ing no
response to her summons either by bark or bound or wag of poor Ivan's
bushy tail.

Nor would there be any more, for his ringing bark was hushed, his body
and tail alike stiff and cold, while his noble heart which only throbbed
with affection for those whom he loved when living, had stopped beating
for aye.

"My dear child, poor Ivan is dead!" said Colonel Vereker tenderly after
a short pause, drawing the young girl up to him so that she might not
see the gruesome sight on the deck below. "The brave dog sacrificed his
life for mine, and but for his help, little one, I should not now be by
your side."

This account of the poor animal's heroic end, however, did not comfort
little Elsie, who gave a startled glance at her father's face; where,
seeing something there that made her comprehend her loss, she buried her
golden head on his breast, sobbing as though her heart would break.

"Poor, poor, dear Ivan; he never left me once, never, my father, since
you--you went out of the cabin that last night and told him to watch
me!" she exclaimed presently, in halting accents between her convulsive
sobs, neither the colonel or myself dry-eyed as we listened to her tale,
you may be sure. "But--but all at once, after all the noise and that
dreadful firing that seems now to go through my ears, I--I heard your
voice quite distinctly on the deck; and so, too, did poor Ivan, for I
saw him instantly put up his ears, while he whined and looked
beseechingly at us."

"Well, after that, my child," said the colonel, on her stopping for the
moment, overcome with emotion, "what happened next?"

"He made a dash at the cabin table and jumped up on it, and then the
poor fellow growled savagely at some one outside. Then--then before I
could hold him back he made a most desperate spring and sprung right up
through the glass roof on the top of the sky--skylight, and he must have
cut himself very very much. Poor, poor doggie! And now you say my poor
Ivan is dead, and that I shall never see the dear good faithful creature
again. Oh, my father!"

At this point the young girl again broke down.

Nor were her tears a mere passing tribute of grief. For, though dead,
Ivan is not forgotten, like some people, the remembrance of whom is as
evanescent as the scent of the flowers that hypocritical mourners may
ostentatiously scatter upon their graves; his little mistress, little no
longer, preserving his memory yet green in her heart of hear