e,
when under the protection of the moon-eyed goddess Pasht she was
honored in life and embalmed in death. The supreme Ra, the Sun God, was
addressed as "the Great Cat," and _The Book of the Dead_ holds the
mystic text: "I have heard the mighty word which the Ass spake unto the
Cat in the House of Hapt-re."

TO HAMLET, A COLLIE

Strange dog, with terror planted in your heart,
At your dim root of life a piteous dread
Foreboding evil doom, a panic bred
Of some fierce shock to puppy nerves! No art
Home kindness can devise prevents your start,
Wild stare and panting breath at each new tread;
Your anxious eyes keep watch, uncomforted
By our poor love, too weak to take your part
Against that fatal menace which, for us
No less than you, lurks in the coming springs.
Of all our creeds and dreams incredulous,
Thrilled by these sudden agonies, you quake
Through all your lithe young body. What should make
A collie know the grief of mortal things?

HAMLET AND POLONIUS

"There's something in his soul
O'er which his melancholy sits on brood."

--Shakespeare's _Hamlet_.

It was a beautiful morning, whose beauty could only hurt, of the first
June since Joy-of-Life went away. All green paths were desolate for
lack of her glad step. And the stately kennel that had been known from
the first as "Sigurd's House" stood silent, its green door closed on
bare floor and cobwebbed walls. Stray cats passed it unconcerned and
hoptoads took their ease on the edges of "Sigurd's Drinking-cup"
hollowed out in the adjacent rock. In an hour when the pain of living
seemed wellnigh unbearable, the Angel of Healing called me up by
telephone. His voice was gruff, but kindly.

"Say, you miss that old dog of yours a sight, don't you?"

I could feel the confidential pressure of Sigurd's golden head against
my knee as I briefly assented, recognizing the speaker as the
proprietor of certain collie kennels not far distant.

"He had a right good home, that dog had, and you must have got pretty
well used to collie ways."

"If you were going to ask me to buy another collie, please don't.
Sigurd is my dog--forever."

"Well! Since you put it that way--but I'm at my wit's end to get rid of
a collie pup--a pretty little fellow, rough Scotch, sable and white,
like yours--that's scairt at his own shadow."

"What scared him?"

"Blest if I know! His sire, Co