ings, I could think only of her misery, for misery I knew it would be to her to see me perish thus miserably before her eyes, without having the power to put forth a hand to save me.

To those who love deeply, that love for another is a far stronger motive power than love of self. My devotion to my beloved friend gave me a strength that was supernatural, and turning my head quickly towards the shore, I saw my mistress running at the very extent of her speed in the direction contrary to that in which I was being carried along, and waving her handkerchief incessantly to me to follow.

Desperately, madly, I struggled with the waters. Yes, oh yes, surely I am following in her track. Yes, now, again, I am nearer, nearer, I can hear her voice of encouragement, I can hear her bidding me keep a good heart yet, that the danger is well-nigh over,a few strokes more, a few bold, brave strokes, and the current will turn, and I shall be borne back to shore.

A few strokes more-ah! but can I struggle longer? The effort of each stroke is so painful, that I could almost wish that the next wave might submerge me, and leave me in quiet and in peace.

If it had not been for the thought of the

agony my mistress was enduring, nothing could have induced me to continue the fearfully unequal struggle. But oh, any pain for myself, so that I might spare her suffering; and so once again nerving myself for the battle, I put all my remaining energy into this, which I felt must be my last, last chance for my life.

How long a time passed now I know not, to me it seemed a lifetime in itself, and then came over me a sense of stillness in the water, of rest, of quiet drifting onwards, then my feet felt there was solid ground beneath them. I tried to rise, staggered, fell forward, was conscious that there was an arm around me drawing me to shore, and then a film came over my sight, I seemed to fall asleep, and I knew no more.

I awoke with a strange tingling sensation running through my whole body. My mistress and the nurse were rubbing me,—the two little girls were looking on with faces of the deepest sympathy and compassion.

I tried to raise a paw, but I was too weak, and it fell down beside me on the sand.

'Never mind, Nep, never mind, dear Nep, you will soon be better. It is all over now. You are quite safe, quite safe, my own dear, dear old dog.'

And burying her head on my shoulder, I

have a shrewd suspicion that my mistress was giving way to a burst of tears, of which she did not wish that others beside myself should be conscious.

Softly, very softly, I licked the hand which came within my reach. It was the only way left to me of showing my love and gratitude.

'Ah, Nep! we have both great cause for thankfulness,' said my mistress, as some hours later in the day she stood by the side of my own cosy bed at home-made doubly cosy by old Jane's loving care and thoughtfulness,--and watched me eating the delicious meal which the dear old woman had made so hot and tempting. 'Great cause for thankfulness,' she repeated. ‘I wish I could think you were thankful as I am, Nep.'

And so I am,' thought I. But how could I tell her so? Different people have different ways of showing thankfulness. Let us judge leniently the one of the other. If the gratitude is only true, honest, and sincere, depend upon it that is the grand point which will be taken into consideration.

One thing at least I may positively affirm : there was that night no happier or more peaceful dog in England than myself.

H