me as a matter of course. If I were in 
a strange place, and threw down my purse, telling him to 
mind it, I should know it to be as safe as in my own 
pocket, though Pido is neither powerful, nor savage, nor 
best fitted for encounters, of all the dogs I know. The 
real source of enjoyment in companionships of this kind 
is the establishment of a mutual sympathy and under- 
