Voyageur, the Broken-Hearted 171 



vigour. All my sympathetic words were 

 now as mockery. He had never cared much 

 for them; now he seemed to consider them 

 as insults. He never again gave me a kind 

 look or a wag of the tail. He just skulked 

 along home hardly dragging a pound of the 

 load. I had hoped that a night's rest after 

 and a good supper would cause him to for- 

 get his annoyance but it was not so. In 

 vain I put on him my best harness decorated 

 with ribbons and silver bells, of which the 

 dogs are so fond. It was of no use. My 

 good wife, who was fond of the noble fel- 

 low, and who alone could win from him a 

 half-gracious wag of his tail, tried in vain 

 to rouse him out of his depression. But 

 she too failed like the rest of us. Voyageur 

 was broken-hearted and would cry and moan 

 like a disconsolate child. Shortly after he 

 went out on the frozen lake in the front of 

 our home, and there he set up a most mourn- 

 ful howling. Then he laid down on the ice 

 as though asleep. 



Mrs. Young, who had seen him from a 

 window, sent out an old Indian to bring 

 him in. When the man reached him he 

 found the dog dead. 



