in some clump, and from thence charge out at
me, and if I ran after him, away he would rush up a tree trunk, and then
crouch on a branch with glowing eyes, tearing the while with his claws
at the bark as if in a tremendous state of excitement, ready to bound
down again, and race about till he was tired, after which I had only to
stoop down and say, "Come on," when he would leap on to my back and
perch himself upon my shoulder, purring softly as I carried him round
the grounds.

I used to have some good fun, too, with Nap, when my aunt was out; but
she was so jealous of her favourite's liking for me that at last I never
used to have a game with Nap when she was at home.

Buzzy could come out and play quietly, but Nap always got to be so
excited, lolling out his tongue and yelping and barking with delight as
he tore round after me, pretending to bite and worry me, and rolling
over and over, and tumbling head over heels as he capered and bounded
about.

I think Nap was the ugliest dog I ever saw, for he was one of those
dirty white French poodles, and my aunt used to have him clipped, to
look like a lion, as she said, and have him washed with hot soap and
water every week.

Nothing pleased Nap better than to go out in the garden with me, but I
got into sad trouble about it more than once.

"Look at him, Joseph," my aunt would say, "it's just as if it was done
on purpose to annoy me. Beautifully washed as he was yesterday, and now
look at him with his curly mane all over earth, and with bits of straw
and dead leaves sticking in it. If you don't send that boy away to a
boarding-school I won't stay in the house."

Then my uncle would look troubled, and take me into his own room, where
he kept his books and garden seeds.

"You mustn't do it, Nat, my boy, indeed you mustn't. You see how it
annoys your aunt."

"I didn't think I was doing any harm, uncle," I protested. "Nap jumped
out of the window, and leaped up at me as if he wanted a game, and I
only raced round the garden with him."

"You didn't rub the earth and dead leaves in his coat then, Nat?" said
my uncle.

"Oh no!" I said; "he throws himself on his side and pushes himself
along, rubs his head on the ground, sometimes on one side, sometimes on
the other. I think it's because he has got f--"

"Shush! Hush! my dear boy," cried my uncle, clapping his hand over my
lips. "If your aunt for a moment thought that there were any insects in
that dog, she