Sigurd, wishing to study the
scenery to verify a suspicion of a dog burglar after his treasure-trove
of bones, sprang up and struck his forefeet on the edge of the nearest
board with such violence that the whole structure came crashing down,
enveloping him in a flying ruin of pots and plants and earth and water.
He did not stay to help the Seraph clear up the landslide, but
remembered a pressing engagement in the remotest corner of the attic.

Through December these happy comrades explored the fringes of the
forest for glowing vines to serve as Christmas decorations, and in the
whirling snowstorms of a peculiarly ferocious little February they
would come romping home, two white objects plunging through the drifts,
looking like Peary and one of his huskies just back from the North
Pole. Joy-of-Life had been in Egypt that winter, seeking health after a
grave illness, but she came again with April, more welcome than the
spring. Sigurd bounded to her shoulders in ecstasy of greeting, his
coat ruddy in the sun. He shone more than ever with a supreme content
as he sat erect between us while we motored through the miracle of May,
under red-budded maples and oaks whose baby leaves, while the orioles
shouted to them to hurry up, where trembling from misty pink to golden
green. He did not care to run with the machine, however slowly it was
driven, but saved his energies for the long rambles with the Seraph, as
she went questing for anemone and dogwood, bellwort, violets,
columbine, lady slippers and all

"our shining little sisters
Of the forest and the fields."

As the days grew warmer, he would forget the admonitions of previous
springs and all his good resolutions, and take a roll, now and then, to
Sister Jane's wrath and anguish, in a bed of jonquils or yellow tulips,
claiming that their color made them his by royal right. When we scolded
him, he took refuge with the Seraph, though even she was causing him
bitter annoyance, as June and Commencement drew near, by her attentions
to a fuzzy puppy, Puck, whom she visited almost daily at collie kennels
two miles away. He was a prize puppy and it disgusted Sigurd beyond
barks to see the fuss we all made over certain dog-show awards that
Puck gave the Seraph to bring home, a green ribbon not worth the
chewing and an _empty_ cut-glass vase. When Puck, on the eve of
Seraph's departure, was himself brought to the Scarab and a journeying
basket was equipped for him, Si