G.

"Tommy shall tell the story as he told it to me:--

"'Yes, marm, he's my dog. His name's Grip. My father paid five dollars
for that dog. You look as if you thought he wasn't worth it; but I
wouldn't take twice the money for him, not if you was to pay it over
this minute. I know he ain't a handsome dog. I don't think yellow is a
pretty color for a dog, do you? and I wish he had a little more of a
tail. Liz says he's cur-tailed (Liz thinks it's smart to make puns), but
he'll look a great deal better when his ear gets well and his hair grows
out and covers the bare spots--don't you think so? But father says,
"Handsome is that handsome does," and nobody can say but that our dog
did the handsome thing when he saved over two hundred dollars in money
and all mother's silver spoons and lots of other things from being
stolen--hey, Grip? We call him Grip 'cause he hung on to that fellow so
till the policeman got in to take him.

"'What fellow? Why, the burglar, of course. Didn't you read about it in
the newspaper? There was a long piece published about it the day after
it happened, with headings in big letters: "The house No. 35 Wells
Avenue, residence of Thomas Tompkins, the well-known dealer in hardware,
cutlery, etc., was entered last night by burglars. Much valuable
property saved through the courage and pluck of a small dog belonging to
the family." They didn't get that part right, for he didn't belong to us
then. You just wait, and I'll read the whole piece to you. I've got it
somewhere in my pockets. You see, I cut it out of the paper to read to
the boys at school.

"'You'd rather I told you about it? Well. Lie down, Grip! Be quiet!
can't you? He don't mean any thing by sniffing round your ankles in that
way; anyhow, he won't catch hold unless I tell him to; but you see,
ever since that night he wants to go for every strange man or woman that
comes near the place. Liz says "he's got burglars on the brain."

"'I guess I'll begin at the beginning and tell you how I came by him.
One night after school I'd been down to the steamboat landing on an
errand for father, and along on River Street there was a crowd of
loafers round two dogs in a fight. This dog was one of 'em, and the
other was a bulldog twice his size. The bulldog's master was looking on,
without so much as trying to part 'em; but nobody was looking after the
yellow dog: he didn't seem to have any master. Well, I want to see fair
play in every thing. It mak