f nature. Glorious he was to behold
on Field Day, his coat, well brushed for the occasion, glistening in
the sun, a great bow of yellow ribbon standing out like a butterfly
from the top of his collar, wagging all over with joyous
self-importance as he stood in the front rank of his class, impartially
barking applause for both their triumphs and defeats.

With him, as with the girls, the spring term was the climax of the
college year, though not precisely an academic climax. Sigurd still
found time to drop in at a lecture occasionally, flumping down beside
some favorite fellow-student for a brief repose and rousing now and
then to thrust up a sentimental paw for a shake. But he had many
class-meetings to attend, where, when "Further Remarks" were called
for, he has been known to respond with a loud bark,--a recognized
indecorum in the college buildings. But on the whole, he kept the rules
save in so far as he might be considered "a musical instrument" in use
"out of recreation hours."

The spring term bloomed out in guests like crocuses and Sigurd made a
point of attending as many as possible of the luncheons and teas given
in their honor. An English lady, a poet and a visionary, a presence
like a flame, was one afternoon addressing a choice assemblage in our
oriental parlor on the mysteries of the Bahist faith. A torch-bearer of
the Persian prophet, she was telling of her first interview with Ali
Baha on Mount Carmel.

"And the Master greeted me thus: 'O Child of the Kingdom!'"----

_Bump_ went something against the door, which swung wide, admitting
Sigurd, who saluted the company with a comprehensive wave of his tail.

"You beautiful creature!" cried the Englishwoman, winning him to her
with an outstretched hand, "I am sure _you_ are a Child of the
Kingdom," and Sigurd wagged, came up for a pat and dropped down at her
feet to slumber out the rest of her impassioned discourse, waking
promptly with the arrival of refreshments.

But our Child of the Kingdom, on the very day after he had received
this accolade, came home to dinner, for which he had no appetite, not
only with a deep scratch, inflicted by the claw of some profane,
anti-Bahist cat, down one side of his face, but with his white and
golden hair all matted in brown streaks and patches, in witness that a
freshman saucepan had spilled its fudge upon him. Where he could get at
himself to lick, he enjoyed it very much, but he was deplorably sticky
on top.