A young girl, holding up one hand to shade her eyes from the sun, was
coming up the walk that led from the house to the stable. I thought then
that I never had seen such a beautiful girl, and I think so still. She
was tall and slender, and had lovely brown eyes and brown hair, and a
sweet smile, and just to look at her was enough to make one love her. I
stood in the stable door, staring at her with all my might.
"Why, what a funny dog," she said, and stopped short to looked at me. Up
to this, I had not thought what a queer-looking sight I must be. Now I
twisted round my head, saw the white bandage on my tail, and knowing I
was not a fit spectacle for a pretty young lady like that, I slunk into
a corner.
"Poor doggie, have I hurt your feelings?" she said, and with a sweet
smile at the boys, she passed by them and came up to the guinea pig's
box, behind which I had taken refuge. "What is the matter with your
head, good dog?" she said, curiously, as she stooped over me.
"He has a cold in it," said one of the boys with a laugh; "so we put a
nightcap on." She drew back, and turned very pale. "Cousin Harry, there
are drops of blood on this cotton.
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