had moved away and left him in the bright sunshine ; 

 and as he breathed and his ribs rose and fell, the tips 

 of the hairs on his side and back caught the sunlight 

 and shone like polished gold, and the wavy dark lines 

 seemed more distinct and darker, but still very soft. 

 In fact, I was astonished to see that in a certain light 

 Jock looked quite handsome. That was the first time 

 I noticed the change in colour ; and it made me 

 remember two things. The first was what the other 

 fellows had said the day Billy gave up his pup, " You 

 can't tell how a puppy will turn out : even his colour 

 changes " ; and the second was a remark made by 

 an old hunter who had offered to buy Jock the real 

 meaning of which I did not understand at the time. 



" The best dog I ever owned was a golden brindle," 

 said the old man thoughtfully, after I had laughed 

 at the idea of selling my dog. I had got so used to 

 thinking that he was only a faded wishy-washy edition 

 of Jess that the idea of his colour changing did not 

 occur to me then, and I never suspected that the old 

 man could see how he would turn out ; but the touch 

 of sunlight opened my eyes that day, and after that 

 whenever I looked at Jock the words " golden brindle " 

 came back to my mind, and I pictured him as he was 

 going to be and as he really did grow up having 

 a coat like burnished gold with soft, dark, wavy 

 brindles in it and that snow-white V on his chest. 



Jock had many things to learn besides the lessons 

 he got from me the lessons of experience which 

 nobody could teach him. When he was six months 

 old just old enough, if he had lived in a town, to 



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