arking], as impolite children are sometimes apt
to do.

"When a lady entered the room where he was, he would always _stand_ up,
ready to give her his chair if she wished it; or if she preferred to go
into the garden or the street, he would go with her and _walk like a
gentleman_. When he played, however, he could run _like a schoolboy_.
But once he was in the ball-room, he could _waltz about_ as well as the
best dancer there.

"If any one ever said to him, '_go to your corner and lie down_' he
would do so at once like the well bred dog he was. But he was always
obedient and would come immediately as soon as one said _Bob_.

"I was very sorry to hear one day that this remarkable dog was _dead_. I
felt so badly that I went to his house, but was pleasantly surprised
when I reached there, to find that he was very much _alive_."

[Illustration: FETCH BRINGS IN THE PERVERSE COW.]

What will be the limit of Bob's education I do not know, for he
continues to learn with increasing ease every day. In addition to all
that has been described, he can now, at the proper order of command,
sneeze, catch a piece of meat from his nose at the word "three," jump
over a cane, turn a somersault, and play tag.

XI.--A DOG THAT COULD COUNT.

BY E. P. ROE.

Old Fetch was a shepherd dog and lived in the Highlands of the Hudson.
His master kept nearly a dozen cows, and they ranged at will among the
hills during the day. When the sun was low in the west, his master would
say to his dog, "Bring the cows home"; and it was because the dog did
this task so well, that he was called Fetch. He would run to a flat rock
and hold his ear down close to it, having learned that he could thus
catch the far-off tinkle of the cow-bells better than in any other way.
If he could not hear them he would range about until he did, and then he
was off like a shot in the direction of the sound.

One sultry day he departed as usual upon his evening task. From
scattered, shady, and grassy nooks, he at last gathered all the cattle
into a mountain road, leading to the distant barnyard.

Switching off the flies with their tails, the cows jogged slowly
homeward, the tinkle of their bells gradually becoming more and more
distinct to the milkmaid who was awaiting them. One of the cows was
known to be a little perverse, and on that evening she gave fresh
evidence of willfulness. One part of the road ran through a low, moist
spot bordered by a thicket of black alder,