MEET YOUR FRIENDS AT “THE PRESCRIPTION STORE”
OWEN’S PHARMACY. Phone 202. WALGREEN AGENCY.
Belhaven Lady Grace
There has gone from Gillette
Woods and its ravines and trails—
where she was so often seen, with
her little black companion—some
one whom all her friends will miss;
Gracie, a golden collie. She’d been
in the hospital being treated for
sinus, but succumbed to hemmor
hage; and letters are being re
ceived about her just as if she’d
been a person.
“She was a most beautiful crea
ture, and so hospitable!” one of
them says; for Gracie’s way, when
guests were at her home, was to
sit down by the hearth—she loved
the open fire—and with an expres
sion of grave happiness give each
of them a long white paw. “I
never had a dog put her paw on my
knee and look into my eyes as she
did,” another friend writes. “Her
gracious welcome to rite will al
ways be a cherished memory.”
Of her devotion to her family
her gentleness and refinement, her
sympathetic understanding, there
is no need to speak, for these
qualities are common to her race.
Her sire was a collie of rare in
telligence, as well as of perfect
appearance—Black Lucason, many
times champion of the New York
show—and Grade inherited much
of his fidelity and brains. “Wait
a minute!’ she would be told—in
doors, outdoors, or anywhere—and
down she Would sit and wait; or
sit in an orderly row with the
others, at tea-time, to receive her
share of the biscuits they all loved.
She was the sort of dog com
panion who stays near you, on
walks; and she never failed, dur
ing the last year, to tell her mis
tress when it was lunch or bed
time. That white paw would be
given, and the steady eyes would
say—“Yes! You know! That’s
what I mean!” and then her es
corting steps would follow; but
at night, propped against an up
stairs door, she slept there in the
hall, a silent guard.
While Bigheart, the older collie,
lived, she left these dpties mostly
to him, since it was his pride—his
prerogative, he felt—to do them;
but when he went, a year and more
ago, his companionship may have
been lost to her but not his ex-*
ample, for she at once took upon
herself the job of care-taking that
even his faithfulness had been
obliged to lay down. Bigheart’s
grave is in a Vermont garden,
Grade's by a daffodil bed in these
woods, where you can hear the
brook singing, far below; they
should have been together, but
that was not to be, and Boeing,
their little companion, tho/ jjk
very lonely is doing his besflCiF
carry on.
Anne Bosworth Greene.
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Donald Motor Go,
. TRYON, N. C.