went out, my aunt's careful hand hastened to link
the long chain, attached to his house, to his collar. She had a
chronic fear of his running away.

Squanko utterly disdained to occupy the bed of straw which graced his
dwelling, but climbing to a board which surmounted the ridge of the
roof, would lie upon that narrow ledge, ready to pounce upon any one
who ventured near.

Missing him one morning, both here and on the window-sill, one of the
wee Johnnys of the neighborhood, who stood in wholesome awe of
Squanko, put his curly head in at the doorway.

"Where's Squanko, Mrs. Patterson?"

"Gone to walk."

"_Gone to walk_," chuckled Johnny, bursting with merriment. "That's
funny--_a dog gone to walk_!"

Squanko's _walk_ was rarely omitted; generally it was performed under
my aunt's tutelage, when she went a little way with her husband, whose
business took him to the city every morning. If, for any reason, Mrs.
Patterson let her husband go to the cars alone, she sent Squanko off
by himself, with strict orders to return speedily, which direction he
had never failed to obey.

Besides his chain, Squanko had one other trial to endure--a thorough
ablution once a week. Bathing was his aversion; still, he had been
obliged to submit to it from his puppyhood, and Mrs. Patterson was
inexorable. A dog who was not faultlessly clean could have no place in
the arrangements of her household. In and about her dwelling all was
spotlessly neat. Everything susceptible of polish shone, from the
window-panes, and the great cooking-stove, to Squanko's white coat. In
vain were his protests, his indignant snorts and sneezes, his
incipient growls; into the tub of warm water he had to go, while the
scrubbing-brush performed its office upon his fat sides. Having been
duly washed and wiped, he always indulged in a vicious shake or two,
producing a sort of mist in his immediate vicinity. After being
wrapped in his own blanket shawl, he was placed on the lounge, to
repose while drying. His luxurious nap completed, he would emerge
from his retirement, his short white hair shining like satin,--as
clean a playfellow as one might desire. His temper,--not usually of
the best,--after one of these baths, would remain sunny for hours.

But Squanko--like many another spoiled darling,--was not content with
the home where he was so petted and indulged.

As his master opened the door to go into the garden, one evening,
Squanko rushed past him, and made f