With the tin-kettle fastened to him and hurting him at every step, and with Mr. Rough at his very heels, Benjy was run out of Beastland.  When he got to the edge of the moon he jumped off, Mr. Rough after him.

Down, down, they went, oh! so fast and so far!  Benjy screaming all the way and Mr. Rough’s collar jingling.  They came to the river, and making all the noise they could, in they fell.  As Benjy sank he thought of all the unkind things he had done.  He came to the top, but sank again, and sinking, thought of his papa and mamma and his little sisters, and of his nice little bed, and of the prayers his dear mamma used to hear him say.  He rose for the last time, and saw Nox standing on the bank, and thought, “Now he has come to do something to me because I have so often hurt him.”  Down, down he went, as a lark flew up in the summer sky.  The bird was almost out of sight when a soft black nose and great brown eyes came close to his face, and a kind, gentle mouth took hold of him, and paddling and swimming as hard as he could, Nox carried Benjy to the shore and laid him under the willow-tree.  There Benjy’s papa found him, and took him home, where he was sick for a long, long time.  When he got a little better he used to tell people of his visit to Beastland, but they always said it was only a dream he had during the fever.

In the long weeks of his sickness he grew much kinder and sweeter.  But something happened when he was getting well which softened his little heart once and forever.

While he was sick, Mr. Rough was given to one of the servants to be cared for and fed well, but he did not treat him kindly, and besides, the dog wanted his little master; he wanted to see him, but no one would let him; so poor faithful Mr. Rough got thinner and weaker every day, till at last he would not eat anything nor even go out for a little walk.

One day the barn door was open and Mr. Rough thought of Benjy and crept into the house.  When he got into the front hall he smelled Benjy and ran into the parlor; and when he got into the parlor he saw Benjy, who had heard the jingle of his collar and who stood up and held out his arms for him.  Mr. Rough jumped into them, and then fell dead at his master’s feet.

Yes, dear children, Mr. Rough died of joy at seeing Benjy again.  Benjy felt very sorry for him, and it kept him from growing well for a long time, but it did him good in other ways, for as the tears rolled down his cheeks on to Mr. Bough’s poor little scratched face, he felt as if he never could hurt or be unkind to any animal again.

THE PORCELAIN STOVE.

Adapted From Ouida.

“The story-teller must take life into himself in its wholeness, must let it live and work whole and free within him.  He must give it out free and unabbreviated, and yet stand above the life which actually is.”—­Froebel.