THE $30,000 BEQUEST and Other Stories by Mark Twain

was the right one; and that was natural, because, for one thing,

she answered up so promptly that it seemed like a dictionary speaking,

and for another thing, where could they find out whether it was right

or not? for she was the only cultivated dog there was. By and by,

when I was older, she brought home the word Unintellectual, one time,

and worked it pretty hard all the week at different gatherings,

making much unhappiness and despondency; and it was at this time

that I noticed that during that week she was asked for the meaning

at eight different assemblages, and flashed out a fresh definition

every time, which showed me that she had more presence of mind

than culture, though I said nothing, of course. She had one word

which she always kept on hand, and ready, like a life-preserver,

a kind of emergency word to strap on when she was likely to get

washed overboard in a sudden way–that was the word Synonymous.

When she happened to fetch out a long word which had had its day

weeks before and its prepared meanings gone to her dump-pile,

if there was a stranger there of course it knocked him groggy for

a couple of minutes, then he would come to, and by that time she

would be away down wind on another tack, and not expecting anything;

so when he’d hail and ask her to cash in, I (the only dog on

the inside of her game) could see her canvas flicker a moment–

but only just a moment–then it would belly out taut and full,

and she would say, as calm as a summer’s day, “It’s synonymous

with supererogation,” or some godless long reptile of a word

like that, and go placidly about and skim away on the next tack,

perfectly comfortable, you know, and leave that stranger looking

profane and embarrassed, and the initiated slatting the floor

with their tails in unison and their faces transfigured with a

holy joy.

And it was the same with phrases. She would drag home a whole phrase,

if it had a grand sound, and play it six nights and two matinees,

and explain it a new way every time–which she had to, for all she

cared for was the phrase; she wasn’t interested in what it meant,

and knew those dogs hadn’t wit enough to catch her, anyway.

Yes, she was a daisy! She got so she wasn’t afraid of anything,

she had such confidence in the ignorance of those creatures.

She even brought anecdotes that she had heard the family and the

dinner-guests laugh and shout over; and as a rule she got the nub

of one chestnut hitched onto another chestnut, where, of course,

it didn’t fit and hadn’t any point; and when she delivered the nub

she fell over and rolled on the floor and laughed and barked

in the most insane way, while I could see that she was wondering

to herself why it didn’t seem as funny as it did when she first

heard it. But no harm was done; the others rolled and barked too,

privately ashamed of themselves for not seeing the point, and never

suspecting that the fault was not with them and there wasn’t any

to see.

You can see by these things that she was of a rather vain and

frivolous character; still, she had virtues, and enough to make up,

I think. She had a kind heart and gentle ways, and never harbored

resentments for injuries done her, but put them easily out of her

mind and forgot them; and she taught her children her kindly way,

and from her we learned also to be brave and prompt in time of danger,

and not to run away, but face the peril that threatened friend

or stranger, and help him the best we could without stopping to think

what the cost might be to us. And she taught us not by words only,

but by example, and that is the best way and the surest and the

most lasting. Why, the brave things she did, the splendid things! she

was just a soldier; and so modest about it–well, you couldn’t help