CHAPTER VI.
THE FOX TERRIER BILLY.
HEN I came to the Morrises, I knew nothing about the proper way of bringing up a puppy.
I once heard of a little boy whose sister beat him so much, that he said he was brought up by hand; so I think as Jenkins kicked me so much, I may say that I was brought up by foot.
Shortly after my arrival in my new home, I had a chance of seeing how one should bring up a little puppy.
One day I was sitting beside Miss Laura in the parlor, when the door opened, and Jack came in. One of his hands was laid over the other, and he said to his sister, "Guess what I've got here?"
"A bird," she said.
"No."
"A rat."
"No."
"A mouse."
"No—a pup."
"Oh, Jack," she said, reprovingly; for she thought he was telling a story.
He opened his hands, and there lay the tiniest morsel of a fox terrier puppy that I ever saw. He was white, with black and tan markings. His body was pure white, his tail black, with a dash of tan; his ears
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