“O, come! that’ll do,” I said. “It’s all right, you know.”
He poured out a torrent of gratitude, part English, part Italian—wholly incoherent.
“Now,” I said, “if you don’t stop, I shall put you out in the snow again.”
He was crying, and gesticulating, and embracing me all in one.
“Ah, the snow!” he cried; “and the pain—merciful God, the pain!—and then the immenseness in the sleep. And you have save me—yes, signore, you; like a strong lion you com’ and lift me in your mouse; and I am yours—for ever and more I am yours according.”
He rose to his feet, and stood away, fingering his breast dramatically.
“Very well,” I said. “But what am I to do with the gift?”
I foresaw, on the instant, embarrassments. But, as to that, I did him less than justice. He lifted his head with dignity.
“Call me, and I will com’,” he said; “spik to me, and I will obey. Zat is for my lov’ and duty to you for the eternity of all times. Now I sank you and go. I go again on my way wiz a great heart, rich in the thought of the help which vouchsafe itself to a poor dog wizout one doubt or inquiration.”
I laughed.