n eyes upon the house, and with lazy speculation
regard its sun-flecked windows, tightly shut doors, and smoking
chimneys, in the hope that she might step forth. Then came more mild
weather when he would spend long hours outside the stable, in his corner
in the corral, there to renew his silent vigil over nature and the house
from this vantage. Thus he filled his days, and found them not so long
as formerly in his babyhood, when each hour was fraught with so many
little things that demanded his closest interest and attention.

Nights found him early at rest. But not all nights. Nights there were
when the house would be lighted from cellar to garret, when spectral
forms would move in and out of doors, and when shadows would flicker
across drawn shades. Such nights were always his nights, for he would
hear sounds of merriment, and voices lifted in song, and above the
voices, tinkling toward him on the crisp air, the music of a piano. Such
nights were his nights, for he knew that his mistress was happy, and he
would force open the stable door, step out under the cold stars, and
take up his stand in his corner, there to rest his head upon the topmost
board and turn steady eyes upon the scene of merriment until the last
guest had departed.

Always on these nights, with wintry chills coursing down his legs or
rollicking along his spine, he found himself wanting to be a part of
this gaiety, wanting to enter the house, where he instinctively knew it
was warm and comfortable, where he might nuzzle the whole gathering for
sugar and apples. But this he could not do. He could only turn longing
eyes upon the cottage and stand there until, all too soon, sounds of
doors opening and closing, together with voices in cheery farewell, told
him that the party was at an end. Then he would see mysterious forms
flitting across to the trail, and lights in the house whisking out one
by one, until the cottage gradually became engulfed in darkness. Then,
but not till then, would he turn away from his corner, walk back slowly
into the stable, and, because of the open door, which he could open but
never close, suffer intensely from the cold throughout the long night.

One such occasion, when the round moon hung poised in the blue-black
dome of heaven, and he was standing as usual in his corner, with eyes
upon the brilliantly lighted house, he became suddenly aware of two
people descending the rear porch and making slowly toward him. At first
he d