ys. Grace put down now and then a "B. W." in the blue
book; but as for disobedience, Horace had just now no temptation to
that. He could hardly think of anything but his dog.

Pincher was about his age. He could not remember the time when he first
knew him. "O, what jolly times they had had together! How often Pincher
had trotted along to school, carrying the satchel with the school-books
in his teeth. Why, the boys all loved him, they just loved him so."

"No, sir," said Horace, talking to himself, and laying the dog's head
gently on his knee: "there wasn't one of them but just wished they had
him. But, poh! I wouldn't have sold him for all the cannons and
fire-crackers in the United States. No, not for a real drum, either;
would I, Pincher?"

Horace really believed the dog understood him, and many were the secrets
he had poured into his faithful ears. Pincher would listen, and wink,
and wag his tail, but was sure to keep everything to himself.

"I tell you what it is, Pincher," Horace burst forth, "I'm not going to
have you die! My own pa gave you to me, and you're the best dog that
ever lived in this world. O, I didn't mean to catch your foot in that
trap! Eat the chicken, there's a good fellow, and we'll cure you all
up."

But Pincher couldn't eat the chicken, and couldn't be cured. His eyes
grew larger and sadder, but there was the same patient look in them
always. He fixed them on Horace to the last, with a dying gaze which
made the boy's heart swell with bitter sorrow.

"He wanted to speak, he wanted to ask me a question," said Horace, with
sobs he did not try to control.

O, it was sad to close those beautiful eyes forever, those beseeching
eyes, which could almost speak.

Mrs. Clifford came and knelt on the stone hearth beside the basket, and
wept freely for the first time since her husband's death.

"Dear little Pincher," said she, "you have died a cruel death; but your
dear little master closed your eyes. It was very hard, poor doggie, but
not so hard as the battle-field. You shall have a quiet grave, good
Pincher; but where have they buried our brave soldier?"

[Illustration: CAPTAIN HORACE AND HIS DOG. Page 138.]

CHAPTER X.

TRYING TO GET RICH.

With his own hands, and the help of Grasshopper, who did little but hold
the nails and look on, Horace made a box for Pincher, while Abner dug
his grave under a tree in the grove.

It was evening when they all followed Pincher to his last r