last, "and bread, whether scant or plenty, and bed, whether hard or
soft, we have shared together. Thou hast made the days brighter, and the
nights shorter, by thy presence as I suffered through them, and dark
will the one be, and long the other, when I see thee no more; would to
God I could die with thee, my dog, my dog!"

Did the dog indeed understand what he said or did he merely sense the
sorrow in the tones and seek once more, as he had done so many times
before, to comfort his disconsolate master? I know not; I only know that
the poor animal, with dying strength, lifted his muzzle to his master's
face, and twice he lapped it with his tongue. Aye, lapped the salt tears
tenderly from his master's wrinkled and pallid cheeks with his tongue;
only this, for no more could he do. "My dog," cried the old man once
more, amid his tears. "My dog, the God who made thee so loving and
worthy to be loved, and filled thee with such sweet feeling and the wish
to comfort human woe, will not surely let thee perish. In his great
universe there is, there must be, room for thee. I will not mourn thee
as wholly lost. I cannot do it. For amid the false thou hast been true,
and surely falsehood shall hot live on and sweet truth die. Tell me, my
dog, give me some sign that we shall meet in the great hereafter?"

But in response to this appeal the dog gave no motion, for, indeed, his
strength, like a tide ebbing in the night, was gliding silently and
swiftly outward in the gloom, gliding outward and beyond all questioning
and answering, but he opened wide his glorious eyes and fixed them
steadily on his master's face with such a great love in their depths
that mortal might not doubt that in that love was hope and its
sustaining evidence; and then the fatal dimness crept along their edges,
the pure, sweet light faded away in their clear depths, and the
impenetrable shadow settled forever over the lustrous orbs. The lids at