A DOG IN EXILE 71 



that he had already hopelessly offended me, and so 

 concluded to save himself the labor of carrying 

 them. He did not know, poor brute, that his 

 fetching them would have been taken as a token of 

 repentance, and that he would have been forgiven. 

 But it was impossible to forgive him now. All 

 faith in him was utterly and for ever gone, and 

 from that day I looked on him as a poor degraded 

 creature; and if I ever bestowed a caress on his 

 upturned face, I did it in the spirit of a man 

 who flings a copper to an unfortunate beggar in 

 the street; and it was a satisfaction to me that 

 Major appeared to know what I thought of him. 

 But all this happened years ago, and now I can 

 but look with kindly feelings for the old blind re- 

 triever who retrieved my geese so badly. I can 

 even laugh at myself for having allowed an in- 

 eradicable anthropomorphism to carry me so far 

 in recalling and describing our joint adventures. 

 But such a fault is almost excusable in this in- 

 stance, for he was really a remarkable dog among 

 other dogs, like a talented man among his fellow- 

 men. I doubt if any other retriever, in such cir- 

 cumstances and handicapped by such an infirm- 

 ity, could have retrieved that splendid flamingo; 

 but with this excellence there was the innate ca- 

 pacity to go wrong, a sudden reversion to the 

 irresponsible wild dog the devilry, to keep to 

 human terms, that sent him into exile and made 

 him at the last so interesting and pathetic a figure. 



