successful one. We may remark here that Dick Varley had presented Fan to his mother to be her watch-dog, resolving to devote all his powers to the training of the pup. We may also remark, in reference to Crusoe’s appearance (and we did not remark it sooner, chiefly because up to this period in his eventful history he was little better than a ball of fat and hair), that his coat was mingled jet-black and pure white, and remarkably glossy, curly, and thick.
A week after the shooting-match, Crusoe’s education began Having fed him for that period with his own hand, in order to gain his affection, Dick took him out one sunny forenoon to the margin of the lake to give him his first lesson.
Well, Dick Varley began by calling out, “Crusoe! Crusoe! come here, pup.”
Of course Crusoe knew his name by this time, for it had been so often used as a prelude to his meals, that he naturally expected a feed whenever he heard it. This portal to his brain had already been open for some days; but all the other doors were fast locked, and it required a great deal of careful picking to open them.
“Now Crusoe, come here.”
Crusoe bounded to his master’s side, cocked his ears, and wagged his tail; so far his education was perfect.
“Now, I’m goin’ to begin yer edication, think o’ that.”
Whether Crusoe thought of that or not we cannot say, but he looked up in his master's face as he spoke, cocked his ears very high, and turned his head slowly to one side, until it could not turn any farther in that direction; then he turned it as much to the other side; whereat his master burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, and Crusoe immediately began barking vociferously.
“Come, come,” said Dick, suddenly checking his mirth; “we mustn’t play, pup—we must work.”
Drawing a leathern mitten from his belt, the youth held it to Crusoe’s nose, and then threw it a yard away, exclaiming in a loud, distinct tone, “Fetch it.”
Crusoe entered at once into the spirit of this part of his training; he dashed gleefully at the mitten, and proceeded to worry it. As for “Fetch it,” he neither understood the words nor cared a straw about them.
Dick Varley rose immediately, and rescuing the mitten, resumed his seat on a rock.
“Come here, Crusoe,” he repeated.
