i68 THE GARDEN, YOU, AND I 



is not of the direct line and has never lived in this part 

 of New England before, he goes about with a sort of 

 half- reminiscent air, as if picking up a clew long lost, 

 while Dave, the hound, at once assumed proprietary 

 rights and shows an uncanny wisdom about the well- 

 nigh fenceless boundaries. After his master has gone 

 to bed, Dave will often come over to visit us, after the 

 calm fashion of a neighbour who esteems it a duty. 

 At least that was his attitude at first ; but after a while, 

 when I had told him what a fine, melancholy face he had, 

 that it was a mistake not to have christened him Hamlet, 

 and that altogether he was a good fellow, following up 

 the conversation with a comforting plate of meat scraps 

 (Opie being evidently a vegetarian), Dave began to 

 develop a more youthful disposition. A week ago 

 Bart's long-promised, red setter pup arrived, a spirit 

 of mischief on four clumsy legs. Hardly had I taken 

 him from his box (I wished to be the one to "first foot" 

 him from captivity into the family, for that is a cour- 

 tesy a dog never forgets) when we saw that Dave was 

 sitting just outside the doorless threshold watching 

 solemnly. 



The puppy, with a gleeful bark, licked the veteran 

 on the nose, whereat the expression of his face changed 

 from one of uncertainty to a smile of indulgent if ma- 



