I am sorry to say that
Dash had a fancy for the gayer garden, and for some time my
good-tempered neighbour bore patiently with his inroads, and with a sigh
buried the beef-bone that Dash had picked among the mignonette at the
roots of a magnificent rose which he often alluded to as 'John Hopper,'
and seemed to treat as a friend. Mr. Hopper certainly throve on Dash's
bones, but unfortunately Dash took to applying them himself to the roots
of plants for which I believe that bone manure is not recommended. When
he made a hole two foot deep in the Nemophila bed, and laid a sheep's
head by in it against a rainy day, I felt that something must be done.
After the humblest apologies to my neighbour, I begged for a few days'
grace. He could not have spoken more feelingly of the form, scent, and
colour of his friend John Hopper than I ventured to do in favour of the
intelligence of my friend Dash. In short I begged for a week's patience
on his part, that I might teach Dash to know his own garden. If I failed
to do so, I promised to put him on the chain, much as I dislike tying up
dogs."

"How did you manage, Cousin?"

"Whenever Dash strayed into the next garden, I began to scold him in the
plainest English, and covered him with reproaches, till he slunk
gradually back to his own untidy grass-plat. When he touched his own
grounds, I changed my tone at once, to approbation. At first this change
simply brought him flying to my feet again, if I was standing with my
friend in his garden. But after a plentiful application of, 'How dare
you, Sir? Go back' (pointing), 'go back to your garden. If this
gentleman catches you here again, he'll grind your bones to make John
Hopper's bread. That's a good dog. No! Down! Stay where you are!'--Dash
began to understand. It took many a wistful gaze of his brown eyes
before he fully comprehended what I meant, but he learned it at last. He
never put paw into Major E----'s garden without looking thoroughly
ashamed of himself. He would lie on his own ragged lawn and wistfully
watch me sitting and smoking among the roses; but when I returned to our
own quarters he welcomed me with an extravagant delight which seemed to
congratulate me on my escape from the enemy's country."

"Oh, Cousin Peregrine! We must try and teach Ponto to know his own
garden."

"I strongly advise you to do so. Ponto is a gentleman of honour and
intelligence, I feel convinced. I think he will learn his neighbourly
duties, and