passed away. Health and strength returned, and Patrasche staggered up again upon his four stout, tawny legs. Now for many weeks he had been useless, powerless, sore, near to death; but all this time he had heard no 5 rough word, had felt no harsh touch, but only the pitying murmurs of the little child's voice and the soothing caress of the old man's hand. In his sickness they two had grown to care for him, this lonely old man and the little happy child. He had 10 a corner of the hut, with a heap of dry grass for his bed; and they had learned to listen eagerly for his breathing in the dark night, to tell them that he lived; and when he first was well enough to essay a loud, hollow, broken bay, they laughed aloud, and almost wept together for joy at 15 such a sign of his sure restoration; and little Nello, in delighted glee, hung round his rugged neck chains of marguerites, and kissed him with fresh and ruddy lips. So then, when Patrasche arose himself again, strong, big, gaunt, powerful, his great wistful eyes hac a gentle 20 astonishment in them that there were no curses to rouse him and no blows to drive him; and his heart wakened to a mighty love, which never wavered in its fidelity whilst life abode with him. But Patrasche, being a dog, was grateful. Patrasche 25 lay pondering long, with grave, tender, musing brown eyes, watching the movements of his friends. Now, the old man could do nothing for his living but limp about a little with a small cart, with which he carried daily the milk cans of those happier neighbors who owned cattle away into the town of Antwerp. The villagers 5 gave him the employment a little out of charity, more because it suited them well to send their milk into the town by so honest a carrier, and bide at home themselves to look after their gardens, their cows, their poultry, or their little fields. But it was becoming hard work for the 10 old man. He was eighty-three, and Antwerp was a good league off, or more. Patrasche watched the milk cans come and go that one day when he had got well and was lying in the sun with the wreath of marguerites round his tawny neck. 15 The next morning, Patrasche, before the old man had touched the cart, arose and walked to it and placed himself betwixt its handles, and testified as plainly as dumb show could do his desire and his ability to work in return for the bread of charity that he had eaten. The old man 20 resisted long, for he was one of those who thought it a foul shame to bind dogs to labor for which Nature never formed them. But Patrasche would not be gainsaid: finding they did not harness him, he tried to draw the cart onward with his teeth. 25 5 At length old Jehan gave way, vanquished by the gratitude of this creature whom he had succored. He fashioned his cart so that Patrasche could run in it, and this he did every morning of his life thenceforward. When the winter came, the old man thanked the blessed fortune that had brought him to the dying dog in the ditch; for he would ill have known how to pull his load over the snows and through the deep ruts in the mud if it had not been for the strength and the industry of the animal 10 he had befriended. As for Patrasche, it seemed heaven to him. After the frightful burdens that his old master had compelled him to strain under, it seemed nothing to him but amusement to step out with this little light green cart, with its bright brass cans, by the side of the gentle 15 old man who always paid him with a tender caress and with a kindly word. Besides, his work was over by three or four in the day, and after that time he was free to do as he would, to stretch himself, to sleep in the sun, to wander in the fields, to romp with the young child, or to 20 play with his fellow-dogs. Patrasche was very happy. Abridged. Patrasche (på-trash ́eh). — Flanders: an old country of Europe, now divided among Belgium, France, and Holland. - the gall of the cart: the hard work that produced sores or galls. — Flem'ings: the inhabitants of Flanders. Jehan (ye-hän'): John, in English. — marguerites: daisies. league: a Dutch league is a little more than four miles. AFTER BLENHEIM ROBERT SOUTHEY ROBERT SOUTHEY 1 (1774-1843) was a famous English author and poet. It was a summer evening; Old Kaspar's work was done, And by him sported on the green She saw her brother Peterkin Roll something large and round In playing there had found; He came to ask what he had found That was so large and smooth and round. And then the old man shook his head, And with a natural sigh "'Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he, 1 Sowth'y or suth'y. 5 10 15 "I find them in the garden, For there's many here about; "Now tell us what 't was all about," And little Wilhelmine looks up With wonder-waiting eyes; "Now tell us all about the war, And what they fought each other for." "It was the English," Kaspar cried, "My father lived at Blenheim then, Yon little stream hard by; They burned his dwelling to the ground, |