oing to have his dog's legs
shot off, and coming up he unfastened him and took him away. You can
imagine my feelings, as I stood there tied to the tree, with that
stranger pointing his gun directly at me. He fired close to me a number
of times--over my head and under my body. The earth was cut up all
around me. I was terribly frightened, and howled and begged to be freed.

"The other young men, who were sitting laughing at me, thought it such
good fun that they got their guns, too. I never wish to spend such a
terrible hour again. I was sure they would kill me. I dare say they
would have done so, for they were all quite drunk by this time, if
something had not happened.

"Poor Bob, who was almost as frightened as I was, and who lay shivering
under the wagon, was killed by a shot by his own master, whose hand was
the most unsteady of all. He gave one loud howl, kicked convulsively,
then turned over on his side and lay quite still. It sobered them all.
They ran up to him, but he was quite dead. They sat for a while quite
silent, then they threw the rest of the bottles into the lake, dug a
shallow grave for Bob, and putting me in the wagon drove slowly back to
town. They were not bad young men. I don't think they meant to hurt me,
or to kill Bob. It was the nasty stuff in the bottles that took away
their reason.

"I was never the same dog again. I was quite deaf in my right ear, and
though I strove against it, I was so terribly afraid of even the sight
of a gun that I would run and hide myself whenever one was shown to me.
My master was very angry with those young men, and it seemed as if he
could not bear the sight of me. One day he took me very kindly and
brought me here, and asked Mr. Morris if he did not want a good-natured
dog to play with the children.

"I have a happy home here and I love the Morris boys; but I often wish
that I could keep from putting my tail between my legs and running home
every time I hear the sound of a gun."

"Never mind that, Jim," I said. "You should not fret over a thing for
which you are not to blame. I am sure you must be glad for one reason
that you have left your old life."

"What is that?" he said.

"On account of the birds. You know Miss Laura thinks it is wrong to kill
the pretty creatures that fly about the woods."

"So it is," he said, "unless one kills them at once. I have often felt
angry with men for only-half killing a bird. I hated to pick up the
little, warm body, a