rpet at her feet.

"It was a pin, which she lifted up and examined, every motion closely
watched by the dog. His pleading eye was too obvious to be
misunderstood, and by questioning the child, the whole was soon
explained. The pin had come in her way, and, in the fun of childhood,
she had tried to make a pin-cushion of Fido's nose. The snarl was
caused by pain, and the snap following removed the dangerous weapon from
unsafe hands.

"The lady patted the dog, calling him 'good Fido,' when he at once
turned to his favorite, to assure her of his forgiveness, and to ask
that they might be friends again. And so they were ever after."

"That is a very good story," said Minnie, smiling. "I wish you would
read another one as good."

"Here is one," responded Ida, having cast her eye over it, "which is
rather sad."

"A gentleman named Llewelyn had a fine hunter, which he called Gelert.
One day, the dog refused to accompany his master to the chase, which
made him very angry.

"Gelert always kept sentinel at night at the door of his bedchamber,
and, on his return from the chase, Llewelyn met the dog coming from the
room, covered with blood. He entered in great haste, alarmed for the
safety of his child, when he found the bed overturned, and the coverlet
stained with gore. In an agony of apprehension, he called aloud to his
boy, but received no answer, and rashly concluded that the babe had been
killed by Gelert.

"Without stopping to reflect upon the fondness the animal had always
manifested for the child, he ran his sword through the poor creature's
body.

"Roused from his slumber by Gelert's dying yell, the infant awoke, when
the father, advancing, found to his heart-rending remorse, a gaunt wolf,
torn and bleeding, tremendous even in death, lying on the floor near the
tender nursling. The faithful dog had seen the wolf prowling about,
and, refusing to accompany his master to the chase, of which he was
extremely fond, placed himself near the couch of the boy, and in the end
saved his life, though, as it proved, at the sacrifice of his own.

"Llewelyn, who never could forgive himself, afterwards built a chapel,
and raised a tomb to the memory of his faithful dog, who fell a victim
to a momentary passion. This tomb is still called Beth-Gelert, or the
tomb of Gelert; multitudes have there heard the account of his bravery
and his untimely death."

"How very sorry he must have been!" exclaimed Minnie, tears filling her
ey