Rose is our old dog. Her hair is as curly as dandelion stems. Her tail waves like a great feather duster.

When we say “Good dog,” it thumps like grandpa’s cane when he walks up-stairs. Now I will tell you why we call her “Good old Rose.”

One day papa sent Lily to the store. Lily is six years old. The store is just beyond the railroad track.

“Rose, take care of Lily!” said papa. Rose wagged her tail for “yes, sir!” and off they went. She trotted along by Lily’s side. Lily felt very grand to go to the store all alone. She didn’t know that Rose was taking care of her.

All at once Rose caught Lily’s dress in her teeth. They were just going to cross the track.

“Let me go!” said Lily. But Rose pulled her back hard. Lily looked up and down the track. There was no train in sight. But Rose heard it shake the ground. “You shall let me go!” cried Lily. “Bad Rose!” and she jerked the dress, and tore it out of Rose’s teeth, and ran. Then Rose jumped right at Lily and threw her down on the ground, and dragged her back again.

Just that instant the train thundered round the curve. But Lily was safe. How the men in the train cheered! how the ladies waved their handkerchiefs! Rose hadn’t any handkerchief, but she waved her tail, and that is all a dog can do.

Wouldn’t you pat her big head too, and call her “good old Rose?”

GOOD OLD ROSE.