The Pioche weekly record. [volume] (Pioche, Nev.) 1877-1900, 1895-12-05

frmeo them. katherine" said l,
solemniy, to the cook, SIT is Ponto.
Alas, 1t Is Ponto.n
what had seen in Ponto's eyes
was terrible. / swear to you. reader,
that l am most serious. l had distinct
ly seen there an almost human lie.
IL Is rather difficult to explain my
meaning. Ponto wished to assume
an appearance of sincerity in his
glance. and he did not succeed, be-
cause That is impossible, even to
man. 1t is said by profound philoso-
whers That In men the power of lying
is confined to speech; that the power
OF throwing falsehood into glance
is possessed only by women.
Pento exhausted himself in vain eff
forts to lie with his eyes. But this
unsuccessful falsehood was even more
discriminating than an avowal.
l looked f1xedly at Ponto. "Here,
Ponto," said /, "take this" and l Of
fered him the second chicken, which
Katherine had just finished plucking.
Ponto looked at me refectively.
"Hum,' he said evidently you sus-
pect me. Why do you give me
chicken to-day? You never gave me a
whole chicken before. He took the
chicken in his mouth, and imme-
diately deposited it on the floor at
my feet, and looking up in my eyes he
said; You must think / am a fool"
lnstlnctively l said to myself:
"Thief Scoundrel You have betrayed
me. You are periidious dog. Your
honest canine existence of loyalty has
now come to an end, and you have
been as false as If yon were only
man But, patting him On the back,
! added aloud; "Good Ponto, honest
Ponto, nice Ponto.
This discrimination was rather too
deep for Ponto. Urged on by the
savory smell of the chicken, he took
it between his jaws and started to go.
But, before he reached the door, he
turned several times and looked at me
carefully, in order to see if he could
fathom my thoughts. AS soon as he
had left the kitchen, l closed the door
and began spying upon him through
the blinds Of the window. He went
few PAGES as if intending to devour
his prey, and then stepped, placed his
chicken on the ground, and then
thought deeply for a long time. Sew
eral times he looked at the kitchen
door with his false and treacherous
eye. Then, giving up all attempts to
seek an explanation satisfactory to
his mind, he contented himself with
the fact that he had the chicken,
picked it up, ana departed. AS he
disappeared in the distance, / could
see that his sometime timid tail,
which had hesitated throughout our
entire conversation, had again become
bold and firm. Ponto's tail said:
"Bah! / have both chickens. Nobody
saw me take the first one. Hurrah!"
stealthily followed him from afar,
and ! surprised him in the act of
hastily scratching hole in the ground
with his powerful forepaws, The
chicl4n that l had given him was
lying On the ground, and in the hole
which he was digging lay the other
chicken. l was heart-broken. My
friend Ponto retained the instincts of
his remote ancestors, the foxes and
the Wolves, and buried his provisions.
But, alas! being a domesticated ami
NAL, and having become the compan-
ion of mankind, he had learned to lie.
Under the eyes Of the treacherous
and now shame-faced Ponto, made
up little package of the longer
feathers Of the two chickens, and l
deposited this little feather buster on
my working-table. Whenever there
after / was engaged at work and
Ponto came to me bringing his ball,
and said, with light and easy air,
"Come, come! Lay aside that rubbish
and let us play ball" l would invar-
iably lift the little feather buster.
Then Ponto would drop his treacher-
Gus head. His tail would sink between
his legs and adhere to his quivering
belly, while the ball would fall from
his nerveless Jaws. AS he looked at
me- he would say: us it possible that
you are so ruthless, so unforgiving?
Do you never pardon?"
Weeks passed, and ! had not yet
pardoned Ponto. But he was indefat-
igable in his attempts to win me over.
So, one morning, when he came to me
again, and when l seized the little
feather-duster and poor Ponto was
about to withdraw, / said to him:
"Look, Ponto," quoth l, ''look upon
this for the last time. Thus perishes
the only token Of your fault" and |
hurled the feather buster into the fire.
Ponto carefully watched the feather
buster burn. Then without any hys-
teric manifestations of joy, without
leaps or sdips, but nobly, simply, with
dignity, he came and proffered his
paw. The crime was forgotten. We
were friends again.
Ponto was glad that he had been
forgiven. But he was not nearly so
glad as / that / had forgiven him.
Freely adapted for the Argonaut by
Jerome A. Hart.