"
But as he couldn't, I made his grave where the churchyard wall skirted
the grounds of the Hall. "Perhaps, some day, the churchyard will have
to be enlarged," I explained to the Rector, who was puzzled by my
choice of a burying-place, "and then Rubens will _get taken in_."
My father was most anxious to get me another pet. I might have had a
dog of any kind. Dogs of priceless breeds, dogs for sporting, for
ratting, and for petting; dogs for use or for ornament. From a
bloodhound and mastiff almost large enough for me to ride, to a toy
poodle that would go into my pocket--I might have chosen a worthy
successor to Rubens, but I could not.
"I shall never care for any other dog," I was rash enough to declare.
But my resolve melted away one day at the sight of a soft, black ball,
like a lump of soot, which arrived in a game-bag, and proved to be a
retriever pup. He grew into a charming dog, of much wisdom and
amiability. I called him Sweep.
Thus half by half, holidays by holidays, changes, ceaseless changes
went on. Births, deaths, and marriages furnished my father with "news"
for his letters when I was away, and Nurse Bundle and me with gossip
when I came back.
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