y a rat, and
stoat, and polecat had reason to wish them far away, I can tell you.

Few people know how wonderful, intelligent, and sagacious a dachshund
can become under proper treatment. But there must be system in the
treatment. The whip must be hidden away out of sight entirely, the
animal must be treated like a reasoning being, as indeed it is; it thus
soon comes to know not only every word spoken to it, but your will and
your wishes from your very movements and looks.

A dog never forgets kind treatment, and whenever he has the chance he
acts a faithful part towards a loving master. I could tell you a hundred
true stories illustrative of that fact, but one must here suffice. Had
you seen the dachshund puppies then as they are represented in our
engraving, brimful of sauciness, daftness, and fun, and seen them again
two years after as they appeared when accompanying their beloved master
in his rambles, you certainly could not have believed they were the same
animals. They were still the same in one respect, however, for Vogel was
still the beauty and Zadkiel the philosopher.

One day their master went out to hunt in the forest. It was far away in
the wilds of the Scottish Highlands. He had gone to shoot deer, but as
he was returning in the evening after an unsuccessful stalk, he caught a
glimpse of a fox disappearing round the corner of an old ruin.

"Ho! ho!" he cried. "You are the rascal that steals my ducks. We'll have
you if we can."

But the fox had taken at once to his burrow in the ruin. It was a very
ancient feudal castle, only just enough of it remaining to give an idea
of the shape it once had been, for regardless of the respect that is due
to antiquity the keepers had carted away loads of the solid masonry to
build their houses, leaving the place but a beautiful moss-grown chaos.

"Watch," was all the master said to his dogs as he crept in through an
old window into the donjon keep. It was a foolhardy thing to do, for the
stones were loose around it, but he had many times got in there before,
and why, he thought, should he not do so now. Besides, this was
Reynard's favourite den, and he hoped to shoot him in it. But the fox
had improved on his dwelling since the hunter had last paid him a visit;
he had excavated another room. Stone after stone the hunter began to
pull down, when suddenly there was a startling noise behind him, and he
found himself in the dark.

[Illustration: THE PUPPIES AND THE SP