A Dog in Exile. 67 
ing and coughing as if half-suffocated, | was sure 
that if I ever got my flamingo at all it must be 
hopelessly damaged. At length he appeared, so 
exhausted with his exertions that he could hardly 
stand, and deposited the bird at my feet. Never 
had I seen such asplendid specimen! It was an old 
cock bird, excessively fat, weighing sixteen pounds, 
yet Major had brought it out through this slough 
of despond without breaking its skin, or soiling its 
exquisitely beautiful crimson, rose-coloured, and 
faintly-blushing white plumage! Had he not him- 
self been so plastered with mud and slime I should, 
in gratitude, have taken him into my arms ; but he 
appeared very well satisfied with the words of 
approval I bestowed on him, and we started home- 
ward in a happy frame of mind, each feeling well 
pleased with the other—and himself. 
That evening as I sat by the fire greatly enjoying 
my after-dinner coffee, and a pipe of the strongest 
cavendish, I related the day’s adventures, and 
then for the first time heard from my host some- 
thing of Major’s antecedents and remarkable 
history. 
He was a Scotch dog by birth, and had formerly 
belonged to the Harl of Zetland, and as he proved 
to be an exceptionally clever and good-looking 
young dog, he was for a time thought much of ; 
but there was a drop of black blood in Major's 
heart, and in a moment of temptation it led him 
into courses for which he was finally condemned to 
an ignominious death; he escaped to become a 
F 2 
