STUDIES OF NATURE 



wandered along the burns and up the moun- 

 tain-side. He died in the winter, or, as his old 

 mother put it to me with tears on her cheek, 

 'He's awa', sir, he's awa'.' And the dog I 

 have heard his story already. It is that old 

 narrative of brute constancy and affection which 

 makes us ashamed for ourselves and our boasted 

 humanity. For months after his master's death 

 nothing would induce him to enter the house. 

 He rambled up and down the village picking up 

 his food where he could, sleeping on the hills 

 and refusing to be comforted. Only during the 

 last few weeks has he been prevailed upon to 

 return to the home which for him had lost its 

 light ; and now, they tell me, he sleeps invari- 

 ably at the door of his late master's chamber. 

 As he trots away from me with his head hung 

 low, he turns and gazes wistfully north and 

 south along the village road and then up at the 

 mountains, as if he were looking for the well- 

 known form that will return to him no more. 



