he lay by the mitten in the snow. He had misun- 

 derstood me, and had gone back to guard the mit- 

 ten instead of to get it. He could hardly contain 

 himself for joy when he saw me. He leaped into 

 the air, barked, jumped, rolled over, licked my 

 hand, whined, grabbed the mitten, raced round 

 and round me, and did everything that an alert, 

 affectionate, faithful dog could do to show that 

 he appreciated my appreciation of his supremely 

 faithful services. 



After waiting for him to eat a luncheon, we 

 started merrily towards home, where we arrived 

 at one o'clock in the morning. Had I not re- 

 turned, I suppose Scotch would have died beside 

 the mitten. In a region cold, cheerless, oppress- 

 ive, without food, and perhaps to die, he lay 

 down by the mitten because he understood that 

 I had told him to. In the annals of dog heroism, 

 I know of no greater deed. 



