But here I should always be with my pipe and my crutches, and the dogs
snuggling by the fire.

Tim had come! The clock hands were crawling on and on. His minute had
better end. I hurled my pipe into the smouldering coals; I tossed a
crutch at little Colonel, and the dog ran howling from the room. Old
Captain sat up on his haunches, his slantwise eyes wide open with
wonder.

Aye, Captain, men are strange creatures. Their moods will change with
every clock-tick. One moment your master sits smoking and watching the
flames--the next he is tearing hatless from the house; and it is cold
outside and the wind in the chimney is tumbling down the soot. When
the wind sings like that in the chimney, it is sweeping full and sharp
down the village street, and across the flats by the graveyard, whither
he goes hobbling.

Little Colonel comes cautiously into the room, hugging the wall till he
is back at the fireside. With his head between his fore-paws and one
eye closed, he watches the tiny tongue of flame licking up the last
coal. There are worse lives than a dog's.




XVI

Tim came whistling down the road. He whistled full and clear, and
while he was still at the turn of the hill the wind brought me a bit of
his rollicking tune as I huddled on the school-house steps, waiting.