MY DOG'S DOGGED LIE.

Press, Volume LIII, Issue 9515, 7 September 1896, Page 7

MY DOG'S DOGGED LIE.

By Jeax Aicard.

Adapted from the French

for a lung tune I bad had a blind confidence in him. We loved each other. He was a sheep dog. He was white, with brown points. 1 had named him Pienot. Pierrot could ciiinb trees and ladders. He was in love with a wooden ball as big as a billiard ball. 51c brought it to us one duv, ami. sealc'l on his tail, he remarked :—""'I'llrow ,ne thai- very into that hedge: I'll ih.il jj ( yonMl see- ' It was done, and his little plan succeeded marvellously. But he then became very wearisome. He Mas always saying, "Let's play at ball!" H e -would couie into his master's workroom abruptly whenever he could with the ball between his teeth, and, standing up on his hind less, place his paws in front of him on the table! amidst papers, precious lfctt&i-s, open books. " There's this b.ill. Throw it out of the window, and I'll go and seek it. That will be fun. you'll see, much better fun than your pap-is. "«vcls, dramas and journals." Xho ball is thrown from the window. He rushes out. But no, they have deceived poor Pierrot! And the ball takes its place on the table as a paper weight as soon as lie js outside. Pierrot below, seeks, seeks. Then coming under the window, " Bow bow ! I sayj you fellow with the papers ! Bow wou- ! This is rather too strong ! I can't find anything. Ho, of course, there's nothing to rind—unless someone passing has taken it, you must have kept it." He comes bade, fumbles with his nose in my pockets, under the furniture, in open drawji-3. Then, suddenly, with the air of a man who strikes his forehead, he turns to you, "I'll bet it's on the table !" 1 take care not to speak, for in fact it is on che table. With an intelligent glance he has followed mv eye. He sees his ball. To bide it again, my hand is abruptly raised, and then goodbye to work ! Great games begin ; he must have his ball at any price, follows my least movement and won't leave mc, still laughing cheerfully with that tail of his. He is a good watchdog too. One needs one in the country. He often makes mc think of those men changed into animals one reads of in fairy tale 3. His eye is full of tender humanity, profound, imploring, and says, " What will you have ? I am only a four-legged animal, but my heart is a human heart, better even than most men's. Bad lock has taught mc so much ! I' ye suffered so much ! and I suffer now, because I can't explain to you, in words like yours, my fidelity, my* devotion. Oh, yes !Fm ail yours—l love you; a dog's love. I'd die for ' you, if need were. What belongs to you is sacred. Let senieone just touch it, and they'll see !"' Yet we quarrelled one clay. It was a sad grief. People who believe blindly in their dogs will understand mc. It happened thus: —The cook had killed two pigeons. "I'll stew 'em with pease," she observed. She went into the next room to look for a basket in which to throw the pigeons' feathers as she plucked them. When she came back to the kitchen she gave a scream. One of her two pigeons had flown. Yet she had only been absent a few seconds. A beggar, doubtless, had passed, and laid hands on the bird through the opeii window. She ran out to look for the beggar. No one there. Then, mechanically, she thought. "The dog!" But instantly struck with remorse, •'What a shame to suspect Pierrot. He never steals anything. Why, he kept watch over a turkey all day without touching it, even when he was hungry. Besides, there's Pierrot in the kitchen, sitting on his tail; his eyes are closed, and he's gaping erery new and then—much he cares about my pigeons." Pierrot was there, in fact sleepy and seemingly indifferent. I was summoned. "Pierrot ! " He raises his heavy c3 T e to we. Says he, "Eh? What do yon want, my master ? I was so comfortable. Stop, I was dreaming of—of the ball." "Of the ball? I'm of your opinion, Catherine—the dog could not have stolen the "pigeon. In the first place, if he had he would be plucking it now at the bottom of Borne ditch, most certainly." " But look at him, sir. That dog has not a Christian look." ••' What !" : ' . . - y "1 say the clos does not look frank." " Look mc straight in the face." His head low down, he growls out, "Should 1 be lying quiet here if I'd stolen your old pigeon ? Why, 1 should just be plucking it ! " Yes ! he dishes up my own argument to mc. This looks sinister. "Look mc straight in the face." He makes a feint of indifference. "Good lord, Catherine, yes, it's he. I'm certain of it." For what I saw in the dog's eyes struck pain to my heart. I distinctly saw a human lie. It was very complex ! He wished to put a false appearance of Sincerity into his look, but couldn't succeed, because that is impossible, even to man. This miracle of Satan is only possible to woman, it is said—and not always to her. He exhausted himself in vain efforts, but this unsuccessful lie was more sadly inculpating than a confession. But I resolved to nave clear proof. To a deceiver, a deceiver and a half. In ehort, I must " go one better." "Ccme," said I, " take that.'" I offered him the other pigeon. He looked at mc, thinking. "Hum! Can this be possible? You suspect mc, and you want to know. Why do you give mo a pigeon to-day ? That never happened before." He took it in his jaw, and softly laid it down at once on the ground. He added— " I am not a fool." " But it's fov you," I said; " don't I tell you so? I know you like pigeons. All right; there's one. I had two, and I want two ; one's no use to mc. I tell you that's yours—that one." I patted him, thinking "Rascal ! thief! you have cheated mc as though you were a, man. You have given the lie to a whole loyal existence, wretch !" And I added aloud, " Good dog, fine dog. Oh ! you lovely dog ! " He made up his mind, took the pigeon in his teeth, and went out, not without looking round several times to discover my real thought. As soon as he was out on the terrace I closed the glass door and watched him. He wade a few steps, as though to take his prey to a distance to devour, then stopped, put his pigeon on the ground, and thought for a »ng time. Several times he looked at the wor with his false glance. Then he renounced all hope of a satisfactory explanation, contented himself with the 'fact, picked up his prey, and made off. And as he went his tail, timid and hesitating during our conversation, became sincere. " Bah ! let's take it when we can. No one's looking at mc. Hurrah ! for a good feed, anyhow 1 I followed him at a distance, and surprised him scratching a hole with his active P*ws. The piceon that 1 had treacherously offered him was by the aide of the ditch. I scratched up the earth myself to the bottom. The (stolen) pigeon waa there skillfully oiddon. I was quite stricken. My friend, Pierrot, returning to the instincts of his cengenitors, the foxes and wolves, was burying his provisions. But, aa a domestic animal, he had learnt to lie. I made, before the eye 3of the liar, a brush of big feathers from my two pigeons, and put it on my writing-table. And when Pierrot brought mc the ball, saying, with an easy air, " Come, don't bother with those papers; let's play !" I raised the little leather brueh, and Pierrot dropped his head, lowered his tail, and cronched his poor Komach on the ground. The ball fell from his jaws. "Oh Lord i oh, Lord ! then you'll never forgive mc!" J " You don't love mc," I said to him one S You dtm,t '°ye mc, eince you ""W- deceive mc and m> cunningly." ~? i inow who Jt ™ that said to mc, good naturedly, «y eß , y , 3 , my dear, he Unes; you and sinc«ely_but what would you have ? He loves pigeons too. Come, he has been sufficiently punished." I took the little bunch of feathers—yet Pierrot was not afraid. "Now," I said, you see it for the last time. Perish the niemory of your fault!" I threw the thing in tne fare. Pierrot, gravely seated, watched n burn, then without any buret of joy, Without leaping or bounding on mc, he came gravely to be care-seed, laying his chin on my knee. I felt the happiness of forgiveness swelling in my heart. But my dog said to mc, very low, " I know that happiness too. W hat a lot of things I forgive you that you never know of !"- Helbwrne Argus.