e dog, and had come to
see for himself. Murphy had been lying curled up on a sack in his corner,
but when he heard the well-known footstep he crawled out, hugging the
wall nervously till he reached the door.

"Murphy, lad!" exclaimed the Over-Lord, looking intently at the
dog--"Murphy, my little man; that you...!" The dog was fawning on him,
saying as plain as speech, "Take me away with you; take me away."

The Over-Lord put his hand down and patted him. He did not say another
word, as Murphy followed him out, save "It's not you, Mrs. Moby; it's not
you." He had a great heart for dogs, and began to blame himself on his
way home for what had evidently occurred. "If the man did not want the
dog," he muttered, "he had only got to say so; besides it was his rent to
him: it was not done on the cheap--that never does in any line."

When he reached his own house, he took the young dog in with him--a thing
almost unprecedented, so far as the rest of the outside company were able
to recall. They judged their former companion spoilt, or on the high road
to being so.

"It was all that hare," remarked the middle-aged.

"Yes," agreed the moralists--"success is always pernicious to the young!"

Lookers-on generally misjudge, though they claim to see most of the game.

The next morning, by strange coincidence, a letter was delivered at the
mill, destined to alter Murphy's future altogether.

IV

Daniel was one of those dogs that die famous, though belonging to a small
circle; not famous in the sense in which the dogs of history are so, but
because he possessed individuality and stamped himself upon the memories of
all who ever met him. And these last were not few, for Dan had travelled
widely and had gathered multitudes of friends. Then, again, he possessed
those two almost indispensable adjuncts of popularity--delightful manners
and a beautiful face. It was his invariable custom to get up when any one
came into a room; and when he advanced to meet them, it might certainly
have been said that, in his case, the tail literally wagged the dog, for
his hind-quarters were moved from the middle of his back and went in rhythm
with the tail. His looks were perfect. Being by Pagan I., he possessed not
only eyes set in black and a coal-black snout, but also that further
characteristic of dogs of his date, the blackest of black ears--a feature
now entirely lost in the case of Irish terriers, and