alike. One
evening he came to call. Now Murphy's dinner was always placed at six
o'clock in one corner of the hall, and had just been brought when this
visitor appeared. Not to be outdone in hospitality, Murphy at once
pointed out the repast that had been spread, and stood by while the other
ate, though he had himself had nothing since the early morning, and
could, had he been so minded, have knocked the stranger into the
proverbial cocked hat. All he did was to wag his tail and look pleased,
as his dinner slowly disappeared. But, after all, such episodes as these
belong to a later period, when he had become well-nigh human; when--it
may as well be now confessed--he came to love the company of a man more
than the company of dogs, when confidence had been won back, and
happiness--happiness that with those he knew and loved showed itself in
an intense and merry joy of life--had been finally regained.

One other peculiarity about him, or, rather, accomplishment, he
possessed, must be noticed here, for, with a lifetime's experience of
dogs, no parallel can be recalled, or has been gatherable elsewhere.
First of all, he was certainly musical, and often after a long day's
work, when the landscape outside was wintry, dreary, and wet, and the
piano was thrown open and thrashed for joy of sound and relief, Murphy
would rise from his mat and come and lie close to his master's feet. He
did not sing or howl on these occasions, in the way that with many dogs
conveys the impression that music is pain. On the contrary, he remained
quite silent, contenting himself with a sigh and a lick of the lips,
which almost gave the impression that he would have said, if he could,
"Just play that again, will you?"

This is, however, by the way. What he excelled in was what is generally
known as talking. The sound was not a howl, or like one; it came from
deep in his throat, and was deep in tone, inflections being produced by
movements of the jaw at the same time. To ask him a question was
generally to get an answer in this way, though rarely out of doors, where
his attention was necessarily distracted. But when once he had started,
he continued to respond, and so to carry on quite a lengthy conversation.
That was his sole trick, if indeed it could be so classed, for he evolved
it entirely himself. Of tricks proper he knew none, and through life
entirely declined to learn any. Perhaps Dan, whose repertory was large,
had told him what a bore they