The boys had a dog—Old Brindle he was called—and he had just enough bull in him to make him a faithful friend and a good watchdog. But, of course, he was of little use in the woods, and Joe and Roger were always begging for a hunting dog. “We’ve got these now—pump-rifles,” Roger said eagerly to Dorothy, whom he thought able to accomplish any wonder she might undertake. “They shoot fifty shots. Think of it, Sister! That’s a lot. And father taught us how to use ’em long ago, of course. Just think! I could stand right up and shoot down fifty people—just like that.” “Oh, Roger!” gasped Dorothy. “Don’t say such awful things.” “Oh, I wouldn’t, you know; but I could,” the boy said confidently. “Now the law is off rabbits and partridges and quail. Joe and I saw lots of ’em when we went after those nuts the other day. If we’d had our guns along maybe we might have shot some.” “The poor little birds and the cunning little rabbits,” said Dorothy with a sigh. “Oh! they’re not like our pigeons and our tame rabbits. These are real _wild_. If some of ’em weren’t shot they’d breed an’ breed till there were so many that maybe it wouldn’t be safe to go out into the woods,” declared the small boy, whose imagination never needed spurring. Joe came up on the porch in time to hear this last. He chuckled, but Dorothy was saying to Roger: “How foolish, dear! Who ever heard of a rabbit being cross?” “Just the same I guess you’ve heard of being as ‘mad as a March hare,’ haven’t you?” demanded Joe, his eyes twinkling. “And we _do_ want a bird dog, Sis, to jump a rabbit for us, or to flush a flock of quail.” “Those dear little bobwhites,” Dorothy sighed again. “Why is it that boys want always to kill?” “So’s to eat,” Joe said bluntly. “You know yourself, Dorothy Dale, that you like partridge on toast and rabbit stew.” She laughed at them. “I shall go hungry, then, I’m afraid, as far as you boys are concerned.” “Of course we can’t get any game if we don’t have a dog. Brindle couldn’t jump a flea,” growled Joe. “Say! the big fellows used to have lots more pets than we’ve got,” complained Roger, referring to Ned and Nat. “_They_ had dogs,” added Joe. “A whole raft of ’em.” “Oh, dear me!” exclaimed Dorothy. “I’ll see what can be done. But another dog!” “We won’t let him bite you, Sister,” proclaimed Roger. “We only want him to chase rabbits or to start up the birds so we can shoot ’em.” Dorothy’s “I’ll see” was, of course, taken by the boys themselves as an out-and-out agreement to do as the boys desired. They were convinced that if she gave her mind to it their sister could perform almost any miracle. At least, she could always bring the rest of the family around to her way of thinking. Ned and Nat had opposed the bringing of another dog upon the place. They were fond of old Brindle; but it must be confessed that the watchdog was bad tempered where other dogs were concerned.