t to him. Generally he did
best with children. He was not fond of children (Daisy was quite an
exception), but he was very fond of cakes, and children, he had
observed, generally had the best cakes. Don was so accomplished a
courtier that he would contrive to make every child believe that he or
she was the only person he loved in the whole world, and he would stay
by his victim until the cake was all gone, and even a little longer,
just for the look of the thing, and then move on to some one else and
begin again.

There were no children with any cakes or buns on board this time,
however. There was a stout man up by the bows, dividing his attention
between scenery and sandwiches; but Don knew by experience that
tourists' sandwiches are always made with mustard, which he hated. There
were three merry-looking, round-faced young ladies on a centre bench,
eating Osborne biscuits. He wished they could have made it
sponge-cakes, because he was rather tired of Osborne biscuits; but they
were better than nothing. So to these young ladies he went, and, placing
himself where he could catch all their eyes at once, he sat up in the
way he had always found irresistible.

I don't suppose any dog ever found his expectations more cruelly
disappointed. It was not merely that they shook their heads, they went
into fits of laughter--they were laughing at him! Don was so deeply
offended that he took himself off at once, and tried an elderly person
who was munching seed-cake; she did not laugh, but she examined him
carefully, and then told him with a frown to go away. He began to think
that Daisy's collar was not a success; he ought to have had a mug, or a
blind man, or both; he did much better when he was left to himself.

Still he persevered, and went about, wagging his tail and sitting up
appealingly. By and by he began to have an uncomfortable idea that
people were saying things about him which were not complimentary. He was
almost sure he heard the word 'greedy,' and he knew what that meant: he
had been taught by Daisy. They must be talking of some other dog--not
him; they couldn't possibly know what he was!

Now Don was undeniably a very intelligent terrier indeed, but there was
just this defect in his education--he could not read: he had no idea
what things could be conveyed by innocent-looking little black marks.
'Of course not,' some of my readers will probably exclaim, 'he was only
a dog!' But it is not so absurd as it sounds,