The Press., 1895-12-19
LOST AT SEA.

There he lay in the sunshine, great black, noble animal, with his work in this world done. was. standing at his side looking at him when my friend came up and joined me.
 "Are you trying to make friends with our old Brutus?" he said to me. "Ah, he doesn't care much for making new friends now. He would only like to find the old friends again that he buried long ago in that mysterious past of his. ''
 My friend stopped as he spoke and stroked the great, soft head. 'Poor BrutusP' he said. "Poor, old faithful dogw
 It was not much of story, yet it was rather curious About five years ago my friend and his fam ly were staying dur ing the summer at a little seaside town on the north coast of France. It was quiet and rather dull place, except that its harbor was always lively with the coming and going of fisher boats and collier brigs and such like craft, the watching of which was quite an endless delight to the children, who, indeed, spent every moment they could steal from morning to night down at the quay, staring with all their might, and as often as they could doing more than staring, at all that went on there.
 It was fine, great open sea, that even in summer was pretty rough at times, coming tumbling often in great waves over the beach and covering all the pier with showers of spray. Charlie and Willie were always in state of huge delight whenever those big waves came rolling landward. They used ev- cry morning, as soon as they went out of bed, to run to their bedroom window, with little shoeless feet and bare legs, to see whether the white crests were there.
 Of course they never thought of any thing-for they were very small crea- tures-but of the fun that it was to see the leaping and rolling water, and of the delight of being sent scampering up the beach when some bigger wave than all the rest would run after them as it broke upon the sands, as if it were re- solved to catch them and wet their stockings and shoes at least, let their little legs fly as fast as they would. "It must be rough at sea-, their father and mother used to say sometimes in their hearing, especially during one week when the north wind blew with a strange, wild roaring and down about the pier the fishermen stood looking through their glasses out to sea, anxious ly shaking their heads now and then, but Willie and Charlie only grew mer- rier as the wind blew stronger. They thought that to be out upon the beach when they could not keep their footing, and when the very air was white with spray, was the finest fun that they ever had in all their lives.
 II wish it would blow like this for ever 1" Charlie would say.
 And then Willie, who was the youn- gest, and who never liked to be outdone, would cap Charlie's s speech and cry with enthusiasm, II wish it would blow ten times harderr'
 One bright, warm summer morning, with just wind enough to make little curl upon the waves and to fill the sails as the fisher boats put out, there were vessels coming in this morning as we'll as %leaving the harbor. Several brigs that had been expected for some days, and that the storm had delayed, got into port today. But there was one espe> cially that among all the rest attracted the boys attention. It was an English collier, standing on whose deck, as she came near, they saw great, black, noble Newfoundland dog. The creature was standing upon his four feet, taking no notice of any one, but slowly moved his head from side to side, as if he were vainly looking for something that he could not standing quite still, so passive that even when the boat touched the quay, and people came up and stroked and spoke to him, he merely let them do it and never moved so much as the tip of his tail in answer to them.