s, no one has ever seen them. And in the tense hush of the
Autumn nights, above the distant rumble of the cannon rose only the
plaintive cry of stray dogs baying at the moon.

Dogs, _mon Dieu_, I wonder how many of those poor, forgotten, abandoned
creatures having strayed into our barnyard were successively washed,
combed, fed, cared for and adopted.

Some of them, haunted by the spirit of unrest, remained with us but a
moment; others tried us for a day, a week, and still others,
appreciative of our pains, refused to leave at all.

Oh, the heart rending, lonesome, appealing look in the eyes of a poor
brute that has lost home and master!

It is thus that I came into possession of an ill tempered French poodle
called _Crapouillot_, which the patients in our hospital insisted on
clipping like a lion with an anklet, a curl over his nose and a puff at
the end of his tail. A most detestable, unfortunate beast, always to
be found where not needed, a ribbon in his hair, and despicably bad
humoured.

He was succeeded by a Belgian sheep dog, baptised _Namur_, who in time
gave place to one of the most hopelessly ugly mongrels I have ever
seen. But the new comer was so full of life and good will, had such a
comical way of smiling and showing his gleaming white teeth, that in
memory of the joy caused by the Charlie Chaplin films, he was
unanimously dubbed _Charlot_.

The mere sound of his name would plunge him into ecstasies of joy,
accompanied by the wildest yapping and strange capers, which invariably
terminated by a double somersault in the mud so anxious was he to
convince us of his gratitude. Imagine then what might be obtained by a
caress, or a bowl of hot soup.

Last in line, but by no means least, was a splendid English pointer, a
superb, finely bred animal, who day in, day out would lie by the open
fire, lost in a profound revery that terminated in a kind of sob.
Poor, melancholy _Mireille_, what master was she mourning? For what
home did she thus pine? How I respected and appreciated her sadness.
How intensely human she became.

Finally when I could resist no longer I would take her long delicate
head into my hands and gently stroke it, seeking to impart my sympathy.
"I know that you never can be mine," I would murmur, "that you will
ever and eternally belong to him to whom you gave yourself once and
entirely. But these are sad anxious days for us all; we must bear
together. And so as my own dogs have oft