It was the very nicest, whitest goose of the whole flock, and there it was—dead! Who had killed it? was the question. Everybody said it must have been Bose; and why? Because Bose liked to tease the geese. Sometimes he jumped from behind a bush and frightened them. Sometimes when they were standing at their trough eating, he ran at them, just for the fun of seeing them run.

“I don’t think he meant to kill it,” said the grandpa.

“Very likely not,” said the father, “but I must teach him not to run at the geese. Come here, sir,” he said to Bose.

Bose felt very badly. He crawled slowly along. He couldn’t say, “I didn’t do it; please don’t whip me,” as a little boy or girl can. He could only look up to his master with soft, begging eyes. But little Patsy was looking in at the door. Little Patsy loves Bose dearly; and of all the family Bose best loves Patsy. They are always playing together.

“Oh, please don’t whip Bose,” cried Patsy. “I don’t believe he did it. Nobody saw him do it,” and she begged so hard her father said he would only tie Bose up. He would not whip him till he was sure he had killed the goose. That night Patsy cried herself to sleep. It almost broke her heart to think that on the morrow Bose might have to be whipped. Suddenly in the night she heard a queer, soft voice say, “I don’t believe he did it. I wouldn’t kill a goose.” Patsy opened her eyes and found herself in a room full of dogs. The voice came from a wee doggie wrapped in an eider down quilt.

“Very good reason why; you couldn’t,” barked another little fellow. He had a head that looked as if it were bald, and large soft ears, and he was peeping out of a basket.

PROSPECTIVE PUNISHMENT.

“Raw goose, faugh!” said a dainty doggie, who had a blanket pinned carefully around him. “I like my poultry well picked and cooked.”

“That’s so. So do I,” rejoined a fierce scrap of a dog. He wore a collar and little silver locket, and cocked his ears.

“People are always saying dogs do things,” said a tousled terrier, whose hair had tumbled over his eyes, so he couldn’t see a thing. “The cat ate the cream the other day and cook said I did it. I hate cooks.”

A grave-looking dog opened his mouth and spoke. He must have been a lawyer among dogs. Patsy thought he looked like Judge Drake. He spoke slowly. “If Bose had never chased the geese even in play, his master would never have suspected him. A great deal depends on a dog’s character. But I don’t think he killed the goose.”

“I know he didn’t,” spoke up a big splendid dog. “Bose is a good fellow!” Then all the dogs barked out, “Hear! hear!” so loudly that Patsy awoke. The dogs had vanished; the morning sun was shining. She heard her father call, “Patsy, come and see the fox! We’ve trapped the rogue. It was he that killed the goose!”