o feed on its own bitterness. Hateful pride!--to be
conquered, as a man would conquer an enemy, or it will make whirlpools
in the current of your affections--nay, turn the whole tide of the heart
into rough and unaccustomed channels.

But boyhood has its GRIEF too, apart from PRIDE.

You love the old dog, Tray; and Bella loves him as well as you. He is a
noble old fellow, with shaggy hair, and long ears, and big paws, that he
will put up into your hands, if you ask him. And he never gets angry
when you play with him, and tumble him over in the long grass, and pull
his silken ears. Sometimes, to be sure, he will open his mouth, as if he
would bite, but when he gets your hand fairly in his jaws, he will
scarce leave the print of his teeth upon it. He will swim, too, bravely,
and bring ashore all the sticks you throw upon the water; and when you
fling a stone to tease him, he swims round and round, and whines, and
looks sorry, that he cannot find it.

He will carry a heaping basket full of nuts, too, in his mouth, and
never spill one of them; and when you come out to your uncle's home in
the spring, after staying a whole winter in the town, he knows you--old
Tray does! And he leaps upon you, and lays his paws on your shoulder,
and licks your face; and is almost as glad to see you, as cousin Bella
herself. And when you put Bella on his back for a ride, he only
pretends to bite her little feet--but he wouldn't do it for the world.
Ay, Tray is a noble old dog!

But one summer, the farmers say that some of their sheep are killed, and
that the dogs have worried them; and one of them comes to talk with my
uncle about it.

But Tray never worried sheep; you know he never did; and so does nurse;
and so does Bella; for in the spring, she had a pet lamb, and Tray never
worried little Fidele.

And one or two of the dogs that belong to the neighbors are shot; though
nobody knows who shot them; and you have great fears about poor Tray;
and try to keep him at home, and fondle him more than ever. But Tray
will sometimes wander off; till finally, one afternoon, he comes back
whining piteously, and with his shoulder all bloody.

Little Bella cries loud; and you almost cry, as nurse dresses the wound;
and poor old Tray whines very sadly. You pat his head, and Bella pats
him; and you sit down together by him on the floor of the porch, and
bring a rug for him to lie upon; and try and tempt him with a little
milk, and Bella brings a pie