quite a favourite, and one day Sir Bertrand
said to me, "She has brought you a present," and here she was waiting
earnestly for me to remove from her mouth a small stone. It is usually a
simple gift, I notice, and does not embarrass by its value.

Bonfire is very sleek and trim, and we journey much. If I sit down in
his reach I wish you could see how deftly he can pick off my cap and
swing it high out of my reach. He also carries my crop; his games are
simple, but he does not readily tire of them.

I lost poor old Windy. He was the regimental dog of the 1st Batt.
Lincolns, and came to this vale of Avalon to be healed of his second
wound. He spent a year at Gallipoli and was "over the top" twice with
his battalion. He came to us with his papers like any other patient, and
did very well for a while, but took suddenly worse. He had all that care
and love could suggest and enough morphine to keep the pain down; but he
was very pathetic, and I had resolved that it would be true friendship
to help him over when he "went west". He is buried in our woods like
any other good soldier, and yesterday I noticed that some one has laid
a little wreath of ivy on his grave. He was an old dog evidently, but
we are all sore-hearted at losing him. His kit is kept should his master
return,--only his collar with his honourable marks, for his wardrobe was
of necessity simple. So another sad chapter ends.

September 29th, 1915.

Bonneau gravely accompanies me round the wards and waits for me, sitting
up in a most dignified way. He comes into my tent and sits there very
gravely while I dress. Two days ago a Sister brought out some biscuits
for Bonfire, and not understanding the rules of the game, which are bit
and bit about for Bonfire and Bonneau, gave all to Bonfire, so that
poor Bonneau sat below and caught the crumbs that fell. I can see that
Bonfire makes a great hit with the Sisters because he licks their hands
just like a dog, and no crumb is too small to be gone after.

April, 1917.

I was glad to get back; Bonfire and Bonneau greeted me very
enthusiastically. I had a long long story from the dog, delivered with
uplifted muzzle. They tell me he sat gravely on the roads a great deal
during my absence, and all his accustomed haunts missed him. He is back
on rounds faithfully.

VII. The Old Land and the New

If one were engaged upon a formal work of biography rather than a mere
essay in character, it would be just