he way they look out of their eyes,
and the way they wag their tails. I can't tell you what this dog meant to
me--something to love--something that loved me--some one to play with--a
companion--a friend--something that didn't have anything to do with my
father's church!

"He used to feel so sorry when I had to sit learning Bible verses.
Sometimes he would put his two paws up on my lap and try to push the
Bible away. I loved him for that. And when at last I could put it away he
would dance round me with little yelps of joy. He warmed something in me.
He kept something alive.

"And then one day when I came home from a missionary meeting where I had
read a paper telling how cruelly young girls were treated by their
parents in India, and how there was no joy and love and beauty in their
lives, I--" Ann hid her face and it was a drawn, grayish face she raised
after a minute--"Tono was not there. I called and called him. My father
was writing a sermon. He let me go on calling. I could not understand it.
Tono always came running down the walk, wagging his tail and giving his
little barks of joy when I came. It had made coming home seem different
from what it had ever seemed before. But that day he was not there
watching for me. My father let me go on calling for a long time. At last
he came to the door and said--'Please stop that unseemly noise. The dog
has been sent away.' 'Sent _away_?' I whispered. 'What do you mean?' 'I
mean that I have seen fit to dispose of him,' he answered. I was
trembling all over. 'What right had you to dispose of him?' I wanted to
know. 'He wasn't your dog--' The answer was that I was to go up to my
room and learn Bible verses until the Lord chastened my spirit. Then I
said things. I would _not_ learn Bible verses. I _would_ have my dog. It
ended"--Ann was trembling uncontrollably--"it ended with the rod being
unspared. God's forgiveness was invoked with each stroke."

She was digging her finger nails into her palms. Katie put her arms
around her. "I wouldn't, Ann dear--it isn't worth while. It's all over
now. Wouldn't it be better to forget?"

"No, I want to tell you. Some day I may try to tell you other things. I
want this to try to explain them. Loving dogs, you will understand
this--better than you could some other things.

"The dog had been given away to some one who lived in the country. It was
because I had played with him the Sunday morning before and had been late
to Sunday-school."