the world for them--that is, we would have given our lives for them any
day--yet we had left them--father, Jim, and I--to lead this miserable,
lonesome life, looked down upon by a lot of people not half good enough
to tie their shoes, and obliged to a neighbour for help in every little
distress.

Jim and I thought we'd chance a few days at home, no matter what risk we
ran; but still we knew that if warrants were out the old home would be
well watched, and that it was the first place the police would come to.
So we made up our minds not to sleep at home, but to go away every night
to an old deserted shepherd's hut, a couple of miles up the gully, that
we used to play in when we were boys. It had been strongly built at
first; time was not much matter then, and there were no wages to speak
of, so that it was a good shelter. The weather was that hot, too, it was
just as pleasant sleeping under a tree as anywhere else. So we didn't
show at home more than one at a time, and took care to be ready for a
bolt at any time, day or night, when the police might show themselves.
Our place was middling clear all round now, and it was hard for any one
on horseback to get near it without warning; and if we could once reach
the gully we knew we could run faster than any man could ride.

One night, latish, just as we were walking off to our hut there was a
scratching at the door; when we opened it there was old Crib! He ran up
to both of us and smelt round our legs for a minute to satisfy himself;
then jumped up once to each of us as if he thought he ought to do the
civil thing, wagged his stump of a tail, and laid himself down. He
was tired, and had come a long way. We could see that, and that he was
footsore too. We knew that father wasn't so very far off, and would soon
be in. If there'd been anybody strange there Crib would have run back
fast enough; then father'd have dropped there was something up and not
shown. No fear of the dog not knowing who was right and who wasn't. He
could tell every sort of a man a mile off, I believe. He knew the very
walk of the police troopers' horses, and would growl, father said, if he
heard their hoofs rattle on the stones of the road.

About a quarter of an hour after father walks in, quiet as usual.
Nothing never made no difference to him, except he thought it was
worth while. He was middlin' glad to see us, and behaved kind enough
to mother, so the poor soul looked quite happy for her. It was litt