was saying, ma'am, one day I finds I had run out o' candles, and as
the long dark evenings (for it was the height o' winter) was bad
enough, even with a dip burning, to show me old Spot's face for
company, I set to work, hot haste, to make some more. It was
bitter, biting cold, you bet, ma'am; and I was hard at work--just
after I had had my bit o' breakfast, before I went out for to look
round my boundary--melting and making my dips, so that they might be
fine and hard for night. I ought praps to mention that Spot used to
get so close to the fire-place, that as often as not, I dropped a
mossel of the hot grease on the dog; and if it touched a thin place
in his coat, he would jump up howling. Well, ma'am, I was pouring a
pannikin full o' biling tallow into the mould, when poor old Spot he
gives a sudden howl and yell, and runs to the door. I paid no
attention to him at the time, for I was so busy; but he went on
leaping up and howling as if he had gone mad. As soon as I could
put down the pannikin out o' my hand, I went to the door meaning to
open it and,--sorry am I to say it,--kick the poor beast out for
making such a row about a drop o' hot grease. But the dog turned
his face round on me, and gave me a look as much as to say, "Make
haste, do; there's a good chap: I ought to be outside there." And
what with the sense shinin' in his eyes, and a curious kind o' sound
outside, I takes down the bar (for the door wouldn't stay shut
otherwise), and looks out. Never until my dyin' day, and not even
then, I expect, shall I forget what the dog and I saw lying on the
ground, which was all white and hard with frost, the sun not having
got over the East range yet. The dog he had more sense and a deal
more pluck than I had, for he knows there aint a moment to be lost;
and he runs up to the flat, tumbled-down heap o' clothes, gets on
its back (for no face could I see), so as to be doing something, and
not losing time, and begins licking. Not very far off there was a