Bemorealic atc,
1921.
Bellefonte, Pa., November 11,
IN THANKSGIVING.
O Lord, to Thee our hearts we raise
In gratitude and loving praise,
For all the wonders Thou hast wrought,
The joys with which our lives are fraught,
For blessings great and mercies rare,
‘Which Thou hast showered beyond com-
pare.
‘We thank Thee, in the year that’s past,
Tho’ dark at times with clouds o’ercast,
That Thou hast helped us in the fight,
Encouraged, strengthened, kept us right;
Thy grace and power have proved enough
For victory when the path was rough.
This gladsome day we praises sing
To Thee, O Christ, our Priest and King!
As Thou hast brought us through the year
And filled our lives with sweetest cheer;
Oh keep us through the years to come,
Till Thou shalt call us to our home.
Ed EEN
INTO HIS OWN.
A Different Sort of Thanksgiving
Story.
“There’s as promisin’ a pup as I've
seen in two dog’s ages,” was what I
heard the man in the kennels say
about me once, and I'm gad I heard it.
If it hadn’t been for that I’m afraid
I’d have lost my grip when folks was
saying I was nothing but a yellow
cur and throwing things at me and
sicking other dogs on me. But I re-
membered, and I remembered, too,
that the man that said it knew what
he was talking about. If he said I
was a good puppy then I was a good
puppy, and no use arguing about it.
Sometimes I almost forgot what
kind of a dog I was. You see there
was so many things happening, and
I had so much on my mind, and my
schooling was broken off in what you
might call the kindergarten, that I
didn’t understand how important it
was to know what kind of a dog I
was. That’s the first thing a puppy
ought to learn, and he ought to learn
it so he can say it backwards and
frontwards and upside down.
But, as I say, I almost forgot, and
it was just my luck to fetch up in a
little town where nobody knew the
difference between a St. Bernard and
a Mexican Hairless.
I am an Airedale, but I don’t speak
like one. That's the fault of living in
the gutter like I did. I picked up
gutter talk and now it’s hard work for
me to speak the way I ought to. An
Airedale ought to speak Scotch.
Mother did.
her speech. She used to say, “Dinna
ve ken, Laddie, a wee bit doggie
should look tae his ain manners afore
hie gi’es a thocht tae his meals?”
That’s real Airedale talk. But I lost
the trick of it.
The worst part of being an Aire-
dale is that folks have to be educated
to appreciate you. A body that don’t
know thinks because we're so homely
we're not of good family, and call us
yaller dawgs. They don’t understand
our points. And that’s why I had
such a hard time of it.
I don’t remember all about how my
hard luck started. Things were so
noisy and confused. I do remember |
waking up and hearing no end of!
racket and gongs ringing and folks |
yelling; and then there was the yel-
low light that frightened me. It was
a fire. It kept getting closer and clos- !
er and smoke got in my lungs and I:
was scarit almost to death. Then |
somebody kicked in the door and I put |
my tail between my legs and scooted. |
I kept right on scooting. Most likely
there never was a puppy as frighten- |
ed as I was. It seemed like I couldn't |
stop running and I didn’t for a long
time. When I did I was away out in |
the country and it was dark and I was
alone.
Thirsty! Wow, but my mouth was
dry and my throat felt like an old;
shoe I used to play with near the ken- |
nels! I found some water in a ditch !
and lapped and lapped until I could
feel myself puffing out like a fat pug |
—and no self-respecting dog likes to’
look like a pug. When I couldn’t hold |
any more I crawled under some bush- !
es and went to sleep. i
It was daylight when I woke up,
and then for the life of me I couldn’t
tell which way I had come from.'
Anybody who thinks I wasn’t good and
lost has another guess coming. And
me not seven months old! You can
just scare an Airedale so much, and
then he begins to get over it. That |
was the way with me, there wasn’t;
any more room for scare, so I braced
up considerable and started off to do
the best I could for myself, which
didn’t turn out to be much.
The thing that worried me was be- |
ing away from my family without
saying good-bye or letting them know
where I was. I knew mother would '
worry and stew, which isn’t good for
a dog, particularly when the bench
show is coming on and she ought to
look her best. Mother was a Blue
Ribbon dog. I didn’t understand just '
what that was, but she seemed pret-
ty proud of it, and the man was proud
of it, too. I wished I could get word
to her not to fuss about me. It was
quite a while before I even thought
that I might never see her again.
Never! Think of that! Well, sir, I
just sat down and bawled. That was
because I was so young.
I was hungry and when a puppy is
hungry it is hard for him to think
long about anything but his stomach.
Pretty soon I quit bawling and mooch-
ed along to see if there was any
chance of getting a bite.
About a mile away was a house. I
didn’t know then that every farm-
house belongs to a big dog and that
the big dog is mostly bad tempered.
That was something I was to find out.
The first lesson came at the house I
could see. It makes me laugh now to
think of it—to think of a half-bred
black Collie dog chasing me down the
road—me that got to be the toughest
dog and the best fighter in our coun-
ty! Why, today I’d—But that wasn’t
today, was it? Far from it.
The dog didn’t chase me far, but he
might as well have run me a thousand
miles. There wasn’t another place I
could see where there was even a hint
I remember the burr in |
of grub. It was enough to make a
puppy lay on his back and wiggle his
legs. That was where the Airedale
came in, for ours is a blood that does
not do that sort of thing. We can't.
: So I kept on, dodging dogs and teams,
i till I came to a pretty good sized
place. I didn’t dare go up a street,
but slunk through an alley. Fine
start for a young dog, wasn’t it? Al-
!ley dog, that’s what I was. The first
day I got as low down as that.
The next week was bad. I was
kicked and stoned and chased and bit-
ten. It seemed like everybody had a
grudge against me—dogs and men
and horses and cats. I slept a differ-
ent place every night, and if ever
there was a dirtier puppy than I, then
he was in a pretty sad way. I hadn’t
made a single acquaintance. The on-
ly dogs that spoke to me had growled
and ordered me away or sneered at
me, and I was lonesome. I kept think-
my mind I never would stop looking
for Mother so long as I had three legs
to run on.
{ saw the bull terrior Joggs, who after-
| ward became famous under the ken-
i nel name of Raynsford Champion.
Outside of me he was the only dog of
| champion stock in town—and I didn’t
i realize I was then. He was being led
| along the street by a man, and you
{ never saw a puppy—for he was about
‘my age—look like he thought he was
so important. And mean? Say, the
expression on Joggs’ face was enough
{ to make you turn around and bite
! yourself.
He was on the sidewalk and I pass-
ed him in the road. As soon as he
saw me he commenced to sneer the
way bulldogs do, and there isn’t a
more exasperating sneer in the world.
He looked up at his master and then
at me again and then said:
“Gutter dog.”
Just like that, he said it. Well, I
was a young dog and I was in all
have been justified in making believe
I didn’t hear. 0
pressed on me never to take any lip
from a bull. She said no bull was
ever a gentleman, that they were
nothing but toughs come into a little
prosperity, and that ske’d disown a
son of hers that wasn’t a better dog
in or out of a fight than the best bull
and looked at him as insulting as I
could and told him he was a lap dog
and slept in the same basket with a
cat. He was so mad he looked like
he’d gone crazy. The man that led
I didn’t care whether he did or not.
Finally the man dragged Joggs on,
but not before he had told me what
he’d do to me if he ever caught me.
I just grinned at him.
That settled things for me. I had
to stay in town now. It would be im-
possible for me to keep my self-re-
spect and go away before I had a full
settlement with that bull dog.
That afternoon I made friends with
old Pete. He was a tramp and he was
lazy, and shiftless and generally no-
account, I guess, but for all that he
| was the best friend I ever had. And
| wise! That old dog knew everything.
{ What ailed him, I expect, was that he
{was so many kinds of dog—I’ll bet
| there were a dozen breeds in him, and
‘he looked it. He had the bad luck to
i inherit the homeliest point of each of
them, and the good luck to inherit the
best part of their brains. That's all
he had, though—brains and a kind
heart. He knew what a dog ought to
do and how he should do it, but he
lacked the backbone to live up to what
he preached.
He was lying back of a deserted
barn when I came along looking pret-
ty down in the mouth.
“Hello, young feller,” says he, wig-
gling his tail.
“Howdy do,” says I, tickled to death
to hear a pleasant word.
“If you hain’t got no pressin’ bus-
iness,” says he, “come and lay down
in the sun.”
So I did.
“What’s ailin’ you?” he asked me.
“You look like you’d et a p’isoned
pork chop.”
It was too much for me and I broke
down and whimpered and told him the
whole business. He questioned me
pretty keen, especially about my
Mother and the kennels and then he
made me stand up and walk around
so he could look me over careful.
While he was doing it he kept wag-
ging his head and mumbling to him-
self, but what he was saying I could
not hear. I know now he was sizing
me up to see if I really had class.
“What are you aimin’ to do?” he
wanted to know.
“I’m going to stay in this town till
I lick that bull dog,” I says.
“Good idee,” says he. “Every young
dog ought to have an object in life.”
We stretched there in the sun quite
a while, just being sociable. After a
while old Pete says to me:
ing about my family, and I made up
It was the next week that I first!
sorts of trouble, so maybe I would
But Mother had im-'!
that ever growed. So when Joggs
called me a gutter dog I stopped still
him had hard work to hold him, and |
fight and is willin’ to fight don’t usu-
ally have to.”
I presume I got to be a pretty
tough and swaggery sort of dog. I
was a big Airedale and strong, so that
pretty soon the dogs found out it
wasn’t fun to meddle with me. At
first I rather looked for fights—just
to establish my reputation. When I'd
licked about a dozen curs it got
around that I was a bad one, and Pete
and I were left alone. After that I
never fought unless some stranger
picked on me—or unless I really need-
ed the practice.
i “Pll bet,” says I to Pete, “that I
could thrash that Joggs bulldog.”
{ “Um,” says he. “Maybe so, maybe
not. You got lots to learn yet. Ill
tell you when you're ready for him.”
! was either riding in an automobile or
| being led, so we just made nasty re-
marks to each other. Word was
brought to me several times that
Joggs had it in for me and intended
to get me as soon as he could.
“Wait,” old Pete kept telling me.
“A bull fights different. You hain’t
had no experience with bulls.”
But I got some experience. A
tramp bull came to town that fall,
and he was a rough customer. Right
away he started bullying everybody
and picking fights. Pete made me
keep away from him, but I watched
two or three scraps to see how he
went at it, and that didn’t do me a
bit of harm.
Finally Pete said I might as well
take a crack at the bull, so I just
waited around like, to give him a
chance. Don’t ever worry about his
taking it. That dog loved to fight.
It happened in front of the livery
barn, and he started it. We went to
it good, and it didn’t take me more
than a minute to find out I’d taken on |
a good-sized job. He kept trying to
get under me, to take a chunk out of
my throat, but I was too quick on my
legs and kept going in and out nip-
ping him, waiting for a chance to
throw my weight against him and
knock him down. He ripped me good
a couple of times and we were both
pretty well mussed up, but in the end
I got him and got him good. Over he
went and I got my hold right under
his muzzle. After that it was good
‘night bulldog!
“Am I ready for Joggs now?” I
asked old Pete that night.
{ He grunted and grumbled, but final-
ly said he guessed I was as good as I
ever would be. “But,” says he,
“Joggs is champion stock. Don’t pick
him for an easy one.”
Right after that things happened
that made me forget for a while
about Joggs and even about looking
for Mother. Old Pete and I were
kept so busy dodging men with guns
that other troubles didn’t have any
. time to bother us. It was on account
of sheep killing.
If there’s one thing in the world an :
Airedale hates more than another it’s
a sheep-killer. We originated where
sheep grow and the instinet to sort of
look out for them is fast in our blood.
But the men in that part of the coun-'
try didn’t seem to know about it, and
I was suspected just as mucHi as any
other stray dog, or farm dog for that
matter, in the vicinity. There were
half a dozen dogs shot in a couple of
weeks, and Pete and I kept out of
sight.
killer,” I says. “There wouldn’t be
any need for a man with a gun.”
Early one morning Pete and I came
sneaking out of the woods to look for
something to eat. We came down the
middle of the road so nobody would
see us in the fields or pastures where
sheep were grazing. It wouldn’t have
been safe. Pretty soon I got a sniff
of sheep and saw a flock of them just
waking up over to the right in a lit-
tle valley. It was a pretty sight and
I stopped to watch for a minute.
As I stood looking I saw something
white sort of creep over the top of the
hill and crawl toward the flock. It
I saw Joggs several times, but he
“I'd like to get a grip on that sheep |
pretty cautious because we knew this
was no ordinary fight, but when we
really got heated to it we left out
quite a lot of strategy and put in con-
siderable more scrap. Joggs kept call-
ing me out of my name every time he
got a chance to breathe and the things
he said would have made a Spitz en- |
vious—and the Spitz is the meanest
talking dog alive.
He gashed me down the shoulder
and once he got a hold on my leg, but
I broke away. Another time he threw
his weight on me when I was unbal-
anced, and for a jiffy I thought it was
all day with me.
. with my hind legs and boosted him
enough to let me scramble from un- |
der. There wasan’t any let up. We
fought on and on and on, and oh, how
tired I was getting!
too. When we'd been at it till it
seemed like hours and I was cut and
bruised and bleeding from a dozen!
places, I managed to give him a nip
in the small of the back, and I guess
iit must have hurt plenty, for he just
| forgot all his science and came for
me. And he came high up, which was
very foolish of him. I met him half
way—ifrom belew—and there wouldn’t
have been anything to do but carry
home a bulldog if somebody hadn’t in-
terfered. As it was, he didn’t have
more than a half-hearted wheeze left
in him.
All of a sudden somebody grabbed
me by the scruff of the neck and
threw me a dozen feet.
“Here’s your sheep-killer,” says a
man.
I didn’t care what he said, but made
for Joggs again. The man kicked me
in the ribs.
“Shoot him,” says he.
“Bide a wee, man, bide a wee,” said
another man with an Airedale accent.
“I’m nae sairtain aboot the sheep-
killer.”
| “It’s plain to see,” says the first
man, “that Joggs came on this cur
killing a sheep and tackled him.”
| “Cur,” says the Airedale man, “1
dinna ken if he’s such a cur. He's
not the sheep-killing breed.”
“Nonsense. Give me the gun.”
i “Is it no possible this Joggs dog
: was doin’ a bit maraudin’ on the sheep
‘and this laddie could no stand by to:
| See it?”
| The man with the Airedale talk!
came to me and patted me and I lick-
i ed his hand. He took my muzzle and
i looked into my face and shook his
head. Then he straightened me up
‘and eyed me all over and sucked in
: his breath.
| “Somethin’ is no as it should be
here,” says he to himself. “Yon’s no
tramp dog stock.”
| From me the man went to Joggs,
who was just beginning to crawl
| about.
| “What's this,” says he.
take a look.”
He was holding Joggs’ mouth open.
“Look ye,” says he, pointing in.
“Tell me, is that no’ sheep’s wool?
Eh, Man?”
The other man looked and frowned
and seemed sort of upset.
“’Tis caircumstantial eevidence,”
says my friend, “but we’ll gie the ac-
cused anither test. De you go and ad-
meenister a kick to yon sheep.”
The man did as he was told, and at
sight of it I couldn’t keep still. I
growled and started for him.
“Nay, laddie, nay,” says my friend,
grabbing me quick. “Ye could no see
the sheep abused, could ye? Now
what think ye, Mr. Hollands?” i
The other man didn’t say anything,
but just stood thinking. While he
stood Joggs up, and at that I walked !
to the hurt sheep and stood over it
with my hair bristling, daring Joggs
to come on.
“Look ye there,” says my friend.
“Does that no tell which is sheep-
killin’ and which is no?”
i I guess there wasn’t any doubting
who was guilty. I know what was
left of Joggs looked guilty enough.
His master scowled at him.
i “If he wasn’t worth more money
“Come
But I kicked out’
I expect he was, !
“wasn’t any sheep—and it was a dog. | than the whole flock of sheep I'd give :
For a second I didn’t understand, and him a charge of shot,” he said angry-
then it popped into my head that
there was the sheep killer.
I said as much to Pete, and he said
I'd best come along and keep my nose
out of other folks’ business. But a
sheep killer is any honest dog’s busi-
ness and I told him so pretty brisk.
“You can do what you want to,” he
says. “I'm going to put a lot of coun-
try between me and here.” Which he
started to do with his tail between his :
legs.
I crawled through the fence and
circled so as to get behind the sheep-
killer, and I went pretty fast. I kept
over the brow of the hill till I was
about where I wanted to be and then
I crept as cautious as I could to where
I could see. Well, sir, you could have
knocked me over with the jerk of the
puppy’s tail! The sheep-killer was in
plain sight. He was white like I said
—and he was a bulldog. And he was
| the bulldog. I almost barked for pure
like.
| “How about this ither laddie Fe
says my friend. “I'd like well tae,
see him clean, Mister Hollands. ’Tis
Airedale he is, sir, wi’ no blemish in
his blood, or I'm a Sassenach.”
The other man’s eyes began to
twinkle. “He gave Joggs a licking.
| Any dog that can do that is worth his
feed.”
“Thank ye, sir,” said my friend,
and then he turned to me. “Will ye
come wi’ me laddie? Eh?” I wag-
i ged my tail and followed him. Both
i of them carried Joggs, who was too
‘ weak to walk.
My friend whose name turned out
to be Sandy, washed me up and put
stuff on my cuts and fixed up a place
for me to lie down in the stable. I
‘wasn’t sorry te take a long sleep.
| When I woke up again I felt as good
‘as ever, barring a little smarting |
: where Joggs’ teeth had been gnawing !
“You ain’t quite old enough yet to: joy. Honest to goodness if it wasn’t | around. So I walked out into the
look after yourself like you ought to.
If you hain’t got no objections you
can sort of hang around with me. I've
banged up and down the world con-
siderable and I calc’late I won’t do
you no harm when I give you advice.
It’s to be a partnership, though. You
got to hold up your end.”
I told him I'd be tickled to death,
and that settled it. For more than a
year old Pete and I hung out together, ,
and, like he said, it didn’t do me any
harm. Maybe I didn’t get what you
would call polish—but I did learn a
lot of dog sense; and Pete wouldn't
stand for any bad habits. He taught
me a lot. For instance, he taught me
to fight, something he couldn’t do
himself—but he knew how just the
same and he had a way of telling
things that made you stand right off.
“Remember,” he kept saying to me
till I was tired of it, “that you're a
thoroughbred. Don’t forget you're |
an Airdale. It don’t matter how deep
down you get on your luck, keep
thinkin’ about your blood. Blood’s
what's the matter with me and blood
is what will make you come out all
right in the end. Don’t forget it.”
We didn’t have an easy time of it,
you may be sure, but we managed
mostly to get enough to eat, and in a
few months I had my growth so other
dogs didn’t pitch on us to amount to
anything.
“You're a fightin’ breed,” says Pete.
“Let ’em find it out. Them that can
pion he was now.
“Howdy do, Mr. Champion,” says I
to myself, and after him I went. Be-
fore I got to him he was on a sheep
and worrying its throat. I could
smell the blood and it made me sort
i of sick to my stomach; also it made
me see red. Funny, but that white
dog looked red to me for a second.
The next second I was on him.
He let go that sheep sudden and
"turned on me.
“Sheep-stealer,” says I.
“It’s you, is it?” says he.
{ And then we went at it.
. It was a silent fight. He never
made a sound for fear somebody
! would come, and I was still because
'I was saving my breath to use in my
| business.
I'll say this for Joggs—he was
some fighter. For a bulldog he was
about as good as you’ll meet, and he
was strong and well trained and well
{ fed. I was down in weight because I
{had to be, and I got all the exer-
| cise I needed dodging men with guns,
| so on that score we were even. But
I had one advantage. I hadn’t been
killing sheep. Maybe you think that
don’t amount to anything, but just
! you go into a fight with a clear con-
| science when the other fellow knows
he has been at something low-down
and mean—and you'll understand.
We kicked up considerable sod, I
can tell you. At the start we were
“Good.”
that Joggs dog—Raynsford Cham-
yard to look for Sandy and something |
to eat. |
Mr. Hollands hadn’t many dogs; '
just a couple of setters and Joggs and ;
a fox terrier by the name of Scoot. |
But every one was a thoroughbred |
and every one had brought home rib- |
bons from bench shows. I was the |
only one that couldn’t brag about my |
pedigree—and I could but there was :
no way of proving it. However, the |
other dogs besides Joggs were pleas- |
ant and friendly. It tickled them to’
see Joggs get thrashed and they told
me so. But, kind as they were, they
made me feel somehow that I was dif-
ferent. What with their talk about
pedigrees and their recollections of
what happened at this bench show
and that bench show, I was sort of
out of it. They were always taking
blue ribbons and cups and things like
that, when I didn’t so much as have a
tin plate.
I learned that the next show came
along in November and ended so the
dogs would get home for Thanksgiv-
ing. That was quite a while off, so it
didn’t bother me any, and besides it
was none of my business, for I would
not go. Folks don’t pay entry fees
for stray dogs as a general thing.
But Sandy was proud of me. You
wouldn't believe it, but he was fonder
of me than any of the rest. Once I
heard him bragging about me to Mr.
Hollands and showing my points.
“Ye canna fool me aboot Aire-'
' you ever saw two dogs acting happy
dales,” says he. “Did I na see Ayre-
shire Lass and Argyle Champion
mornin’, noon and night for a matter
o’ a year? ’'Twas in the Douglas ken-
nels. An’ I'm tellin’ ye, sir, this bit
doggie no has to take the dust o’ an-
ny o’ them.”
“Shucks,” says Mr. Hollands. “He’s
‘only a tramp dog. You're partial to
him because he licked Joggs.”
' “I ken a dog when I see him,” says
Sandy stubbornly.
. Another time a strange man, walk-
ing through the yard with Mr. Hol-
lands, stopped and looked at me.
“Didn’t know you went in for Aire-
dales, Hollands,” he said.
“I don’t,” says Mr. Hollands.
| “That’s nothing but a tramp that San-
dy picked up.”
The strange man looked at me and
then called me over to pet me and
| feel my back and legs.
it?” he says to Mr. Hollands. “If
{ this is a tramp, then I am going to sell
every blooded dog in my kennels.
, Come, now, where did you pick him
up? Has he ever been shown?”
“I’m not joking. He’s Sandy’s and
he’s a tramp.”
“Um,” says the man.
Sandy’ll sell him.
But Sandy wouldn’t sell me, though
the man argued with him half an
hour. Finally the sranger told San-
dy he didn’t blame him and asked if
he was going to send me to the show.
Sandy said he never thought of it,
and couldn’t see much use.
© “Tell you what I'll do,” said the
stranger. “I'll back my judgment of
that dog. You send him and I'll pay
his fee and expenses. How’s that
Sandy ?”
‘““’Tis a bargain,” says Sandy.
And that’s how I came to be enter-
ed in the show.
It tickled me, though I hadn’t any
idea I'd have any luck, but I knew it
would please Mother if she could hear
of it. I hadn’t forgotten her you’d
better believe, and was just as deter-
mined as ever to find her. I hadn’t
forgotten old Pete either, but he was
‘timid about coming around. The best
‘I could do for him was to hide out
bones where he would find them. But
he was a born tramp, and it was hard
| for him to stay in one place. Final-
ly he told me he was going to take to
the road and we said good-bye. And
I’ve never seen him again. I wish I
might, now, for I'd like to tell him
what a lot I owe him.
All this time Joggs had been kept
shut up where he couldn’t get to the
sheep and where he and I couldn’t get
at each other. He didn’t have any
sense.
age and there’s such a thing as fool-
_ishness—which was what Joggs had.
{ He would have fought a freight en-
' gine, and if I'd licked him every day
for a month, he would have come the
I next day for another licking.
It was getting pretty cold now, and
November was coming. Nothing was
: talked by the dogs but the show and
the Thanksgiving that followed. Mr.
Hollands always celebrated Thanks-
giving by having a lot of folks out
from the city, and he celebrated for
his dogs, too, especially if they did
well at the show.
During that month we had especial
care—even myself, for Sandy kept
getting prouder and prouder of me
every day. At last he got so he be-
lieved I was the equal of Argyle
Champion, that he used to know, and
he said he bet my mother was as
good a dog as Ayreshire Lass. But
I knew that was all bosh.
Going to the show was no fun.
Riding in the train upset my stom-
ach, and I was pretty glad to get out
and go to the big hall where the show
was, even if I did have to be tied in a
sort of stall with dogs on all sides of
“Let’s see if
: me that kept barking and yelping and
' disturbing me.
There was every sort
of dog in the world. Right where I
was, though, there were nothing but
Airedales, and I never imagined
there were so many of us.
Over on my right I could see a
square place where men kept leading
dogs and other men looked at them
and poked them and felt them and
wrote in little books. The dog next
to me said that was where the judg-
ing was done and that those men were
the judges. That made me sort of
excited and nervous, though, as I have
said, I knew there would be no rib-
bons for me.
It was two days before the Aire-
dales were reached. Sandy had fuss-
ed around me like an old hen—you
know how they act when they have
chicks. He washed me and combed
me until I was actually sore. I saw
, dog after dog go past and get exam-
ined.
one.
“It’s just a formality, Sandy,” says
Mr. Hollands. “Argyle Champion will
hold his honors. But as long as your
dog is entered, you might as well
have him looked over.”
Sandy’s jaw was set but he didn’t’
say a word as he led me through the
gate. i
The judges were standing around
careless like when I came in but when |
Sandy lifted me up on the stand they
seemed to get interested, and asked
Sandy all sorts of questions. Then |
they went over me carefully. You |
never saw anybody take such pains as |
they did to see what there was in me. |
Finally a big man with a badge shook |
his head and said it was beyond him,
and that such things didn’t happen. |
“Set the champion up here,” says |
he, and Argyle Champion was put up
by my side. We didn’t look at each
other. I didn’t dare look at him, he |
was such an important dog. Imagine
keing the best Airedale in the United .
States! or !
The judges compared us and talked
about us, and I could see Sandy chew- |
ing on his mustache and almost jump-
ing up and down with excitement.
Well, sir, right in the middle of it
I looked over to one side and there
stood a dog—an Airedale. For a mo-
ment I couldn’t believe my eyes, and
then I let out a yelp of joy and jump-
ed for her. Men tried to stop me but
I dodged them.
“Mother,” 1 said. “Mother,
me! It’s me!”
She knew me in a second, and if
I was pretty nearly the last
it’s
and glad to see each other, we were
those dogs. A man tried to haul me
away, but mother growled at him, and
they let us alone and watched us with
“This is your day for joking, isn’t’
There’s such a thing as cour-
. Pepto-Mangan
surprised looks! We could hear them
talking.
“Now, what d’you make of that?”
says one.
“It beats me,” says another.
“They know each other as sure as
shooting,” says the big man with the
badge.
“Wouldn’t it beat the Dutch,” says
another man as if he didn’t quite dare
say it, “if this was the lost puppy—
the one that got out the night of the
Douglas Kennel fire ?”
“Such things don’t happen,” says
another man.
“Is Weaver here?” says the big
man. “He might have some way of
recognizing this dog—if it was that
puppy. It’s our duty to find out if we
can. Yes, sir; it’s our duy.”
In a few minutes they came back
with the man they called Weaver, and
he was the man who used to come and
see mother and the rest of us in the
kennels. He was excited, and mother
‘ was excited, and I was excited. Moth-
er ran to him, and then back to me,
and licked my face, and then ran back
to Weaver. He blinked his eyes as if
something was the matter with them.
“If,” says Mr. Weaver, “if this is
Ayreshire Lass’s lost puppy he’s got
the mark of a scar nicked across his
left hind leg a couple of inches above
his. paw. Jumped on the sharp edge
of a tin can, and we were afraid at
first it had got the tendon.”
The whole crowd of men came for
me and lifted me on the stand beside
Argyle Champion again and looked
at my leg. I knew what they’d find.
I knew there was a little mark across
the leg where no hair grew—it was
some sort of a scar.
They found it, and—well, sir—they
yelled, actually cheered and Sandy
came pushing through them and grab-
bed me and hugged me, and other
folks came crowding around to see
what had happened. I never saw
such goings on.
After a while the big man pushed
everybody away and says:
“We've got to finish this job,” so
once more the judges compared me
with Argyle Champion inch by inch.
Finally the big man turned and said
gruff-like:
“There’s a new champion, boys.”
I didn’t understand until I saw
Sandy go crazy and until mother yelp-
ed, and until Argyle Champion, like
a real Scotch gentleman, turned his
head slowly and looked at me, and
said in a voice that was kind, but
very, very dignified:
“I congratulate you. * * * Tt is
not an ill thing to be succeeded by
one’s own son—for you are my son,
you know.”
| __That’s about all. All, except that
Mr. Hollands paid a whopping price
for my mother, and sold Joggs, or
Raynsford Champion—for another
whopping price. Said he wanted no
more to do with bulldogs. Then
mother and the rest of the dogs and
myself went home.
Next day was Thanksgiving. May-
be you think that is a day just for
men and women, but don’t fool your-
self. Dogs have as much right to
give thanks as anybody. We did. I
never understood much about Thanks-
giving before, but I do now—for
mother and I are together again, and
I'm not a tramp for everybody to
throw stones at, but am Clydesdale
Champion—that’s my new kennel
name. Yes I'm thankful—thankful
there was a scar on my leg. Why, I
have so many things to be thankful
for that I can’t think of them all.
. Which is a pretty good way to be,
isn’t it 7—American Boy.
WEAK BLOOD IS
A REAL BARRIER.
Growing Children Often Need Gude’s
Pepto-Mangan.
. Some children grow too quickly—
it saps their strength. They lapse
into careless, desultory habits, or de-
velop a shrinking attitude. Their
faces look pinched.
The blood becomes overtaxed by
too rapid growth; and poisons from
the system take the place.of strength-
giving red corpuscles in the blood.
Red corpuscles are those little red
particles that swim in blood and give
it its color. Gradually that child los-
es interest in its play.
Poor blood needs the building that
the iron in Gude’s Pepto-Mangan
gives to weakened blood. Gude’s
Pepto-Mangan enriches the blood by
increasing the number of red corpus-
cles, and restores the blood by driv-
ing out the poisons. When the reviv-
ed blood gets to work, the appetite
becomes what a growing child’s
should be. Your druggist has Gude’s
in liquid or tablet
form. The name “Gude’s Pepto-Man-
gan” is on every package.—Adv. 44
——————p—————
Long and Longer.
When in Natchez, Miss Wheeler
Dakman heard one of the ebony citi-
zens say to another at departing, “Aw
revoah.”
“Howcum that ‘aw revouh’—Ah
doan git you,” came back the puzzled
ry.
“Why, that ‘aw revoah’ means
good-bye until we meets agin,” ex-
plained the first Negro.
Whereat the questioning one snap-
ped back: “Carbolic! That means
good-bye forevah.”
———————p ees.
This Month and Catarrh.
Many people find that during this month,
catarrh is so aggravated by sudden
changes of weather, indiscretions in the
matter of clothing, and other things, that
it becomes constantly troublesome.
There is abundant proof that catarrh is
a constitutional disease. It is related to
scrofula and consumption, being one of
the wasting diseases. Hood’s Sarsaparil-
la has shown that what is capable of
eradicating scrofula, also relieves catarrh,
and aids in the prevention of consump-
tion.
It is not easy to see how any sufferer
can put off taking this medicine, in view
of the widely published record of its re-
markable successes. It is called by its
proprietors America’s Greatest Medicine
for America’s Greatest Disease—Catarrh.
In some cases there is occasionally need
of a thorough cathartic or gentle laxa-
tive, and in these cases Hood’s Pills are
taken with very satisfatcory results. 44