He led the way into his house, and when Eric asked what saint it was whose picture hung on the wall, he replied, laughing,—
"That is my only saint, it is Saint Rochus of the mountain yonder, and I like him because he has a dog with him."
There were many bird-cages in the room, and such a twittering and confused singing, that one could hardly hear himself speak. The old man was very happy in explaining to Eric how he taught birds that lived on beetles and caterpillars to eat seeds, and how he got maggots and weevils also, and he complained of Roland's want of interest in the feathered tribe.
"No, I don't like birds," the boy declared.
"And I know why," said Eric.
"Do you? why then?"
"You have no pleasure in the free-flying creatures which you cannot make your own, and you don't like them imprisoned either. You like dogs because they are free and yet cling to us."
The dog-trainer nodded to Eric, as if to say, "You've struck the nail on the head."
"Yes, I do like you!" cried Roland, who had two young spaniels in his lap, while the mother stood by and rubbed her head against his side, and the other dogs crowded round.
"Envy and jealousy," said Eric, "are striking characteristics of dogs. As soon as a man caresses one, all the rest want to share the favor."