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ys. Grace put down now and then a "B. W." in the blue book; but as for disobedience, Horace had just now no temptation to that. He could hardly think of anything but his dog. Pincher was about his age. He could not remember the time when he first knew him. "O, what jolly times they had had together! How often Pincher had trotted along to school, carrying the satchel with the school-books in his teeth. Why, the boys all loved him, they just loved him so." "No, sir," said Horace, talking to himself, and laying the dog's head gently on his knee: "there wasn't one of them but just wished they had him. But, poh! I wouldn't have sold him for all the cannons and fire-crackers in the United States. No, not for a real drum, either; would I, Pincher?" Horace really believed the dog understood him, and many were the secrets he had poured into his faithful ears. Pincher would listen, and wink, and wag his tail, but was sure to keep everything to himself. "I tell you what it is, Pincher," Horace burst forth, "I'm not going to have you die! My own pa gave you to me, and you're the best dog that ever lived in this world. O, I didn't mean to catch your foot in that trap! Eat the chicken, there's a good fellow, and we'll cure you all up." But Pincher couldn't eat the chicken, and couldn't be cured. His eyes grew larger and sadder, but there was the same patient look in them always. He fixed them on Horace to the last, with a dying gaze which made the boy's heart swell with bitter sorrow. "He wanted to speak, he wanted to ask me a question," said Horace, with sobs he did not try to control. O, it was sad to close those beautiful eyes forever, those beseeching eyes, which could almost speak. Mrs. Clifford came and knelt on the stone hearth beside the basket, and wept freely for the first time since her husband's death. "Dear little Pincher," said she, "you have died a cruel death; but your dear little master closed your eyes. It was very hard, poor doggie, but not so hard as the battle-field. You shall have a quiet grave, good Pincher; but where have they buried our brave soldier?" [Illustration: CAPTAIN HORACE AND HIS DOG. Page 138.] CHAPTER X. TRYING TO GET RICH. With his own hands, and the help of Grasshopper, who did little but hold the nails and look on, Horace made a box for Pincher, while Abner dug his grave under a tree in the grove. It was evening when they all followed Pincher to his last r
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