A SEVERE BLOW
It is true that I did not procure that felicity at once. There were many difficulties to be got over before the noble spaniel would think of allowing his daughter to become the wife of plain Mr. Job. His son, also, of whom I have spoken previously, could not bear, at first, the idea of his sister not marrying some one as noble as herself, and thought, very naturally, that she was far too good to have her fortunes united with mine. Fida herself, however, was so firm, and yet so tender; so straightforward, and yet so modest, that she finally broke down all opposition. She persuaded her father that no title could be more noble than the one I had acquired, that of "Honest Job;" she won over her brother, by slily asking him, which among his grand companions could have met a whole band of fierce dogs, with Lupo at their head, and, single-pawed, could have conquered them all? By degrees, every objection was cleared away, and Fida became mine.
The chief interest of my life terminates here; for although, in my position as head of the police, I had many other adventures, they were too much alike, and of too common an order, to be worth relating. Before I close, however, I must mention a circumstance which occurred shortly after my battle with the robbers, as it is curious in itself, and refers to an animal of whom I have before spoken.
I was quietly walking along a bye-street of Caneville, when a miserable, thin, little puppy came behind me, and gently pulled my coat. On turning round to ask him what he wanted, he begged me in the most imploring tone to come and see his father, who was very ill.
"And who is your father, little pup?" I inquired.
"His name is Lupo," said the thin dog, in a trembling voice.
"Lupo!" I cried out in surprise. "But do you not know who I am, and that I am forced to be your father's greatest enemy?"
"I know, I know," the pup replied; "but father told me to come and seek you, for that you were good, and would not harm him, if you knew he was so miserable." And here the little dog began howling in a way which moved me.
"Go on," I said, after a moment; "go on; I will follow you."
As the little dog ran before, through some of the low and miserable parts of the city, the idea once came into my head that perhaps this was a scheme of Lupo's to get me into his power. But the puppy's grief had been too real to allow me to believe, young as he was, that he could be acting a part; so with a stout resolution I went forward.