"A bird," she said.

"No."

"A rat."

"No."

"A mouse."

"No a pup."

"Oh, Jack," she said, reprovingly; for she thought he was telling a
story.

He opened his hands and there lay the tiniest morsel of a fox
terrier puppy that I ever saw. He was white, with black and tan
markings. His body was pure white, his tail black, with a dash of
tan; his ears black, and his face evenly marked with black and tan.
We could not tell the color of his eyes, as they were not open.
Later on, they turned out to be a pretty brown. His nose was pale
pink, and when he got older, it became jet black.

"Why, Jack!" exclaimed Miss Laura, "his eyes aren't open; why did
you take him from his mother?"

"She's dead," said Jack. "Poisoned left her pups to run about the
yard for a little exercise. Some brute had thrown over a piece of
poisoned meat, and she ate it. Four of the pups died. This is the