Then he waited until low tide, waded across half a mile of shoal water and followed the beach of the island around for four miles, until he came opposite the post. Then his shouts were heard, and he was relieved from further impersonation of Robinson Crusoe. We took him into our big dining-room and kitchen in the hold, where he devastated the food in an appalling manner. While he slept in the cabin Mr. Malony and his son went to see if they could get Father Bouchard's boat off the rocks. They succeeded, for the boat and its luckless pilot overtook us down the coast two days later. In the meantime the priest slept, ate, indulged in rough and tumble games with my boy friend, and took his turn at the schooner's wheel for hours at a time. Strong as a pugilist, cheerful as a cricket, all things to all men, Father Bouchard was a fine example of the wisdom displayed by the Catholic Church in the selection of the men to fulfil its arduous tasks. He insisted on our anchoring at his little home village of Magpie, where on Sunday afternoon he had the idle fishermen catch and harness his winter dog-team, to exhibit the means by which, when winter filled the gulf with ice, he travelled from one end of his long parish to the other. The dogs knew there was something wrong about being hitched to a sled in August, so they entangled their harness, pulled awry, and fought like demons. We heard them howling as we sailed away with the tide.

One might write about the wonderful fishing rivers east of the Mingan; of the Romaine, the great Natashquan, and a score of other streams. But we did not sail that far. As Deputy Commissioner Tache had told us at Quebec, if we had visited those distant waters, we should not have come back that summer. As it was, we flew homeward before a northeaster that howled over the gulf and blew away some of our sails, and shot us into the harbor of Grand Metis, on the South Shore, where, at low tide, the water all went out of the bay and let the schooner down on her side. The bilge water ran over the bunks of the guides who were asleep forward; the boy rolled out of his berth in the cabin; the dishes fell off the table, and there were French imprecations in the darkness. But in the morning our schooner was right side up again, floating on the high tide as though nothing had happened.

We went ashore and found a man who loaded our baggage on a little two-wheeled red cart, and we followed him over the hills, driving a horse which refused to recognize the command to "Get up," but which cheerfully responded to "Marche donc !" Six miles of this brought us to the railroad station at St. Flavie, on the Intercolonial Railway, and two days later we were sweltering in a belated hot spell which swept over the Northern States like a furnace-blast. Then we wished we had tarried on the edge of Labrador.

SIT, often, upon the parsonage porch, with my books and papers. I love to sit there, for its southerly exposure is suited to my thinned blood in these latter days. And then, as I read of the world's doings, and become troubled by the thought of sins and sinners, I raise my eyes to the old church, near at hand-my old church, mine to grow old beside, twined with ivy and with tender memories-I look up from the world's record of hate and lust and craft, and the dear old church softens my mood; and I say a prayer, not only in behalf of the oppressed, but of the oppressor also: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do!"

From my quiet retreat on the vine-sheltered porch I have not only a good view of the hill road, our main thoroughfare, but I can also overlook the larger part of my garden. And often Michael, whitehaired old Michael, can take directions from me, by a sign or two, without coming up the lawn to the porch.

Poor old Michael! There he is, now, coaxing the tendrils of a trumpet flower up over the stump of an old cherry-tree. The bent, decrepit figure of the man brings back the past to me. I recall, as if it were yesterday, a morning like this, twenty years ago, when I sat, as I do now, on the porch, and a man opened the garden-gate, hesitated, entered, and came shambling up the path. As he drew near I saw, by his faded, shapeless hat, his gray, collarless shirt, his torn and soiled coat, and his trousers worn and baggy, and fringed at the bottoms, that he was a tramp. With him was a dog, a brindled bull-dog, having a patch of white around one eye, with ears looking like pennants frayed out by many storms, and a short stump of a tail so animated that it seemed a thing of life, quite apart from the animal himself. The dog had a rough, savage air, which led me-although I love dogs most devotedly-to glance for reassurance at the open door behind me.

As the two soiled, disreputable wanderers came near, both recognized my pres

ence, and both lost their saddened aspect, and hopefully smiled. The dog's smile was the more marked of the two, but it was a real smile-if one knows dogs—and quite restored my confidence. His mouth opened, his tongue lolled out, his ragged ears pointed forward like shattered interrogation points, he tossed his head back, and quickened, from a sober, and even dignified, walk, to a trot, which had a sad suggestion of forced gayety in it. Presently the man stood before me, hat in hand, and humbly addressed me.

"Only a little bread and coffee, this bright morning, Yer Riverence!"

Then he turned sharply upon the dog, who was snuffing at my knees: "Down, Satan! Set down thar!" And the dog obeyed.

I have many kinds of titles bestowed upon me by strange visitors. The book agents and insurance agents usually call me "Doctor," knowing the weaknesses and ambitions of the ministry. The forlorn people with letters of recommendation often say "Your Honor;" the Celtic portion of my visitors use the title "Yer Riverence; and sometimes a German addresses me tersely as "Reverend." In this case it was "Yer Riverence."

I looked at the man and felt sure I had seen him before, for I recall faces easily; a minister must do that. As I caught his wandering glance it was as when one knocks and knocks at a door, and sees a window curtain flutter, and hears a subdued step in the hall, but gets no answer to his summons. I could look at his eyes, but could not look into them.

Now it was different with the dog. His soul came cordially out into his eyes, as into a portico, to bid me welcome; and as I glanced at him a grateful tremor began at his ragged eartips, spread over his rough, dirty body, and disappeared at the tip of his stiff, stumpy tail.

I looked at the man again, and asked, "My man, haven't I seen you here before?"

Then he decided that I was; and, drawing nearer, he said, with a persuasive smile, and in a very confidential tone, "I'll tell yer, Yer Riverence; I was here only wanst before; three months ago, about; yer'll belave me, now, Yer Riverence, fer it's hiven's truth I'm tillin' yer; and yer'll not mind me comin' this mornin', for Satan and me is 'most starved."

Satan corroborated this speech-which I'm sure he understood-by a subdued whine and a most intelligent and pleading look into my face.

For a moment I was puzzled as to my duty. The fellow was plainly a shiftless vagabond. His habits of life were recorded not only on his garments but in his face. Yet he had thrown himself on my confidence and sympathy; and then

I must confess it as I glanced at the dog, looking up trustfully into the face of his worthless master as a hungry soul might look up toward his God, the scene touched me; my heart softened, and for the dumb brute's sake I bade his master stay. I entered the house and brought out bread and meat and coffee.

Then the better side of his character showed itself; as I had expected, he shared this food with his dog. The hungry dependent stood with bright, eager eyes looking up at his master, and his long, red tongue flicked alternately out and in, at the sides of his mouth, as if he were sharpening it for instant use; and all the time little thrills and chills coursed down along his body like ripples on a lake.

"Yours?" I asked; "your dog?" "You bet, Yer Riverence! begging your pardon for the word." Here one greasy finger shot upward in apology toward his rimless hat. He's mine; all mine, every hair of him."

"I hope you're kind to him," I ventured; for I had my doubts as I detected the fellow's unstable character; I thought he was one of those lovers of dogs who would heap kindness on a pet in one tender mood, and then abuse him cruelly in a fit of temper.

"Yes, I'm--I'm kind to Satan ;" and his vacillating glance rested with real tenderness on the dog. "That is—most of

The faithful dog responded with violent tail-waggings, and with subdued little growls of affection, and the tramp broke off a large piece of bread and gave it to him.

I was now interested enough in the singular pair of friends to draw the man out; and his account of the dog-with my own interpretation of it-I have deemed myself justified in giving to the public.

As the man talked, clumsily mixing his food and his words, the fact became clearer and clearer to me that from the first Satan had been a greatly misunderstood dog.

To begin with, there was his evil name. That had been given him when a tiny puppy, merely because the words had figured on a lurid play bill, and had caught the eye of the hostler, his first owner.

Then his appearance was much against him; for his right eye was encircled by a patch of white hair, and contrasted sharply with the dark brindle color of the remainder of his body. Anybody who took pains to look at the eye itself-large, full, earnest, even pleading-could have read the animal's honest character at once; but most people noticed only the general evil effect of the white patch.

Moreover, an imperfect growth of the upper lip showed two of his white, glistening teeth; and they also gave the appearance of ill-temper; so that, although the puppy was actually the gentlest and most intelligent of his litter, his threatening appearance seemed to give reasons for his ominous name.

Satan was the largest and most active of his brothers and sisters; and as he always came off victor in their frolics, he was looked upon with approval by the idlers of the stable, and was considered as a promising young fighter.

Then, when he was about six months old, he had some difficulty with the cutting of his teeth; one or two of them did not come through the gums easily; and for a week or more he tried to help the operation by biting at everything he could get

into his mouth. This passing habit also told in favor of the young dog's supposedly ferocious tendencies; and, although poor Satan loved anybody who would give him a gentle touch of the hand, he was looked upon distrustfully; and in the opinion of the excellent judges around him he was destined for a successful career in the pit. Presently there came a change in the dog's fortunes. His owner fell ill, and was sent to the hospital; and Satan, and all his brothers and sisters, were given away. They were not of the proper purity of breed to have any especial value-as fashions in dogs go-and were given to anybody who would take them. Satan was transferred to the ownership of an expressman, and by him was sold to a housepainter, who desired him as a playmate for his children. The enterprising expressman had prepared himself to praise the dog's fighting tendencies; but, finding that gentler qualities were demanded, he quickly assured the purchaser that the dog was extremely docile and of a most kindly temper, thus speaking truer words than he knew; and when the trade was completed he chuckled much at his shrewdness; and the recording angel, I doubt not, set down against him his words of truth as words of falsehood.

In his new home with the house-painter's family, honest, loving Satan was very happy for several months. In an hour he and the little ones learned about one another as well as though they had been friends for years. With the baby he was especially intimate; and the two had undoubtedly a language in common, and exchanged confidences of which older heads knew nothing.

If the children and their beloved playmate could have been left undisturbed, Satan would have got on without suffering under any misunderstandings; but the older and so-called "wiser" people of the family, influenced by the peculiar marking of his eye, and by his exposed teeth, shook their heads at his eager, animated ways, and suggested evil tendencies in his character. This judgment gained strength from a certain honest boldness of curiosity which the dog evinced toward all new things; and often this inquiring nature, joined with his forbidding appearance, gave him an air of courting danger

and conflict. For example, a cat was one day dropped upon the ground near him by a mischievous boy; Satan stared at the frightened, spitting creature, and walked confidently forward to learn more about the strange object; and then, as the cat excitedly ran away, he caught the excitement and ran blindly after her. This was at once set down as still clearer evidence of a deeply pugnacious character.

When Satan was eight or ten months old another unlucky incident served to deepen the current convictions as to his savage temper. The butcher's boy one day held a piece of meat down to him; and, as Satan tried to take it, the boy drew it quickly away. This was repeated several times; and then Satan, in a frantic leap after the coveted morsel, seized not only the piece of meat, but by accident seized the boy's finger with it, and the boy roared with surprise and pain and with rage against the dog.

The injury was very slight, indeed, but the boy told his employer that Satan had savagely bitten his finger. The employer told a customer to beware of that dog, for the beast had torn his servant boy's hand most savagely. The customer reported to several people that Satan was a very ferocious animal, who had attacked several people and had endangered their lives, and that he ought to be killed.

Thus the story spread rapidly, and gained in dreadful details at each step. And, through it all, poor, maligned Satan went on romping with his playmates, and exchanging confidences with the baby, who pulled his ears more and more vigorously each day, with her increasing strength.

The baby was Satan's favorite. She was not yet strong enough or heavy enough to cause him pain as she rolled upon him and stepped on his toes and pulled his tail. Then, too, she was not yet sufficiently ingenious to blow in his eyes and tie strings around his jaws. These were the pranks of the older children; but Satan was patient under it all, and hoped it was for his good somehow, he knew not quite in what way.

In due time the excitement about the butcher boy died out without bringing harm to Satan in body, but it gave him pain of heart to have threats hurled at him

by people who little knew how deeply he regretted the accident. He felt shut off somehow from the public sympathy; he felt a coldness in the attitude of people about him; he grew a little shy and reserved in manner, and this was promptly set down as surliness. So that the baby, to whom he now gave even more attention and devotion, was the only confidant he had, and with her he talked this matter over fully when they were alone; and this was his great comfort.

One day Satan was washing the baby's face; yes, washing her face; he had often seen his mistress do it, and now he tried it himself. The baby was seated in the path outside the front gate, and was cooing and crowing and spluttering with delight during the process. To be sure, there was a little trace of molasses on the left cheek, and a flavor of butter down near the left corner of the mouth; and these added temporary sensations of pleasure to Satan's constant, unswerving feelings of affection and devotion.

Just then there came by one of those women who know everything. She knew everything about homes, and children, and dogs, and horses, and the cattle upon the thousand hills; and knew it always in an instant. As soon, therefore, as her omniscient eye fell upon the scene, she knew that this bloodthirsty animal was trying to eat the child alive; and with a scream she swooped down upon them, to the great surprise and perplexity of Satan and the alarm and noisy resistance of the baby. She caught up the child in her arms, and the child filled the air with cries of protest; these cries Satan understood to be an appeal to him for protection, and the next moment, with an angry growl, he had the woman's elbow in his strong jaws, and hung there, swinging from side to side like a pendulum.

This conduct on his part, you may be assured, did not result in any lessening of the din. The omniscient woman, in that brief moment, realized her limitations more completely than ever before in her life. She screamed in fear and desperation; and only the timely appearance in the doorway of Satan's mistress saved her from fainting.

A sharp word from the doorway caused Satan to drop to the ground, with a feeling

of relief at being freed from the responsibility of the child's protection; and the baby herself was soon on her mother's arm, and eager to be put down again with Satan, to continue their play, so rudely interrupted.

The omniscient woman recovered her breath and her voice, and declared violently against the ferocious dog who had attacked her, as she said—and as thousands of others, with as little ground of truth, have said-" without the slightest provocation." One or two of the neighbors heard the disturbance and listened to the charges made against Satan; and here, again, the misunderstandings of the past served to support the accusations of the present; and the result of it all was that poor Satan was voted a dangerous animal, and several were heard to intimate that he would be better killed or sent away.

This episode led the way to a great transition in the dog's life. The angry demands of the neighbors were yielded to, and Satan was thrust forth from his home; he was given to a street huckster, and by him was tied to the tail of a cart, and dragged away; away from his home, away from his playmates the children, and away from his bosom friend, the baby.

Only force could have done it; and that would hardly have availed had it not been for the commands of his mistress, whose word had always been law to him. So, behind the cart he was tied, and a group of weeping children was left standing at the gate, and poor, loving, loyal Satan, himself weeping, I doubt not, trotted away in the gathering gloom of that eventful evening.

His new master took him to his home, in a neighboring town, and tied him in a shed, and fed him regularly for several days. This was done, as the man sagely explained to a friend, in order to gain the dog's affections; but it gained nothing of Satan's affection. What the poor, lonely fellow needed, even more than food, was a soft, kind word or two, and a gentle pat on the head; to that he would have responded with eagerness; but he did not receive it, and he ate his pieces of bread and meat in solitude and sadness, and thought of his old home.

As much as possible he slept; for in his dreams he romped again with the children,