long barks, really made by Bertha's fingers pressing on the spring.

They were then, as I was just now telling you, on the eve of the examinations. Bertha was working her hardest. For several days she had been very, very quiet, and just a little worried; her parents were quite anxious and petted her even more than usual.

At last one morning, when her mother asked her what was the matter, Bertha decided to tell her all about it. After a long sigh she said:

"Mother, if I pass my examination, will you give me what I have been wanting for a long, long time?"

Then, without waiting for an answer, she went on:

"I want a dog, a little dog, but—a real live one. It will be quite easy to get one if you will only let me. Miss Lewis, our principal at school, is going to have some. Don't laugh, Mother, it is quite true. She told me so herself, and she promised to give me one if you and father would let me have it. Oh, you will ask father, won't you? Everything depends on him," she murmured, snuggling up to her mother and hugging her, "for I know you will let me, won't you, sweetest? Oh, I am so happy, so proud to think of having a dog of my very own." She was so excited, she clapped her hands and danced for joy.

Bertha passed her examinations with honors and, true to his promise, her father said that she might have her dog.

After that nobody could think of anything but the doggie, so eagerly expected. What would he be like? What color would he be? She imagined him now black, now white, now black and white, now sandy. She asked all sorts of questions of everybody she met. She dreamed of him, she thought of him all day long, of nothing but him.

Her father told her not to get too excited, as he was afraid she might be disappointed. Bertha listened at last to his good advice, but even then she could not resist stopping to look in at the windows of the leather goods stores, where muzzles, collars, chains, leashes, whips, boots for the mud, coats and blankets—in short, all the things a dog could need—were displayed.

Dreamily she gazed at the poodles and pet-dogs which passed her, led by fine ladies.

But, what was this? Marie with a letter for the little girl? Bertha recognized the handwriting. Miss Lewis had written to tell her the great news—the puppies had arrived. Five of them. Five little puppies, each with different markings, and Miss Lewis graciously invited her pupil to come and choose.

Bertha was breathless, wild with joy.

"Mother, Mother, let's go quick! My doggie is waiting."

Dressing hastily, mother and daughter went straight to Miss Lewis's house, where they found her beside a beautiful black poodle, who, jealously ready to protect her babies, looked at her visitors as though she didn't quite trust them.

After much hesitation Bertha at last decided upon a sturdy little black puppy, with a white lock set exactly in the middle of his forehead, like a pennant, which made him look very quaint and cunning. Perhaps it was the white lock that decided Bertha, anyhow, directly she saw him, the darling, she cried:

"That's the one I want! I choose him."

She couldn't have told you herself why she chose that one. She thought his brothers and sisters all very pretty, but he was the one she wanted. Love is often like that.

Bertha, who already loved the puppy she had chosen, wanted to take him home with her at once, but her mother and even Miss Lewis insisted that he was too young yet. Just think, he was only just born. It would not be wise to bring him up on the bottle—such a bother—and then the risk of sickness and all that might cause his little mistress all sorts of worry.

Bertha saw that they were right, but she begged Miss Lewis to let her come every day to see him, to which her teacher willingly agreed.

After that Bertha did not let a day go by without a visit to her little friend. The mother-dog soon grew used to seeing the girl; she was a trifle greedy, I must confess, and her affection was quite won by the cakes and dainties which Bertha brought her.

For more than a month the puppy stayed with his mother. He had to be entirely weaned before his mistress could have him.

In the meantime Bertha was busier than ever, busier than she would have been if she had had the doggie at home. She was making all sorts of preparations for him. She bought a regular outfit for her baby, as she called him, and she even wanted to get him nightcaps and pajamas. These her mother did not think necessary. However, to make up for not getting them, she had to get all kinds of other things: curtains for his bed, cushions, ribbons, a collar, a leash, even a tiny muzzle. Her doggie must be well provided for.

After hesitating a long time over the name to be given to the newcomer, Bertha decided to call him "Clown," after her first dog, Uncle Jean's toy. Besides, the name suited him exactly; he was very active, and had a happy look and clumsy ways which made you laugh.

He would spend hours chasing his tail, but as it was rather short and his body very chubby, he never quite caught it. The look of disgust which came over his face when he finally gave up was so funny that Bertha laughed till the tears came to her eyes.

Meantime all his brothers and sisters had been given away. This did not worry Clown a bit; he certainly did not lose his appetite over it; on the contrary, he stuffed himself nearly sick. He drank so hard that sometimes the milk would run out of his nose. Eating like that, he soon became a big fat doggie, strong and active, barking at everything, and snapping at flies.

When Clown was at last old enough to be taken away, Bertha, with her faithful maid, Marie, went to get the little fellow and bring him to his new home.

They had a regular