''Tis gude house-dogs,' said my
guardian of the poultry grimly.
"On hearing that the Irishman had been frightened, I sought him,
expressed to him my regrets, and said that, though big, the dogs were
quite harmless. With ready wit he retorted: 'Begorra, it isn't dogs that
I am afraid of, but your ladyship keeps lions.'"
* * * * *
"Just one more story," cry the children as I cease speaking, and Mrs.
Hamilton points to the clock, as their bedtime is long past. After a few
minutes' pause, I continue:
"The other day I was told of a little girl who attended a distribution
of prizes given by the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.
"She had won, you must know, a book as a reward for writing the best
essay on the subject given, and, with the other successful children, was
undergoing a _viva voce_ examination.
"'Well, my dear,' said the gentleman who had given away the prizes, 'can
you tell me why it is cruel to dock horses' tails and trim dogs' ears?'
'Because,' answered the little girl, 'what God has joined together let
no man put asunder.'"
An explosion of childish laughter follows my story, and then the little
ones troop up in silence to bed. I sit on, quietly looking into the
fire, and as I sit so the voices of my friends seem to grow distant, and
I fall into a reverie.
[Sidenote: A Cornish story of a girl's sorrow.
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