d. "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 house, we got a joyful surprise. There was a trunk
standing on the veranda, and as soon as Mrs. Wood saw it, she gave a
little shriek: "My dear boy!"

Mr. Harry was there, sure enough, and stepped out through the open door.
He took his mother in his arms and kissed her, then he shook hands with
Miss Laura and Mr. Maxwell, who seemed to be an old friend of his. They
all sat down on the veranda and talked, and I lay at Miss Laura's feet
and looked at Mr. Harry. He was such a handsome young man, and had such
a noble face. He was older and graver looking than when I saw him last,
and he had a light, brown moustache that he did not have when he was in
Fairport.

He seemed very fond of his mother and of Miss Laura, and however grave
his face might be when he was looking at Mr. Maxwell, it always lighted
up when he turned to them. "What dog is that?" he said at last, with a
puzzled face, and pointing to me.

"Why, Harry," exclaimed Miss Laura, "don't you know Beautiful Joe, that
you rescued from that wretched milkman?"

"Is it po