T0BY-D0G

I'm not the last of the Romanticists. I'm a little bull-dog that cameinto the world one evening, almost under the feet of a chestnut mare.She didn't lie down all night long, she was so afraid of crushing mymother and her puppies. A little bull-dog like me is almost the kid ofa mule. I lay in the hot straw against her hot flanks, I drank out ofthe stable pails. I used to get up when I heard the sound of hoofscoming in and I took an interest in the washing of the carriages, untilthe day She came and picked me out--_me_, the best-looking, the mostsnub-nosed, the stockiest of the litter. (_Sighing_.) And there Shelies, so dreadfully quiet! It makes me sorrowful to look at her with that littlecloth still 'round her ankle. You remember when He picked her up inside hisarms? He held her--and She's a lot bigger than I am--just as if She werea little dog that he was going to drown....

KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (_bitterly_)

I remember. I occasionally was at the top of the stairs irritated by the noise, butcurious. He came up and pushed me aside with his leg, as he would havedone if a piece of furniture had happened to be inside his way.