It is so beautifully
humble upon its throne, abased in its own eyes before the shrine of its
mistress, on whom it depends entirely for all its happiness. A little
king, perhaps, it has the pretty manners of a little servitor. And even
when it presumes to be determined in the expressed desire for the dryness
of a biscuit or the warmth of a lap, with how small a word or glance can
it be laid upon its back, in the abject renunciation of every pretension,
anxious only for the forgiveness that nobody with a touch of tenderness
could withhold. Ah, there is much to be thankful for in a companion with
a tail! Jessie had winning ways, the deep heart of a dog. A toy dog she
was, no doubt, but hers was no toy nature. Cuckoo could not have shed
such tears as those she now shed over any toy. For she began to cry
weakly at the mere thought that had come to her, although it was not yet
become a resolve. Life with Jessie had been very sordid, very sad. What
would life be without her? What would such a morning as this be, for
instance? Cuckoo's imagination set tempestuously to work, with physical
aids--such as the following. She drew away her feet from the bottom of
the bed, where they touched the little dog's back. Doing this she said
to herself, "Now, Jessie is gone.
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