her of
fresh water, on the sill of the open window, and soon had the pleasure
of seeing my guest making a hearty meal. After eating till he could eat
no more, he took a splendid bath out of the water-dish, muttering
hoarsely all the while, and strutting up and down as he eyed the
remaining meat, which he felt unable to swallow. From time to time he
cast a cunning look my way, as if to hint politely that he wished to be
alone. 'Go about your business, do,' I thought the look said; so I went
out, shut the door, and watched him through the keyhole. With much
chuckling Maggie then laid his plans, and carried them out.

That night, on going to bed, I found several lumps of meat hidden under
my pillow; a further search revealed a second layer beneath the bolster.
A few bits were crammed into chinks round the window-sashes, and the
rest was concealed in various convenient spots. There Maggie had placed
them to await the time when they should be wanted. He himself roosted on
one leg in the ash-tree, looking like a feather mop, and was spared the
grief of seeing his hoards discovered. But, in spite of the hidden
store, he roused me at dawn the next morning by shrill screams for
breakfast.

[Illustration: "His playful habit of pulling out the pegs."]

I knew Maggie would be claimed by somebody, and sure enough a woman, who
had tracked him by his voice, soon came and asked leave to 'call him
back.' But Maggie refused to come, and as the idea of a cage for any
living creature is distasteful to me, I was glad to arrange for his free
board and lodging in the tree near my window. I found that at his old
quarters, one of a row of cottages hard by, he had kept things lively by
his playful habit of watching the neighbours hang out their clean linen
in the back yards, getting loose from his cage, pouncing down on the
clothes-lines, pulling out the pegs, and chuckling with glee when all
the 'wash' fell down in the dirt, and had to be done over again.

Dogs and cats, as descendants of wild races, still keep a trace of the
old customs of their ancestors. Who does not know the anxious look with
which a well-fed pet dog will dig a hole and bury a bone that he does
not happen to want, as if he had an old age in the workhouse to dread? I
have seen a little Yorkshire terrier go the round of the dinner-table,
sit up and beg piteously, pretending that 'the smallest trifle is most
thankfully received,' look carefully round, and, thinking that no