barks all day and nearly all night. He can watch the motors on
the coast road from one corner of his cage, and that seems to drive him
almost wild. He ought to realize how much better off he is than the Lady
of Shalott, who only dared to watch the highway to Camelot in a mirror!
Sometimes he has a bad attack of lamentation in the night--he is quite
Jeremiah's peer at that--and then we all call his house on the
telephone. You can see the lights flash on in the various cottages and
hear the tinkle of the bell, as we each in turn voice our indignation.
Once I even saw a white-robed figure in the road across the canyon, and
heard a voice borne on the night wind, "For heaven's sake, shut that dog
up." We all bore it with Christian resignation when his family decided
to take a motor camping trip, Prince to be included in the party. He is
probably even now waking the echoes on Lake Tahoe, or barking himself
hoarse at the Bridal Veil Falls in the Yosemite, but thank goodness we
can't hear him quite as far away as that.

I dare say that he might be a perfectly nice, desirable dog if he had
had any early training. Our own "pufflers," as the boys call "Rags" and
"Tags," their twin silver-haired Yorkshire terriers, could tell him what
a restraining influence the force of early training has on them, even on
moonlight nights.

Prince is the worst affliction we have had, but not the only one. The
people on the mountain-slope above us acquired a yellowish collie-like
dog to scare away coyotes. He ought to have been a success at it, though
I don't know just what it takes to scare a coyote. At any rate, he used
to bark long and grievously about dawn in the road across the canyon.
One morning I was almost frantic with the irregularity of his outbursts.
It was like waiting for the other shoe to drop. Suddenly a rifle shot
rang out; a spurt of yellow dust, a streak of yellow dog, and silence!
I rushed to J----'s room, to find him with the weapon, still smoking,
in his hands. I begged him not to start a neighborhood feud, even if
we never slept after dawn. I even wept. He laughed at me. "I didn't
shoot at him," he said. "I shot a foot behind him, and I've given him
a rare fright!" He had, indeed. The terror of the coyotes never came
near us again.

As to servants, the subject is so rich that I can only choose.
Unfortunately, the glory of the view does not make up to them for the
lack of town bustle and nightly "movies," so it isn't always