"I am thinking what I shall do with this beautiful bunch of grapes," said Reka Lane as she sat on the bench near the arbor. Her real name was Rebecca; but they called her, for shortness, Reka.

"I know what I should do with it," said little Matilda, who had been wading in the brook, and was without shoes and stockings. "I should divide it among the present company."

"Good for Matty!" exclaimed brother Henry. "The best use you can put grapes to is to eat them before they spoil. Come, Reka, divide, divide."

"I am not sure that I shall do that," said Reka.

"Look at that queer dog!" said Matty. "He has crept under the shawl on the ground, and looks like a head with no body to it."

"That shawl was left there the other day by old Mrs. Merton," said Reka. "The dog is her son's terrier; and his name is Beauty."

"He is any thing but a beauty," said Matty. "I think him the ugliest dog I ever saw."

"I suppose they call him Beauty to make up for the bad word he gets from every one as being ugly," said Reka. "He is a good dog, nevertheless; and he knows that shawl belongs to his mistress.—Don't you, Beauty?"

Here Beauty tore out from under the shawl, and began barking in a very intelligent manner.

"Now I will tell you what we will do," said Reka. "Put on your shoes and stockings, Matty, and we will all go and call on Mrs. Merton, who is ill; and we'll take back her shawl, and give her this beautiful bunch of grapes."

"Bow, wow, wow!" cried Beauty, jumping up, and trying to lick Reka's face.

When the children left Mrs. Merton's, after they had presented the grapes, Henry Lane made this remark, "I'll tell you what it is, girls, to see that old lady so pleased by our attention gave me more pleasure than a big feast on grapes, ice-creams, and sponge-cake, with lemonade thrown in."

Dora Burnside.

A TRUE STORY ABOUT A DOG

I am a middle-aged gentleman who is blessed with only one child, a little girl now nearly six years old. Her name is Fanny; and her cousin Gracie, who is about the same age, lives with us.

Both of these little girls are very fond of having me tell them stories; and I have often told them about a dog I once had. They liked this story so much, that they made me promise I would send it to "The Nursery," so that a great many little girls and boys might hear it also. This is the story:—

When I was a little boy, not more than eight years old, my mother consented to my having a dog which a friend offered to give me. He was a little pup then, not more than five weeks old. I fed him on milk for a while, and he grew very fast. I named him Cæsar.

When he got to be six months old, he became very mischievous. Things were constantly being missed from the house. Handkerchiefs, slippers, shoes, towels, aprons, and napkins disappeared; and no one could tell what became of them. One day Cæsar was seen going into the garden with a slipper in his mouth; and I followed him to a far-off corner where stood a large currant-bush.

I looked under the bush, and saw Cæsar digging a hole, into which he put the slipper, and then covered it up with earth. Upon digging under this bush, I found all the things that had been missed.

A neighbor's dog, called "Dr. Wiseman," was Cæsar's particular friend. One day we heard a loud scratching at the front-door; and, when we opened it, in walked Cæsar and Dr. Wiseman. Cæsar took the Doctor by the ear, and led him up to each of the family, just as if he were introducing him, and then led him into the garden, and treated him to a bone.

Although Cæsar did many naughty things, we all loved him; for he was quite affectionate as well as intelligent: but our neighbors complained of him because he chased their chickens, bit their pigs, and scared their horses. A farmer who came to our house one day with a load of potatoes took a great fancy to him. He wanted him for a watch-dog on his farm, which was only four miles from our house.

As he promised to treat him kindly, my mother thought it was best to let him have the dog; and I finally consented, although I believe I cried a good deal about it.

So Cæsar was put into the farmer's wagon, much against his will; and off he went into the country. About three months afterwards, when there was a foot of snow on the ground, there came a great scratching at the front-door of our house, early in the morning, before I was up; and, when the servant opened the door, in bounded Cæsar with a rope around his neck, and a large chunk of wood fastened to the other end of it.

He ran by the servant, and up the stairs, with the piece of wood going bump, bump, all the way, dashed into my room, jumped right up on my bed, and began licking my face.

I was very glad to see my dog again. He staid with us several days; and, when the farmer came for him, he lay down on the floor, closed his eyes, and pretended to be dead; but the farmer took him back to the farm in his wagon.

About a year and a half after that, when I came home for a vacation, we all went up to the farm, hoping to see Cæsar; but we never saw him again. The farmer had shot him, because he killed the chickens, and chased the sheep, and would not mind any thing that was said to him. Thus you see, children, that Cæsar came to a bad end, although he had every advantage of good society in his early youth.

Lansingburgh, N.Y. C. R. W.

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The Nursery, September 1873, Vol. XIV. No. 3

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THE BUNCH OF GRAPES

A TRUE STORY ABOUT A DOG

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