Bessie Hedden was a merry-hearted creature, and so pretty that, had she been an Indian maiden, she would have been known as “Wild Rose,” or “Singing Bird,” or “Water Lily,” or some such name.  As it was, many of the villagers called her “Little Sunshine,” for her joyous spirit could light up the darkest corner.  She was faithful at school, affectionate and industrious at home, and joyous and honorable among her playmates.  What wonder, then, that everybody loved her, or that she was happiest among the happy?  Her brother Rudolph was much younger than she,—­a rosy-checked, strong-armed little urchin of seven years; and Kitty, the youngest of the Hedden children, was but three years of age at the date at which my story opens.

There was one other individual belonging to the family circle, larger even than Bessie, stronger and saucier even than Rudolph, and but little older than Kitty.  He had no hands, yet once did, as all admitted, the best day’s work ever performed by any member of the family.  This individual’s name was Bouncer, and he had a way of walking about on all-fours, and barking—­probably in consequence of his having been created a dog.

Bouncer loved all the children dearly; but, stout-hearted fellow that he was, he loved the weakest one best; and, therefore, little Kitty was never without a friend and protector.  Ever since a certain day in the summer, when she had fallen into the stream, and had been carried home insensible by Bouncer, Kitty had loved the huge mastiff dearly, and nightly added to her simple prayer, “Please, God, bless dear Bouncer, too!”

And Bouncer was blessed beyond most dogs.  Gentle as a baby when Kitty’s arm was about his neck, he was fierce as a lion when fierceness was required.  His great white teeth were a terror to evil-doers, and his bark in the dead of night would make venturesome bears sneak back into the forest like kittens.

Often would Mrs. Hedden say to her neighbors, that with “husband’s rifle and Bouncer’s teeth, she felt that she lived in a fortress.  As for the children,” she would add, laughingly, “I scarcely ever feel any anxiety about them, when I know that Bouncer has joined their little expeditions.  He is a regiment in himself.”

II.

Exploring the stream.

One of the favorite holiday resorts of Bessie and Rudolph was a lovely spot in the forest, not a quarter of a mile from the house.  Shaded by giant oaks, whose gnarled roots lay like serpents, half hidden in the moss, ran a streamlet, covered with sunny speckles, where parted leaves admitted the sunshine.  Flowers grew along its banks in wild profusion, and it held its wayward course with many a rippling fall and fantastic turn, until it was lost in the shades of the forest.

“Where does it go to, I wonder?” the children often would say to each other, longing for permission to follow its windings farther than the limits prescribed by their parents would allow.