er sad for not being dressed up
more.

We went to the window and looked out. All at once we heard a awful
barking going on down there, and we seen what had happened. That new dog
of theirs had come into our yard to look around, and Bonnie Bell's
Boston dog, Peanut--which mostly rode in her car with her--had jumped
this here visiting dog, and they was having it out sincere, right in our
front yard.

Well, sir, it was one of the prettiest fights you ever seen. A collie
ain't no slouch in a scrap, and if this dog wouldn't of been so young he
like enough could of licked Peanut, all right. But, you see, Peanut he
was taking care of his own folks, according to the way he figured it,
and this was a intrusion on the part of the Wisner dog.

Anything that's got bull pup in him, like Peanut had, ain't got no sense
about fighting; so Peanut he mixed it with the collie copious, and they
tumbled all over the yard until you couldn't hardly tell which was
which. At last Peanut got himself a good leg holt, and the collie
hollers bloody murder and starts for home and mother through the fence,
Peanut hanging on.

[Illustration: "'Well,' says he, 'our dog is more of a trench
fighter.'"]

It seems like their front door was open; and the collie he made for it,
hollering every jump, and Peanut after him. He chases him plumb up the
steps and clear into the house, and that was all we could see for a
while, except Bonnie Bell standing in her cap and apern, looking across.
Then through the window we could see folks running round here and there,
like the dogs had got into the middle of the house and was still mixing
it.

By and by--three or four minutes--their butler comes out, holding Peanut
by the collar, and drops him on the front steps. But Peanut he is game,
and he ain't had no satisfaction out of this scrap; so he goes back and
scratches most of the paint offen their front door, and barks and howls,
trying to get back in to finish his job.

Bonnie Bell she stands there just crying because she is so much ashamed,
and she calls and whistles to Peanut. When he comes, at last, he does it
looking over his shoulder and growling, and daring that other dog to
come out and knock a chip off'n his shoulder.

When Bonnie Bell come back in, carrying Peanut, happy, by the loose skin
of his neck, she was more worried than I ever seen her about anything.

"Now we've done it!" says she. "Our dog run right in their house and
chased their dog. The