"It's all Tigre's fault, the little villain!" I ejaculated, mentally, pushing him angrily down from my lap, as I took up the literature assigned me. The discarded favorite uttered a low whine, looked pleadingly up in my angry face, then walked over to his master, and putting his paws on the arm of his chair, wagged his tail, and looked imploringly for permission to spring up. But an impatient "Off, sir!" made him withdraw abashed, and, standing on the rug between us, he gazed wonderingly from one to the other. If it had not been for the precedent of "the dog in the manger," and the proverbial comparison of all cross people to "Hall's dog," I should have been certain that such scenes were entirely new to Tigre, and that in the bosom of his family bad tempers were unknown. As it was, he looked very much mystified and considerably shocked; and at length concluded to lie down where he was, at an equal distance from both antagonists, to whose movements, however, he lent an attentive eye and ear. But there was not much to repay his watchfulness; for beyond an occasional symptom of fatigue on my part, and the periodical turning of the leaves of Mr. Rutledge's book, dire and entire quiet reigned. At last, at half past nine, I sprang up, determined to put an end to such an evening; and with a firm resolution not to say more than the one necessary word, "good night," I looked furtively toward my companion. He had closed the book, and leaning his face on his hand sat looking into the fire. Just so he had looked the other night when I had felt so sorry for him; and perhaps I felt the least bit sorry now. To my good night, he replied, carelessly, "Good night;" then, looking up at the clock, said: "It is early yet." "But I am very tired," and I moved toward the door. "I forgot to ask you, sir," I said, turning back, "whether you had any letters you would like to have answered?" "No, thank you; none of any importance. You need not stay." Contrition, pity, good resolutions, etc., all rushed over me; making three steps back into the room, and swallowing down the rebellious pride and temper, I came out with-- "If I am a child, sir, I am old enough to know when I have done wrong, and not too old to be willing to acknowledge it. I am very well aware that I have been rude and disrespectful to you, and I hope you will have the goodness to excuse it." He looked at me for a moment with a puzzled air, as if he had not quite expected the sudden humiliation; though I am not sure that my attitude implied so much of humiliation as it did of determined conscientiousness. After a moment's quiet scrutiny, which I bore unflinchingly, he said: "I am not quite sure that I understand to what you allude, nor how I come to be entitled to pass judgment on your conduct. Pray explain." The blood mounted to my temples as I answered: