I was sitting in my study reading a new book that had just come in by the morning mail. It was a very interesting story, and I was deep in its pages, when, as I paused to cut a leaf, I noticed a slight sniffing and scratching at the door. "Is that you, Frisky?" I asked. For answer came a short, sharp bark, which meant in dog language, "Yes, it is your doggie; let me in." I opened the door, and in trotted Master Frisky, grinning, and wagging his tail as was his way. I motioned him to lie down on the rug, and resumed my book; but soon he came and stood on his hind legs, and putting his fore paws on my knees began lapping my hand vigorously. This he would always do when he wanted something very badly, but I was deep in the story and did not notice him. Presently he slipped his nose under the bottom of the book, and with a quick upward motion sent it out of my hands on the floor.
"Here, you little rascal," I said, "what do you want?" For answer he lapped my hands very affectionately for a moment, and then got down and went to the door. I got up and opened it,
