it would not be
safe to meddle with me; and I once more pursued my journey in quiet.

Having my own reasons for not wishing to attract attention, I jostled
against as few passengers as possible, and did my utmost to keep clear
of inquisitive dogs or arrogant horses, so that I met with few
obstacles, and before mid-day arrived safely at the outskirts of London.
Then my way became much plainer; a country road, with hedges and fields
on each side, was easily tracked; and I could hold up my head in comfort
as I ran along at a good pace, instead of keeping my nose close to the
ground for fear of losing my way.

I came to a place where four roads met, and there, though but for a few
moments, I was perplexed. There was a sign-post, but that was nothing to
me; it might have been useful to my poor master, but to me it was only
one of his many encumbrances, which were superseded by my nose.

So I followed my nose up one of the roads; it would not do. Up a second
and a third; still my nose refused assent. As there was but one road
more, I had no further choice; so I troubled my nose no more, but
galloped joyfully ahead without any difficulty on the subject, wondering
whether my master would have found the way by his reason as surely as I
by my instinct.

As the day went on, I began to grow uncommonly hungry; that is to say,
hungry for _me_, who had never yet known what it was to want a meal.
Accustomed to regular daily food as often as I required it, I do not
suppose that in my comfortable life I ever knew what real hunger was,
such hunger as is felt by poor creatures with but scanty food for one
day, and uncertain even of _that_ for the next. But I felt that I should
like my dinner; and, for the first time in my life, was called upon to
find it for myself.

And, really, when a person has been accustomed to see set before him
every day, at his own hour, on his own platter, a supply of bread and
meat nicely mixed, with perhaps some pudding to finish it, and no
trouble required on his part but to eat it tidily, and say "Thank you"
after his fashion, it is no small puzzle suddenly to be obliged to
provide his own dinner from beginning to end--catching, cooking, and
serving it up. There are more in the world than I who would know how to
do nothing but eat it. If I had been a wild dog, used to the habits of
savage life, I might have hunted down some smaller animal as wild as
myself, torn it to pieces, and devoured it raw; but I wa