whole staff were quite sorry when it left.

One morning, a week or two later, the house-surgeon, looking out of the
window, saw the dog coming down the street. When it came near he noticed
that it had a penny in its mouth. A cat's-meat barrow was standing by
the kerb, and for a moment, as he passed it, the dog hesitated.

But his nobler nature asserted itself, and, walking straight up to the
hospital railings, and raising himself upon his hind legs, he dropped his
penny into the contribution box.

MacShaughnassy was much affected by this story. He said it showed such a
beautiful trait in the dog's character. The animal was a poor outcast,
vagrant thing, that had perhaps never possessed a penny before in all its
life, and might never have another. He said that dog's penny seemed to
him to be a greater gift than the biggest cheque that the wealthiest
patron ever signed.

The other three were very eager now to get to work on the novel, but I
did not quite see the fairness of this. I had one or two dog stories of
my own.

I knew a black-and-tan terrier years ago. He lodged in the same house
with me. He did not belong to any one. He had discharged his owner (if,
indeed, he had ever permitted himself to possess one, which is doubtful,
having regard to his aggressively independent character), and was now
running himself entirely on his own account. He appropriated the front
hall for his sleeping-apartment, and took his meals with the other
lodgers--whenever they happened to be having meals.