Annals of our ancestors; one hundred and fifty years of history in the ...

OUR SPRINGTIME 103
us all with his insistent "Ki-yi!" I sprang from the trundlebed
to open the fire and warm some milk for him.
How we loved this pet! Little sister was all devotion,
and carried him about in her arms. A short time after this
he followed Joe into the orchard, where the hogs were kept.
Small as was Buffie, the pigs became much e.xcited and began
to raise the bristles on their backs; and the hired man saw it
might be dangerous for the doggie, and gave him a toss upon
the haystack. But Buffie did not like his perch and slid down
to violent death. Thus ended the tragic story of Buffie, whose
short life had given us unalloyed happiness.
There was also Watchie, who was much beloved and grew
to be a watch dog in spite of the accidents of his youth. Little
Ida carried him about the most of the time in her plump baby
arms out of sympathy for his uncertain little legs. One day
she fell down on him and dislocated his shoulder, so that he
was always a little lame. When he was grown father used to
take him to the city to watch the load, and he was generally
considered "the cutest dog in the world." He always followed
the boys to market. One time they did not wish that he should
be obliged to get wet swimming Mill Creek, so they indulgently
lifted him into the wagon. When in midstream he jumped
out, joyously took a bath, and then swam to shore; Watchie
knew just what he wanted.
Once this same dog got lost on College Hill when he had
been with Brother Joe to the wood market in the city. About
a week later, when Will was coming home from College Hill,
a yellow dog barked at him much like our Watchie. Will
knelt and patted his knee, calling "Watchie" in the familiar
manner and the dog came bounding — it was indeed Watchie,
overjoyed to find one of his young masters. Will gave the
woman of the house something for feeding our truant dog and
brought him home in triumph, where he was accorded a glad
welcome.
We had a little white, woolly poodle, with eyes that Anson
called "burnt holes in a blanket." He contracted fleas, which
greatly annoyed our little sister, for the bites were almost as
bad as bee stings on her tender flesh and she did want to pet