ears to the paws because he has heard a brotherly voice from far, far away, and he debates within himself whether to leave me or not. Ah! Little one. He is right. He is bored. But it is his destiny. Woe to him who falls into the hands of a confidant, even if it is a dog.
— . . . . What if I should be the first to go—listen to this also, dear Dick—if I shall be the first, will you remember me, when you will never see me any more, when the young master will be the only one left to you? Will you sometimes remember the old master, who has loved you so much? Will you now and then look for him at that desk, where he has many times discontinued his work to take you in his arms? And over that pillow where you now come to greet him every morning, and where, exchanging your greeting he has so many times pressed your head against his cheek, bathed with tears from a hopeless dream? And will you sometimes recall me to the mind of the young master, when you see him sad and thoughtful and make him smile? And will you exhort him with your voice, to go out to meet his friends, and to take you into the country with him, to regain in the open air and in the movement, the love
