242 THE BOOK OF A NATURALIST 



much as a thank-you. He had found a fool and 

 had succeeded in getting something out of him, and 

 his business with me was ended. There was no 

 hesitation; he was going straight home, and knew, 

 his way quite well. 



Years afterwards it was a; surprise to me to 

 find that the little red dog was an inhabitant of 

 London. There was no muzzling order then, in 

 the 'seventies, and quite a common sight was the 

 independent dog, usually a cur, roaming the streets 

 in search of stray scraps of food. He shared the 

 sparrows' broken bread; he turned over the 

 rubbish heaps left by the road - sweepers ; he 

 sniffed about areas, on the look-out for an open 

 dust -bin; and he hung persistently about the 

 butcher's shop, where a jealous eye was kept on 

 his movements. These dogs doubtless had owners, 

 who paid the yearly tax; but it is probable that 

 in most cases they found for themselves. Probably, 

 too, the adventurous life of the streets, where 

 carrion was not too plentiful, had the effect of 

 sharpening their wits. Here, at all events, I was 

 witness of an action on the part of a small red dog 

 which fairly astonished me; that confidence trick 

 the little Argentine beast had practised on me was 

 nothing to it. 



In Regent Street, of all places, one bright 

 winter morning, I caught sight of a dog lying on 

 the pavement close to the wall, hungrily gnawing 

 at a big beef bone which he had stolen or picked 

 out of a neighbouring dust-hole. He was a miserable- 



