e than any monkey I ever heard tell of. You never catch
him venturing upon unknown danger, or making himself ridiculous,
because his human friends and companions choose to step aside from the
ways of safety and respectability.

One day, a few years ago, Ponto was missing. He had been about as
usual during the morning, but all at once disappeared. A neighbor told
us that he had seen him fighting with the butcher's dog about noon,
and that he was getting the worst of it. I went over to the butcher's
during the afternoon, and the butcher's boy confirmed the neighbor's
story. Ponto had come over there for a fight, as the boy said, and
"got more than he bargained for."

"He'll not try it again very soon, I'm thinking," added the boy, with
a malicious pleasure.

"Do you know where he is now?" I asked.

"Home, I suppose. He went off that way, limping," answered the boy.

"Was he much hurt?"

"Considerable, I guess."

I went back home, but no one had seen Ponto. I was beginning to feel
anxious about the dog, when he was found in one of the third-story
rooms, snugly covered up in bed, with his head on the pillow. On
turning down the clothes a sight met our eyes. The sheets were all
stained with blood, and the poor dog, hurt and exhausted, looked as
helpless and pitiful as any human being.

[Illustration: PONTO.]

I will not tell you of all the wounds he had received. There were a
great many of them, and some quite severe. "A good lesson for him," we
all said. And it proved so, for he was a little more careful after
that how he got into a fight.

A few months before, I had been thrown from a wagon and badly hurt--so
much so that I was confined to bed for a week. Ponto was with me at
the time of the accident, and on my arrival at home followed me into
the house and up to the chamber where I was taken. He watched every
movement as I was laid in bed, and then sat down with his eyes on my
pale face, regarding me with such looks of pity and interest that I
was touched and surprised.

When Ponto's turn came, he remembered the comfortable way in which I
had been cared for, and profited by what he had seen. But his
mistress, while she pitied the poor animal, did not fancy having her
spare bedroom turned into a dog-hospital; and so we removed him to an
out-house and made him as comfortable there as possible.

One cold winter evening Ponto was absent from his accustomed place in
the hall, where he slept on a mat. The wind w