“That reminds me of some poetry, or rather doggerel,” said Mr. Harry, “that I cutout of a newspaper for you yesterday;” and he drew from his pocket a little slip of paper, and read this: 

  “Do doggies gang to heaven, Dad? 
    Will oor auld Donald gang? 
  For noo to tak’ him, faither wi’ us,
    Wad be maist awfu’ wrang.”

There was a number of other verses, telling how many kind things old Donald the dog had done for his master’s family, and then it closed with these lines: 

  “Withoot are dogs.  Eh, faither, man,
     ‘Twould be an awfu’ sin
  To leave oor faithfu’ doggie there,
     He’s certain to win in.

  “Oor Donald’s no like ither dogs,
     He’ll no be lockit oot,
  If Donald’s no let into heaven,
     I’ll no gang there one foot.”

“My sentiments exactly,” said a merry voice behind Miss Laura and Mr. Harry, and looking up they saw Mr. Maxwell.  He was holding out one hand to them, and in the other kept back a basket of large pears that Mr. Harry promptly took from him, and offered to Miss Laura.  “I’ve been dependent upon animals for the most part of my comfort in this life,” said Mr. Maxwell, “and I sha’n’t be happy without them in heaven.  I don’t see how you would get on without Joe, Miss Morris, and I want my birds, and my snake, and my horse—­how can I live without them?  They’re almost all my life here.”

“If some animals go to heaven and not others, I think that the dog has the first claim,” said Miss Laura.  “He’s the friend of man—­the oldest and best.  Have you ever heard the legend about him and Adam?”

“No,” said Mr. Maxwell.

“Well, when Adam was turned out of paradise, all the animals shunned him, and he sat bitterly weeping with his head between his hands, when he felt the soft tongue of some creature gently touching him.  He took his hands from his face, and there was a dog that had separated himself from all the other animals, and was trying to comfort him.  He became the chosen friend and companion of Adam, afterward of all men.”

“There is another legend,” said Mr. Harry, “about our Saviour and a dog.  Have you ever heard it?”

“We’ll tell you that later,” said Mr. Maxwell, “when we know what it is.”

Mr. Harry showed his white teeth in an amused smile, and began:  “Once upon a time our Lord was going through a town with his disciples.  A dead dog lay by the wayside, and every one that passed along flung some offensive epithet at him.  Eastern dogs are not like our dogs, and seemingly there was nothing good about this loathsome creature, but as our Saviour went by, he said, gently, ’Pearls cannot equal the whiteness of his teeth.’”

“What was the name of that old fellow,” said Mr. Maxwell, abruptly, “who had a beautiful swan that came every day for fifteen years, to bury its head in his bosom and feed from his hand, and would go near no other human being?”