MY DOGS AND OTHERS 259 
was very jealous, and would not go with me if I 
had other dogs (and no gun), merely for the sake of 
exercise. Once, when I was laid up with influenza, 
someone let her loose ; she came full speed through 
the open door of my room, and landed on the bed 
right on top of me. She and a spaniel at the 
house did many a good day’s work together: grew 
old and deaf together, and died almost together on 
Good Friday, 1908. Far into the night I had 
watched by my old friend as she lay dying. Often 
I thought the end of her faithful life had come ; 
then, as I turned to leave, she would open an 
eyelid, and speak again to me with that wonderful 
brown eye that even to the end told of her devoted 
love. And then would come a moan of pain, and, 
I hoped, unconsciousness. It was a gloriously fine, 
cool night—one of those nights when one can hear 
the wail of peewits as a fox passes over a far-off 
fallow. My wife and my child were away. I was 
alone with my old dog ; and death was trying hard 
to thrust its sting between us. The moaning 
became more frequent. How could I end it all 
with the murderous violence of a gun? Happy 
thought—there was laudanum in a cupboard; | 
fetched it and gave it to her in increasing doses, 
till I had used an ounce. She slept. The next 
morning she was—better; yes, decidedly better. 
Dared I hope? At breakfast-time I received a 
written message that the old spaniel, her comrade, 
17—2 
