Little Byron 161 



our dumb friends are dependent upon us. Dogs 

 especially must have someone to serve, someone to 

 love. Their faithfulness becomes servility. The 

 hunting dog will go until he drops, at the command 

 of his master. The fighting dog will endure until 

 death, if a brutal owner urges him on. Even the 

 most abused and most debased of dogs will stand by 

 and serve masters lower in the scale of being than 

 themselves. The world knows of no greater devo- 

 tion, a devotion to which the higher orders of hu- 

 manity seldom attain. 



Byron was not a hunter, and could not follow a 

 trail. He knew his brown-stone home on the 

 Avenue when he saw it ; but, alas, with his dimmed 

 eyesight he could not find it. The wind had full 

 sweep of Madison Square, and it ruffled the hair 

 upon his weakened body, chilling him through and 

 through. He tried to face it, but the fierce gusts 

 blew him to one side. He sought the shelter of the 

 great fountain in the centre of the square, which gave 

 him some protection. Presently it began to snow ; 

 slowly at first, but with great white flakes coming 



