once; if I filled it, he would put himself on guard, utter a kind of
sigh, sneeze, lick his lips, yawn, and, shaking his ears briskly, make
little stifled cries. Then he would grow impatient, and more and more
watchful and nervous. When I lifted my glass to my lips he would draw
back, working gradually nearer to the farther door, and at last
disappear and hide. One who was looking at him without seeing me could
tell by his wails and his attitude the level and position of my glass.
When the glass was horizontal, I could see only about half of his
head, with one eye regarding me fixedly, for that was usually the
critical moment--the one, also, when the wails and restraints were
most demonstrative of the anxious fear of my poor animal.

When we dine in the kitchen, which is on the ground floor, the dogs
are usually all put out. There are four of them, three young and not
experienced, and this old, sagacious brach hound. He insists on coming
in, and, to gain his purpose, tries to have the door opened. Although
no person may be coming up the walk, he dashes down it barking, all
the others going along too and yelping with him; then he stops,
remains a little behind after having got the others out of the way,
and, turning his head from moment to moment, looks to see if the door
has been opened, for we generally go to it to see who has come. In
that case the feigned attack is successful, and the dog, who has
evidently meant to give the alarm so as to have the door opened, comes
in at once and claims a place at the table. He has accomplished his
end, for the door is usually shut without paying attention to his
having got in. I have frequently witnessed this stratagem, and when,
during my kitchen dinner, I suddenly hear the dogs yelping after the
brach hound has begun, I am pretty sure that nobody is in sight.

I have forgotten where I found the next story of an old dog who was