We have a new dog. His name is Bright. He is only two years old. His master one day took the cars near our place for California; and poor Bright was left behind.
I met him at the railroad-station. He seemed to be in great distress. I had some bread in my hand, and offered him a piece. He was too sad to eat. I patted him on the head, and said, "Poor doggie, have you lost your master?"
Bright howled as if he understood my question; and I believe he did. When I got home that day, I found that he had followed me. As I stood on the door-step, he fawned at my feet, and made a low, imploring noise, as if he would like to say, "Do be my master, and let me be your dog: I will be such a good dog!"
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