OPENS THE BIG GATE.

Flora seemed to be none of the worse for her perilous adventure. After a
refreshing sleep, she awoke happy and bright, not the least like the
miserable child of the night before. And indeed, she could not remember
how miserable she had been. When she tried to think how cold and wet and
lonely it was out there in the night, she could not; for now it was no
longer cold; the sun was shining, and there was no more darkness. Papa
had said she would never forget that day; she had almost forgotten it
already. So hard is it to realize our perils, when we look back upon
them. But there was the blue dress that never could be worn again, and
the water-soaked garden hat. The sight of these brought back a momentary
feeling of loneliness, and when she looked out upon the pleasant
morning, there was Jack Midnight's dog, with his nose between the bars
of the big gate. It was really true, then, the groping about in the
dark, and all the rest; and Towzer had not forgotten yet. When Flora
appeared at the window, he dropped his ears and turned sadly away. He
was looking for his friend of the night before, the little girl that
clung so closely around his neck, and begged him to take her to mamma.
He did not know Flora. But when she called to him, he answered with a
joyful cry. He knew the voice.

"Keep away from the big gate," she said, warningly. "Must not open
that."

"Bow-wow!" said Towser; "I don't care a straw for the big gate. I would
jump over it if I was younger, and I would squeeze myself through the
bars if the space was only wide enough. Bow-wow, who cares for the big
gate?"

"Go round the other side," said Flora, "and I will let you in."

Towzer wagged his tail, and started off, as if he meant to go round, but
he was only making believe. He was back again in a moment, dancing about
like a young puppy. You would never have supposed him to be the old,
sedate dog that he was.

"What makes you so frisky," asked Flora.

"Bow-wow," said he. "Cannot a poor old cur be frisky when he is happy?"

He was happy, because a stream of sunshine had struggled into his sober
life. It promised him friends and kind words, and that which he needed
most of all,--a streak of fat to cover his bare bones. Flora said they
were "nice, fat bones;" she called them fat because they were so large;
and indeed they were sadly large and prominent. Bertie's plaster proved
to be the proper remedy.

Under its influence the bones g