come home with him, but he only
wagged his bushy tail and looked at his frail charge as much as to
say, "I can't go just now." Just think of the idea of protection
entering the head of a dog! but it did. Some animals seem almost to
reason. We all know a perfect horror of water all cats have, they will
not go into water voluntarily. This poor little thing, surrounded by
water, must have died of starvation had not kind-hearted Woggy found
and cared for her.

The next day, Edwin, provided with a long board and other means of
rescuing the distressed stranger, started for the pond. Just as he
left the house, with Florence calling out from the porch some parting
injunctions of carefulness, what was their astonishment to see Woggy
coming along the road with the kitten in his mouth; the sagacious dog
had evidently thought that his keepless little charge needed more care
than he could give her, and brought her unharmed to his mistress. When
he had deposited the kitten at her feet, he looked up in her eyes as
though he wanted to tell her something, and he really looked as if he
could almost talk. When Florence took up the pretty thing she
exclaimed, "You poor little waif! Where did you come from?" The little
waif could not tell, but looked as if she wanted to. She was pure
white in color, with a water-stained ribbon and tiny silver bell
around her neck. Edwin said she should be called Waif, and Waif she
was ever after called in that house.

"MAY I GO WITH YOU?"

"May I go with you, Auntie?"

"No, Jo, I do not wish for any company this morning; here's a kiss,
and you may feed my poodle if you like." So saying, Aunt Millie, who
was spending her vacation at the farm, tied on her garden hat, and
sallied forth for a walk, leaving behind her a very disappointed
little swain, for Jo generally accompanied her in her rambles, and he
and Aunt Millie were sworn allies. Lately she had run off several
times without him, and he certainly felt quite disconsolate to-day.
But he could not doubt her love and goodness, so he whistled away his
blues.

[Illustration: {PORTRAIT OF A CHILD.}]

Jo was only five years old, and it is no wonder he soon forgot his
grievances. About lunch-time he thought he would go down in the
meadow, to see if the first strawberries were ripening, as he intended
them for mamma's birthday.

Threading his way carefully through the tall grass and nodding
daisies, he suddenly came upon the queerest looking "m