Being tickled.
Fleas.


He was a very small boy. Paddy was his dog, and Paddy was nearer to
his heart than anything on earth. When Paddy met swift and hideous
death on the turnpike road the boy's mother trembled to break the
news. But it had to be, and when he came home from school she told him
simply:

"Paddy has been run over and killed."

He took it very quietly. All day it was the same. But five minutes
after he had gone to bed there echoed through the house a shrill and
sudden lamentation. His mother rushed upstairs with solicitude and
pity.

"Nurse says," he sobbed, "that Paddy has been run over and killed."

"But, dear, I told you that at dinner, and you didn't seem to be
troubled at all."

"No; but--but I didn't know you said Paddy. I--I thought you said
daddy!"


PUP--"Great cats; That's a nerve! Somebody has put up a building right
where I buried a bone!"--_Puck_.