ave no
business to bite, and I don't recommend any one to get bitten."

"But, uncle," said Miss Laura, "isn't there such a thing as
hydrophobia?"

"Oh, yes; I dare say there is. I believe that a careful examination of
the records of death reported in Boston from hydrophobia for the space
of thirty-two years, shows that two people actually died from it. Dogs
are like all other animals. They're liable to sickness, and they've
got to be watched. I think my horses would go mad if I starved them, or
over-fed them, or over-worked them, or let them stand in laziness,
or kept them dirty, or didn't give them water enough. They'd get some
disease, anyway. If a person owns an animal, let him take care of it,
and it's all right. If it shows signs of sickness, shut it up and watch
it. If the sickness is incurable, kill it. Here's a sure way to prevent
hydrophobia. Kill off all ownerless and vicious dogs. If you can't do
that, have plenty of water where they can get at it. A dog that has
all the water he wants, will never go mad. This dog of mine has not one
single thing the matter with him but pure ugliness. Yet, if I let him
loose, and he ran through the village with his tongue out, I'll warrant
you there'd be a cry of 'mad dog!' However, I'm going to kill him. I've
no use for a bad dog. Have plenty of animals, I say, and treat them
kindly, but if there's a vicious one among them, put it out of the way,
for it is a constant danger to man and beast. It's queer how ugly some
people are about their dogs. They'll keep them no matter how they worry
other people, and even when they're snatching the bread out of their
neighbors' mouths. But I say that is not the fault of the four-legged
dog. A human dog is the worst of all. There's a band of sheep-killing
dogs here in Riverdale, that their owners can't, or won't, keep out of
mischief. Meek-looking fellows some of them are. The owners go to bed at
night, and the dogs pretend to go, too; but when the house is quiet and
the family asleep, off goes Rover or Fido to worry poor, defenseless
creatures that can't defend themselves. Their taste for sheep's blood is
like the taste for liquor in men, and the dogs will travel as far to get
their fun, as the men will travel for theirs. They've got it in them,
and you can't get it out."

"Mr. Windham cured his dog," said Mrs. Wood.

Mr. Wood burst into a hearty laugh. "So he did, so he did. I must tell
Laura about that. Windham is a neighbor of our