se--have you a bed?'

"Ilse: 'Nein.'

"Frau Dr. Moekel: 'But where do you sleep?'

"Ilse: 'hols.'

"Frau Dr. Moekel: 'Ilse, you poor little dog! Have you to sleep on the
wood behind the stove?'

"Ilse: 'Ja!'

"Frau Dr. Moekel: 'Then I'll tell you what to do, Ilse: you just get up
on to your master's bed--he needn't have it all to himself.'

"Frau Dr. Moekel said later that she had not made this suggestion
seriously, that, in fact, she had said it more to quiet Carla, and had
soon forgotten all about it. But the next day the dog's master called
again and complained of Ilse, saying: 'What do you think of this? Ilse
is really getting unbearable--the beast got into my bed last night:
there she was this morning--stretched her whole length!' And Frau Dr.
Moekel had now to confess that she herself had instigated this lapse on
Ilse's part.

"To this account Dr. Oelhausen has added: 'This statement has several
points of interest. There is firstly the complaint about 'beatings,'
and secondly the comparison drawn between her own nocturnal quarters
and those of Rolf. It may also be noticed that she was very sparing of
her words, using, indeed, no more than the merest 'essentials'! Then,
observe the careful way in which she followed 'Mother's' advice--only
getting into her master's bed after he was well asleep!'

"Another incident, the details of which were supplied to him by Ilse's
master, has also been communicated to us by Dr. Oelhausen:

"'The clergyman had taken several of his village school-children for a
walk, during the course of which he asked them the names of the various
trees. Among these was one of which no child could tell the name. Ilse,
his constant companion, was also of the party, and she now pressed
forward with such marked interest that her master put the question to
her too. At this Ilse started rapping and spelt out the correct
name--the tree was a larch. Her master was greatly surprised at this,
suggested, however, that it was probably less a matter of knowledge
than of thought-transference, yet Dr. Oelhausen queries whether the dog
might not have heard the name mentioned on some previous outing, and
her master admits that this might have been the case.'

"We know the unfaltering tenacity with which the Mannheim dog, Rolf,
remembers names, so that it would seem more reasonable to ascribe the
spelling of the name to her excellent memory than to thought-transference,
which would be quite as inexpli