ure in the yard a policeman
came along Clarendon Avenue for the first time in his professional
career. He espied the figure in the yard and at once mistook it for a
thief who had come to steal our lawn hose. With a gallantry and with a
devotion to duty which cannot be too highly commended, the intrepid
policeman opened fire with his revolver and put seven holes through the
scarecrow before he discovered his mistake.

The cannonading awakened Major Ryson, one of the nearest neighbors, and
that discreet gentleman immediately set his bull terrier loose. This
sagacious but vindictive animal bore down upon the scene of action and
treed the policeman the first thing. Having expended all his
ammunition upon the lay figure, the policeman had no means of
interchanging compliments with his assailant, and was therefore
compelled to spend the night in a willow. Meanwhile the bull terrier
encountered the scarecrow, and, mistaking it for a human being, soon
tore that unfortunate object into ten thousand pieces. Next day our
lawn was literally strewn with straw and buttons and remnants of what
had once been a very decent suit of clothes.

This reference to Major Ryson's bull terrier reminds me of the visit
which the Baylors' dog paid to our new premises. The Baylors' dog is a
St. Bernard about a year old and weighing one hundred and seventy-five
pounds. Most of the time this amiable leviathan is confined in the
Baylors' back yard, a spot hardly large enough to admit of the
leviathan's turning around in it. The evening to which I refer the
Baylors made a pilgrimage to our new house for the purpose of
ascertaining whether we had put in a copper kitchen sink or a
galvanized iron one. I can't imagine what possessed them to do it, but
they took the St. Bernard with them. The sense of freedom which this
playful beast felt upon being let loose in our extensive yard proved
wholly uncontrollable, and while the Baylors were investigating the
sink question the amiable leviathan gallivanted about the premises with
that elephantine exuberance which is to be expected of a St. Bernard
one year old and weighing one hundred and seventy-five pounds. Adah
(who has an eye to the beautiful) had planted a vast number of
nasturtiums and red geraniums, and under one of the oak trees had
trained numerous graceful, dainty vines, which, as I recall, are known
to horticultural amateurs as 'cobies.

In the twinkling of an eye the Baylor leviathan s