And there, behind him, crouched Pierrot; his teeth,
His good, strong teeth, clenching the jacket brown,
Holding the child in safety. With wild bounds
Swift as the gray wolf's own I climbed the steep,
And as I reached them Pierrot beat his tail,
And looked at me, so utterly distressed,
With eyes that said: "Forgive, I could not speak,"
But never loosed his hold till my dear rogue
Was safe within my arms.
Ah, ha, Pierrot,
Madame forgives your barking and your teeth;
I knew she would.
_Traveler._ Come here, Pierrot, good dog,
Come here, poor fellow, faithful friend and true,
Come, come, be friends with me.
ELLEN MURRAY.
THE DOG UNDER THE WAGON
"Come, wife," said good old farmer Gray,
"Put on your things, 'tis market day,
And we'll be off to the nearest town,
There and back ere the sun goes down.
Spot? No, we'll leave old Spot behind,"
But Spot he barked and Spot he whined,
And soon made up his doggish mind
To follow under the wagon.
Away they went at a good round pace
And joy came into the farmer's face,
"Poor Spot," said he, "did want to come,
But I'm awful glad he's left at home--
He'll guard the barn, and guard the cot,
And keep the cattle out of the lot.
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