"Come, Boonie," called Julius from the door. "Come on, Boonie's going!"
Bruno looked at him, wagged his tail, looked at me, and refused to stir.
"Don't you see?" I said; "he thinks I ought not to be left alone." Then to him, "Go on, Boonie; Boonie must go. Judith isn't afraid."
He looked gratefully at me, and wagged his tail, saying plainly, in his dog-fashion,—
"Thank you, but I'd rather not."
Julius waxed impatient.
"You Boon! come along, sir! come on!" he thundered. Bruno's ears and tail drooped. He looked up sideways in a deprecating manner at Julius, then came and laid his head on my knee. It was of no use. Neither threats nor coaxing could move him. Noble creature! His ideas of chivalry were not to be tampered with, even by those who were his gods, his all!
The next morning at breakfast I said to Julius,—
"I am afraid Bruno will be ill staying in-doors so closely. Can't you take him for a little run before you go to the office?"
"Yes," answered Julius, "I'll take him if he'll go."