rown to the very middle of the stream. I
could not make out why she wanted the sticks, as she never took them
home with her; but we were quite of one mind about fetching them out of
the water. Often I accompanied her to the village, and lay at the
cottage-doors while she paid visits to the people inside. Then the
little children used to gather round me, and pat me, and pull my ears;
and even if they pulled a little too hard, I scorned to complain, or
hurt them in return; and when Lily came out, I was rewarded by her
praise of me as the best and gentlest dog in the world.

At other times she used to establish herself to read or work under a
tree on the lawn, while I lay at her feet, or sat upright by her side. I
was careful not to interrupt her when she was busy, but she often left
off reading to speak to me, and sometimes let me keep my front paw in
hers as we sat together. These were happy days, and I should have liked
them to last for ever. But this state of tranquillity was to be
disturbed, and I am sorry to say by my own folly.

I had insensibly imbibed a notion, or rather a feeling, that I was
Lily's only pet and favourite, and that nothing else had a right to
attract her notice. Of course I allowed her to pay proper attention to
human beings; I knew that I could not come into competition with _them_,
and therefore I never was jealous of them; but a word or a look
bestowed upon an inferior animal appeared to me an affront which proper
self-respect required me to resent.

One day Lily appeared in the garden carrying a little white kitten in
her arms. I should have liked to have it to worry, and as Lily was very
good-natured, I thought she had brought it for that purpose; so I sat
watching ready to snap at it the moment she should toss it at me. After
a time, I began to think she ought not to tantalise me by keeping me
waiting so long, and I tried to show my impatience by various signs that
she could understand. But to my surprise she was not only insensible to
my hints, but took upon herself to reprove me, saying, "No, Captain,
that is not being a good dog; you must not want to hurt the poor little
kitten. Go farther off."

If ever I was affronted in my life it was then. I turned round, and
shaking my ears, sat down with my back to Lily and her disgusting
kitten, and absolutely refused even to look round when she spoke to me.

This was the beginning of a period in my life to which I always recur
with shame and