double the trouble and fatigue.

"It cannot be supposed that he could understand all that was passing
in the little family circle, but he certainly comprehended a good part
of it. In particular, it was very easy to discover that he rarely
missed aught that was said about himself, the sheep, the cat, or of a
hunt. When aught of that nature came to be discussed, Hector's
attention and impatience soon became manifest. There was one winter
evening I said to my mother that I was going to Bowerhope for a
fortnight, for that I had more conveniency for writing with Alexander
Laidlaw than at home; and I added, 'But I will not take Hector with
me, for he is constantly quarrelling with the rest of the dogs,
singing music, or breeding some uproar.' 'Na, na,' quoth she, 'leave
Hector with me; I like aye best to have him at hame, poor fallow.'

"These were all the words that passed. The next morning the waters
were in a great flood, and I did not go away till after breakfast; but
when the time came for tying up Hector, he was a-wanting. 'The deil's
in that beast,' said I,--'I will wager that he heard what we were
saying yesternight, and has gone off for Bowerhope as soon as the door
was opened this morning.'

"'If that should really be the case, I'll think the beast no canny,'
said my mother.

"The Yarrow was so large as to be quite impassable, so that I had to
walk up by St. Mary's Loch, and go across by the boat; and, on drawing
near to Bowerhope, I soon perceived that matters had gone precisely as
I suspected. Large as the Yarrow was, and it appeared impassable by
any living creature, Hector had made his escape early in the morning,
had swam the river, and was sitting, 'like a drookit hen,' on a knoll
at the east end of the house, awaiting my arrival with great
impatience. I had a great attachment to this animal, who, to a good
deal of absurdity, joined all the amiable qualities of his species. He
was rather of a small size, very rough and shagged, and not far from
the colour of a fox.

"His son Lion was the very picture of his dad, had a good deal more
sagacity, but also more selfishness. A history of the one, however,
would only be an epitome of that of the other. Mr. William
Nicholson[O] took a fine likeness of this latter one, which he still
possesses. He could not get him to sit for his picture in such a
position as he wanted, till he exhibited a singularly fine portrait of
a small dog, on the opposite side of the room.