Search America's historic newspapers pages from - or use the U.S. Newspaper Directory to find information about American newspapers published between 1690-present. Chronicling America is sponsored jointly by the National Endowment for the Humanities external link and the Library of Congress. Learn more
title: 'The Day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, April 29, 1915, NOON EDITION, Image 18',
meta: 'News about Chronicling America - RSS Feed',
Image provided by: University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL
All ways to connect
Inspector General |
External Link Disclaimer |
' By May Ellsworthy
'(Copyright by W. G. Chapman.)
1 don't knowwhy I bought that lit
tle wretch of a"dog. It was a little
black, woolly thing, looking exactly
lilce a toy dog and it saluted me from
beneath the coat of the fakir at the
street corner with a ridiculous little
yelp that startled me.
I was hurrying toward tha railroad
station to catch the 6:10 for Mont
clair. I had bought a house There.
I was alone in the world and could
afford my liking for country life. Mrs.
IP Briggs, my housekeeper, used to
shake her head when she looked at
me musingly, and I knew she was
wondering why I was not married.
Well, I bought the dog and took it
home. It cuddled up to me in the
most absurd manner and I suspected
that it had been ill-treated by its
former owner. Perhaps it had been
stolen. It certainly was company.
When I had nothing else to do I used
to stroke its head and sit watching
the old garden opposite, with the
blossoming peach trees.
A girl lived in the house behind the
garden. Sometimes I would see her
sitting under the trees. Sometimes,
too, I would catch her eyes Axed on
mine. I wished then that I was not
too shy to scrape acquaintances with
One morning I came downstairs to
find the dining room in confusion, he
silver gone, and Mrs. Briggs in a
faint beneath the table. Upon the
, floor sat the woolly dog, looking at
me reproachfully, as if to say: "You
are a nice sort of householder, to let
burglars come in the night and stuff
me so full of delicacies that I can't
eat any breakfast." That is the sort
of dog Tweedle was.
He was the most useless dog I ever
knew. All he could do was to run
round, eat and utter his shrill little
bark. One day he came to me with
a' ball of blue yarn in his mouth. A
thread stretched into invisibility at
the end of the garden. Presently 1
saw somebody coming across from
under the peach trees. It was the
girl; she was dressed in white and
had blue eyes and she was holding
the end of the wool.
"Oh, please, your dog has taken
my skein," she said tremulously.
After that it seemed easier to make
the girl's acquaintance. Sometimes I
would venture to sit beside her un
der the trees. We found we had a lot
A Little Black, Wooly Dog Came
Through the Gate
to talk about, but our meetings geilr
erally lapsed, into silent ones, and yet
we both felt perfectly satisfied with
them. She introduced me to her
mother and brothers, but I paid lit
tle attention. I used to think a lot
about the girl, and I was glad she was
fond of Tweedle.
I had to go west for six months
to settle up an estate. I told the girl.
She looked at me with a sort of hi-.