to
show me old Spot's face for company, I set to work, hot haste, to make
some more. It was bitter, biting cold, you bet, ma'am; and I was hard at
work--just after I had had my bit o' breakfast, before I went out for to
look round my boundary--melting and making my dips, so that they might
be fine and hard for night. I ought praps to mention that Spot used to
get so close to the fire-place, that as often as not, I dropped a mossel
of the hot grease on the dog; and if it touched a thin place in his
coat, he would jump up howling. Well, ma'am, I was pouring a pannikin
full o' biling tallow into the mould, when poor old Spot he gives a
sudden howl and yell, and runs to the door. I paid no attention to him
at the time, for I was so busy; but he went on leaping up and howling as
if he had gone mad. As soon as I could put down the pannikin out o'
my hand, I went to the door meaning to open it and,--sorry am I to say
it,--kick the poor beast out for making such a row about a drop o' hot
grease. But the dog turned his face round on me, and gave me a look
as much as to say, 'Make haste, do; there's a good chap: I ought to
be outside there.' And what with the sense shinin' in his eyes, and
a curious kind o' sound outside, I takes down the bar (for the door
wouldn't stay shut otherwise), and looks out. Never until my dyin' day,
and not even then, I expect, shall I forget what the dog and I saw lying
on the ground, which was all white and hard with frost, the sun not
having got over the East range yet. The dog he had more sense and a deal
more pluck than I had, for he knows there aint a moment to be lost; and
he runs up to the flat, tumbled-down heap o' clothes, gets on its back
(for no face could I see), so as to be doing something, and not losing
time, and begins licking. Not very far off there was a lean horse
standing, but he didn't seem to like to come through the slip-rail o'
the paddock fence.

"In coorse I couldn't stand gaping there all day, so I went and stooped
down to the man, who was lying flat on his face, with his arms straight
out. He wasn't sensibleless (Palmer's favourite word for senseless), for
he opened his eyes, and said, "For God's sake, mate, take me in." "So
I will, mate," I makes reply "and welcome you are. Can you get on your
legs, think you?" With that he groans awful, and says, "My legs is
friz." Well, I looks at his legs, and sees he was dressed in what had
been good moleskins, and high jack riding-bo