Perhaps some other little boys and girls may like to hear
them too.
One evening, early in November, when tea was over, and the tea
things were removed; when the nice hearth was swept clean, and the
great wood fire was blazing brightly, and sending forth its cheering
light and heat through the whole room, Frank and Harry had taken
their accustomed places, one on each side of their mother who was
sitting on the old-fashioned sofa. Each one appropriated a hand to
himself, when they both, almost in the same breath, said to her,
"You promised us, Mother, if we were good boys, to tell us a story
this evening. Now, have we not been good boys all day?"
"Yes, you have," she replied; "you have not quarrelled, and you have
got your lessons well; and I will gladly perform my promise. But I
hardly know whether I can remember or make up any story to tell you.
However, I will do my best. What sort of a story will you have?"
"I," said Frank, "should like a real good true story about a dog, or
any other animal."
"And I like a made-up story best," said Harry.
"I have an anecdote of a dog for you, Frank, which a friend related
to me the other day, and which I determined to remember to tell you,
as I recollected your love for dogs. The lady who told me the story
is an English woman.
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