The party were comfortably seated around the fire, much interested in
the success or failure of the dog's adventure.

"How long will it be before we may expect Turk's return?" inquired a
guest.

"The house to which I have sent him is about a mile and a half
distant; therefore, if there is no delay when he barks for admission
at the door, and my friend is not absent from home, he should return
in about three-quarters of an hour with a receipt. If, on the other
hand, he cannot gain admission, he may wait for any length of time,"
replied his master.

Some among the company supported the dog's chances of success, while
others were against him. The evening wore away; the allotted time
was exceeded, and a whole hour had passed, but no dog had returned.
Nevertheless, his master was still hopeful.

"I must tell you," said Mr. Prideaux, "that Turk frequently carries
notes for me, and as he knows the house well, he certainly will not
make a mistake; perhaps my friend may be dining out, in which case,
Turk will probably wait for a longer time."

Two hours passed; the storm was raging. Mr. Prideaux himself went to
the front door, which flew open before a fierce gust the instant
that the lock was turned. The gutters were clogged with masses of
half-melted snow. "Poor Turk!" muttered his master, "this is indeed
a wretched night for you. Perhaps they have kept you in the warm
kitchen, and will not allow you to return in such fearful weather."