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skill buried it under an apple-tree in an orchard belonging to the 
house, where the family of Goughs were then living at Crosby 
Garrett, and put up some little mark with the words, ‘‘To the 
memory of Foxey,” written upon it. 
Here was what looked like a solution of the mystery of the two 
dogs that shared the honours of fidelity—Charles had two dogs 
with him. The Cocker Spaniel may have been “the larger 
smoother-haired and darker in colour” than the Faithful one that 
old Betty described, and it may either have been left at the 
Cherry-tree during Charles Gough’s absence in Patterdale, or it 
may have survived the faithful little terrier Foxey, and have gone 
to Kendal when the wife of Harry, Charles’ brother, died at 
Kirkby Stephen, whither they had removed from Crosby Garrett, 
and when the family, or some members of it, migrated to their 
grandmother Gough’s at Kendal. 
It was clear that this very old servant of the Gough family, who 
had nursed all the nephews and nieces of poor Charles, had a 
marvellous memory, from the details she gave about her charges 
in old nursery days. And I sent a drawing of a cocker spaniel to 
her by my correspondent, in order that she might say whether 
Foxey the Faithful was at all like it, and she was quite clear that 
Foxey was not like it either in shape or size or make of ears. So 
that one believes that the little lover of her master, who for her 
master’s sake through three months cold and frost, rain and wind, 
watched him fading before her eyes—who perhaps did what she 
could, when not off seeking food, to “scare the hill-fox and the 
raven away”—who gave up even the joy of motherhood in her 
anxious concern for the fast dissolving body—who even when the 
hounds were set upon her refused to leave it, but circling round 
and round stood to bay, at last, by the side of that helpless, headless 
heap of silence and decay, was none other than a Terrier whose name 
may tell its colour, perhaps its breed. The faithful old nurse died 
within three months of her evidence, but she had helped the little 
smooth-haired Irish terrier to its right. 
That devotion in the little watcher by the dead, has been long 
ago crowned with song, and when in memory of— 
