Come, Mr. Maxwell."

The young man put the guinea pig in his pocket, picked up his crutches,
and we started down the sunny village street. He left his guinea pig at
his boarding house as he went by, but he said nothing about the other
creature, so I knew he did not know it was there.

I was very much taken with Mr. Maxwell. He seemed so bright and happy,
in spite of his lameness, which kept him from running about like other
young men. He looked a little older than Miss Laura, and one day, a week
or two later, when they were sitting on the veranda, I heard him tell
her that he was just nineteen. He told her, too, that his lameness made
him love animals. They never laughed at him, or slighted him, or got
impatient, because he could not walk quickly. They were always good to
him, and he said he loved all animals while he liked very few people.

On this day as he was limping along, he said to Mrs. Wood: "I am getting
more absent-minded every day. Have you heard of my latest escapade?"

"No," she said.

"I am glad," he replied. "I was afraid that it would be all over the
village by this time. I went to church last Sunday with my poor guinea
pig in my pocket. He hasn't been well, and I was attending to him
before church, and put him in there to get warm, and forgot about him.
Unfortunately I was late, and the back seats were all full, so I had to
sit farther up than I usually do. During the first hymn I happened to
strike Piggy against the side of the seat. Such an ear-splitting squeal
as he set up. It sounded as if I was murdering him. The people stared
and stared, and I had to leave the church, overwhelmed with confusion."

Mrs. Wood and Miss Laura laughed, and then they got talking about other
matters that were not interesting to me, so I did not listen. But I kept
close to Miss Laura, for I was afraid that green thing might hurt her. I
wondered very much what its name was. I don't think I should have feared
it so much if I had known what it was.

"There's something the matter with Joe," said Miss Laura, when we got
into the lane. "What is it, dear old fellow?" She put down her little
hand, and I licked it, and wished so much that I could speak.

Sometimes I wish very much that I had the gift of speech, and then at
other times I see how little it would profit me, and how many foolish
things I should often say. And I don't believe human beings would love
animals as well, if they could speak.

When we reached the h