hunter.

And we were, on the whole, pretty good friends, in spite of the
battles we fought, nearly every evening, for the possession of the
lounge. It made small difference to Squanko if I was beforehand with
him. Though quite a large dog, he would creep up behind me, slowly
insinuating himself between me and the back of the lounge. Then,
watching his opportunity, he would brace his feet suddenly, and more
than once the execution of this manoeuvre sent me rolling,
ignominiously, upon the floor.

The intruder ousted, his majesty would settle himself for a nap, not
heeding in the least the shouts of laughter which his triumph never
failed to evoke.

On all occasions (excepting only nights, when he slept tranquilly on a
rug in my aunt's room) he felt it his duty to keep watch and ward over
the premises. His favorite perch, in sunny mornings, was in the window
of my aunt's chamber. If by any chance the white curtain had not been
looped up, as usual, leaving the window sill exposed, Squanko went
down for help, and by whining, pulling his mistress's dress and
similar arts, persuaded her to go up and remove the obnoxious
curtain. Carefully seating himself upon the sill, which was all too
narrow for his portly figure, he would fall to work, by barking
furiously at every person--man, woman, or child--who presumed to pass
up or down the street. Most fortunately for him, the window he
occupied overlooked the lawn at the side of the house, instead of the
pavement in front; for on several occasions his fury became so
ungovernable, that he barked himself sheer off his foundation.

Catching a glimpse of his whirling figure, my aunt rushed out, armed
with a bottle of liniment; and while she bathed his imperilled legs,
she strove also to soothe his outraged feelings. For the time all
vanity seemed to have been dashed out of him; but comforted by
sympathy and caresses, he again mounted his perch, and barked with
undiminished ardor.

At table, my aunt always occupied what is termed an office chair.
Being quite small in person, a portion of the great leather cushion,
at the back, was left vacant. Squanko rarely failed to possess himself
of this vantage-ground, and squatting thereon, peered wisely over his
mistress's shoulder, as if studying the problem of what portion of the
goodly meal before him might safely be counted on as a remainder.

Yet Squanko had his grievances. One was, not being allowed the freedom
of the garden. If he