him, and
the execution was delegated to the hired man, Will stipulating that
none of his weapons should be used, and that he be allowed to get out of
ear-shot.

Late that afternoon, just before sunset, we assembled in melancholy
silence for the funeral. A grave had been dug on the highest point of
the eastern extremity of Cody Hill, and decorated in black ribbons, we
slowly filed up the steep path, carrying Turk's body on a pine board
softened with moss. Will led the procession with his hat in his hand,
and every now and then his fist went savagely at his eyes. When we
reached the grave, we formed around it in a tearful circle, and Will,
who always called me "the little preacher," told me to say the Lord's
Prayer. The sun was setting, and the brilliant western clouds were
shining round about us. There was a sighing in the treetops far below
us, and the sounds in the valley were muffled and indistinct.

"Our Father which art in heaven," I whispered softly, as all the
children bent their heads, "Hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come,
Thy will be done in earth as it is in heaven." I paused, and the other
children said the rest in chorus. The next day Will procured a large
block of red bloodstone, which abounds in that country, squared it off,
carved the name of Turk upon it in large letters, and we placed it at
the head of the grave.

To us there had been no incongruity in the funeral ceremonials and
burial. Turk had given us all that dog could give; we, for our part,
gave him Christian sepulture. Our sorrow was sincere. We had lost an
honest, loyal friend. For many succeeding days his grave was garlanded
with fresh flowers, placed there by loving hands. Vale Turk! Would that
our friends of the higher evolution were all as stanch as thou!

THE BURIAL OF TURK.

Only a dog! but the tears fall fast.
As we lay him to rest underneath the green sod,
Where bountiful nature, the sweet summer through,
Will deck him with daisies and bright goldenrod.

The loving thought of a boyish heart
Marks the old dog's grave with a bloodstone red;
The name, carved in letters rough and rude,
Keeps his memory green, though his life be sped.
For the daring young hero of wood and plain,

Like all who are generous, strong, and brave,
Has a heart that is loyal and kind and true,
And shames not to weep o'er his old friend's grave.

Only a dog, do you say? but I deem
A