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Updated: June 21, 2025
Then look around careful and see if he is settin' fire to the house. Take my revolver an' Fido, an' do be careful not to get hurt an' don't kill him unless you have to." "I won't kill him unless I see him, an' he won't hurt me unless he sees me first," sez I. "You better keep Fido an' the gun. I don't want to be bothered with a couple o' noncombatants."
"I send you a sketch of the Morse coat of arms, according to your request, to do as you please with it. I am no advocate of heraldic devices, but the motto in this case sanctions it with me. I wish to live and die in its spirit: "'Deo non armis fido."
Among the men of this company, suffice it to mention the name of the poet Guarini, whose fame has become enduring on account of his charming and idyllic drama, Il pastor fido, for he it is who seems to embody that sprightliness of wit which gave to Ferrara at that time its gladsome reputation.
Things had been better, though, before Fido went away, for he had always stayed awake all night and watched to see that no harm came to any of them. Then suddenly Mamma Goose had a thought, and a very bright idea it was, too. She would stay awake all night herself, and watch and see with her own eyes what it was that carried away the little chicks.
And as she watched the little ants eating cookie crumbs Marcella had thrown to them, she heard all of a sudden the patter of puppy feet behind her. It was Fido. The puppy dog ran up to Raggedy Ann and twisted his head about as he looked at her. Then he put his front feet out and barked in Raggedy Ann's face.
The boys waited, listening to Fido, who was running back and forward between the brule and the house barking furiously. The minister seemed interested in Fido's manoeuvres, and followed him a little way. "Man!" said Hughie, in a whisper, "perhaps he'll go and look for the gun himself. And Fido will find us, sure. I say, let's go."
"I will not say It is a Better Poem then Pastor Fido, but to speak my Mind freely, I think it a Better Drama." From this it is clear that the preface was penned after 1660, and we may furthermore infer that the version was as yet unfinished when the writer was in Paris, apparently at some time during the Commonwealth.
He no longer trotted about, he wandered from room to room. His eyes were dull. His heart bumped about like money in a money-box. With an effort he wagged his tail to cheer me up. Wearily he would climb into a chair and lie there indifferent to my trembling caresses. Fido died. I gave up looking at dogs, alive or china, embroidered or painted.
It seemed that something serious must have happened, for Fido had never been left alone so long before. If he had known that the old man was conversing pleasantly with some fellow-citizens at the grocery store, and that the young one had his arm around a laughing girl in white, trying to teach her to walk, he would have been very indignant indeed.
Raggedy Ann listened. There was a murmur as if someone were singing, far away. "What is it?" asked Fido. "Sh!" cautioned Raggedy Ann, "It's music." It was indeed music, the most beautiful music Raggedy Ann had ever heard. It grew louder, but still seemed to be far away. Raggedy Ann and Fido could hear it distinctly and it sounded as if hundreds of voices were singing in unison.
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