He did not waste him. He
gave him as a wedding-present to a near relation.
But the saddest story I ever heard in connection with a bull-dog, was
one told by my aunt herself.
Now you can rely upon this story, because it is not one of mine, it is
one of my aunt's, and she would scorn to tell a lie. This is a story
you could tell to the heathen, and feel that you were teaching them
the truth and doing them good. They give this story out at all the
Sunday-schools in our part of the country, and draw moral lessons from
it. It is a story that a little child can believe.
It happened in the old crinoline days. My aunt, who was then living
in a country-town, had gone out shopping one morning, and was standing
in the High Street, talking to a lady friend, a Mrs. Gumworthy, the
doctor's wife. She (my aunt) had on a new crinoline that morning, in
which, to use her own expression, she rather fancied herself. It was
a tremendously big one, as stiff as a wire-fence; and it "set"
beautifully.
They were standing in front of Jenkins', the draper's; and my aunt
thinks that it--the crinoline--must have got caught up in something,
and an opening thus left between it and the ground. However this may
be, certain it is that an absurdly large and powerful bull-dog, who
was fooling round about there at the time, managed, somehow or other,
to squirm in under my aunt's crinoline, and effectually imprison
himself beneath it.
Pages:
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24