the doctor.—"Child!" answered she somewhat mockingly! "quite otherwise! only look at the present!—when she removed the cushion, there lay a cur dog with bandaged paws.—"The history," commenced the narrator, "correcterises exactly the simple man. The people about here often make him their laughing stock, because he is such a good-humoured, easy fellow; and so the smith at length gave him his dog to doctor, having in a passion broken its hind-paws in two with a hammer. My Godfred wrapped up the dog and dragged it home to me, bound up its wounds himself, laid him down, raised him up, suffered him not to run about, bound the cushion tight over him, made him a kind of maskinnery for his legs, because he said the dog would not be taken proper care of at home, and that he must have it under his own eyes. Well, my good smith’s dog became healthy again, and went off without saying good day, or by your leave. That may be about two months ago; last week, towards evening,
