to leave them about ten years ago."

"Their old dog Bully?"

"Yes, I'm Bully." They nosed each other with deeper affection, then
strolled about the glades shoulder to shoulder. Bully the more eagerly
pressed for news. "Tell me, how are they getting along?"

"Very well indeed; they've paid for the house."

"I--I suppose you occupy the kennel?"

"No. They said they couldn't stand it to see another dog in your old
place."

Bully stopped to howl gently.

"That touches me. It's generous in you to tell it. To think they missed
me!"

For a little while they went on in silence, but as evening fell, and
the light from the golden streets inside of the city gave the only glow
to the scene, Bully grew nervous and suggested that they go back.

"We can't see so well at night, and I like to be pretty close to the
path, especially toward morning."

Tam assented.

"And I will point them out. You might not know them just at first."

"Oh, we know them. Sometimes the babies have so grown up they're rather
hazy in their recollection of how we look. They think we're bigger than
we are; but you can't fool us dogs."

"It's understood," Tam cunningly arranged, "that when he or she arrives
you'll sort of make them feel at home while I wait for the boy?"

"That's the best plan," assented Bully, kindly. "And if by any chance
the little fellow should come first,--there's been a lot of them this
summer--of course you'll introduce me?"

"I shall be proud to do it."

And so with muzzles sunk between their paws, and with their eyes
straining down the pilgrims' road, they wait outside the gate.

Ligeia

BY EDGAR ALLAN POE

And the will therein lieth, which dieth not. Who knoweth the
mystery of the will, with its vigor? For God is but a great will
pervading all things by nature of its intentness. Man doth not
yield himself to the angels, nor unto death utterly, save only
through the weakness of his feeble will.--_Joseph Glanvill._

I cannot, for my soul, remember how, when, or even precisely where, I
first became acquainted with the lady Ligeia. Long years have since
elapsed, and my memory is feeble through much suffering. Or, perhaps, I
cannot _now_ bring these points to mind, because, in truth, the
character of my beloved, her rare learning, her singular yet placid cast
of beauty, and the thrilling and enthralling eloquence of her low
musical language, made their way into my heart by paces so