When John, my servant,
was sent for, he gave a good account of the lad, and as he entirely
approved of Sprig, I gave the sovereign, showing it to the dog, whose
wondering eyes were glancing from one to the other. Then I said to the
boy, "Put him into my arms, and tell him he belongs to me;" and he did
so. The little fellow looked curiously and wistfully at the lad, who, to
do him justice, had tears in his eyes, and then nestled into my breast,
licking my hands and face. When my daughter came down stairs, I took up
Sprig and placed him in my youngest daughter's arms, a process he
appeared to comprehend perfectly, and told him she was his mistress; nor
to the day of his death did he ever falter in his devoted allegiance to
her. He was very fond of me and of us all, but his deepest love was for
his mistress, and on many occasions was most affecting to see. She was
often delicate, and once had a sharp attack of typhus fever. In this
illness Sprig never left her. He would lie at the foot of her bed
watching her, and would sometimes creep gently up to her, put his paws
round her neck, and lick her hands softly, while the pleading of his
large eyes looking from his mistress, in her unconscious delirium, to
her sister and me, was touching in the extreme. Indeed, there were then
many sad illnesses, but Sprig was always the same. As my child grew
stronger and better her little friend would amuse her by the hour
together; sit up, beg, preach, play with his ball, and try in humble
doggie fashion to beguile her of her pain. But I am anticipating.

Sprig was, I believe, what is called a Dandie Dinmont, and as he grew up
he became, for his class, a very handsome, as he was a sturdy, little
fellow, with great strength for his size. He was a reddish-brown colour,
more dark-red than brown, like a squirrel, with white below, and a
delightfully fuzzy head, and a breast of long soft white hair. His eyes
were that peculiar bright liquid "dog" brown which is capable of so much
expression, and he grew to have a long moustache and beard. Even the
most un-observant of dogs admired him, for he resembled no terrier I
have ever seen. I think he would have won the prize of his class at the
Dublin Dog Show, had it not been for a terrible accident he met with in
being wounded by a large foxhound in a neighbouring orchard. His neck
was then torn open, and he was rescued by John only in time to prevent
his being killed. As it was, it was weeks before he