Clown the Circus Dog

Story and Illustrations
By

A. Vimar

Author of "The Curly-Haired Hen"

Translated by Nora K. Hills

The Reilly & Britton Company

Chicago

Copyright, 1917
by
The Reilly & Britton Co.

Clown, the Circus Dog

To My Little Daughter

Genevieve Vimar

Clown, the Circus Dog

1

CLOWN'S PUPPY DAYS

Summer was here at last. The winter had not been very cold, but it had stayed long after spring should have come. Now it seemed almost too warm, perhaps because only a few days before it had been so cold.

It was the end of the school-year, the time for examinations and the giving of prizes, and these last few days were hard on both teachers and children.

Already a holiday breeze was blowing over the budding and blossoming country, and the hum of insects and the singing of birds made one think of the fun that would come with vacation.

Among the scholars bending over their desks was Bertha, a little dark-haired girl, her black eyes fringed with long lashes. She was twelve years old and was working for her first certificate. Morning and afternoon she came to the school, sometimes brought by the maid, but more often by her mother.

As a child she had always been petted and spoiled by her parents, who gave her all the candies and toys she wanted. Her little room was crowded with dolls and playthings of all sorts, each of which had its name.

There were fair dolls, dark dolls, white dolls, black dolls, big dolls—some even were life-size—fat dolls, thin dolls, little dolls, tiny dolls; there were jointed dolls, who opened and shut their eyes; there were dolls who could talk, and dolls who kept silent. I believe myself that Bertha loved the silent ones best; they could not answer back, you see.

Uncle Jean, the brother of Bertha's father, had made a point of giving Bertha her first toy. He brought her, one fine morning, a lovely white poodle, which had pink silk ribbons on it and little tinkly bells. There was a spring inside, and when Bertha pressed this gently with her fingers, the dog barked. It was altogether so well made that you would have thought it was alive.

When he gave it to her, before the whole family, Uncle Jean made her the following speech:

"My dear niece, I give you this dog rather than a doll, because the dog is the friend of man, but a doll—" here he mumbled into his big moustache a lot of long words which got so mixed up with the barking of the dog that nobody could catch them. Perhaps it was just as well.

Uncle Jean was always saying funny clever things to make people laugh but really he was very wise and thoughtful. Everybody liked him and he was invited places all the time.

So Bertha's first plaything was this dog, who was then and there given the name of "Clown." Why they hit upon this name I really cannot say.

After the dog there came, one by one, all the dolls I just told you about, but Bertha loved Clown best. You see, he was the only dog she had, but there were many dolls to share her love.

Every night he was put to bed at the feet of his little mistress, who, each morning as she woke up, took him into her arms and hugged him tight.

Later on, as Bertha grew older, she would talk to him for hours, Clown answering with