ngapod. "It thunders. You must get Aunt Olive to
tell you that story."

"When you come to meet her," said the blacksmith to Jasper. "Kongapod
would tell it to you, but he's afraid of the cloud. No wonder."

A vivid flash of lightning forked the sky. There followed an appalling
crash of thunder, a light wind, a few drops of rain, a darker air, and
all was still. The men looked out as the cloud passed over.

"You will have to stay here now," said the blacksmith, "until the cloud
has passed. Our stories may seem rather rough to you, edicated as you
are over the sea. Tell us a story--a German story. Let me put the old
leather chair up here before the fire. If you will tell us one of those
German stories, may be I'll tell you how Johnnie Kongapod here and Aunt
Olive went to the camp-meetin', and what happened to them on the way."

There was a long silence on the dark air. The blacksmith enlivened the
fire, which lit up the shop. Jasper sat down in the leather chair, and
said:

"Those Indian dogs remind me of scenes and stories unlike anything here.
The life of the dog has its lesson true, and there is nothing truer in
this world than the heart of a shepherd's dog. I am a shepherd's dog. I
am speaking in parable; you will understand me better by and by.

"Let me tell you the story of 'THE SHEPHERD DOG,' and the story will
also tell a story, as do all stories that have a soul; and it is only
stories that have souls that live. The true story gathers a soul from
the one who tells it, else it is no story at all.

"There once lived on the borders of the Black Forest, Germany, an old
couple who were very poor. Their name was Gragstein. The old man kept a
shepherd dog that had been faithful to him for many years, and that
loved him more than it did its own life, and he came to call him
Faithful.

"One day, as the old couple were seated by the fire, Frau Gragstein
said:

"'Hear the wind blow! There is a hard winter comin', and we have less in
our crib than we ever had before. We must live snugger than ever. We
shall hardly have enough to keep us two. It will be a long time before
the birds sing again. You must be more savin', and begin now. Hear the
wind howl. It is a warning.'

"'What would you have me do?' asked Gragstein.

"'There are three of us, and we have hardly store for two.'

"'But what would you have me do with _him_? He is old, and I could not
sell him, or give him away.'

"'Then I would take him away into