Czar returned the challenge by uttering one of his deep bays, and this aroused the attention of the little goat-herd, who, as soon as he saw the pair on the brow of the hill, rose slowly to his feet and called to his dog in commanding tones.
Squib, holding Czar by the collar, and bidding him be good and peaceable, went forward smilingly, and when he got nearer he saw that the little boy was a cripple, one leg being so much shorter than the other that he could only stand upright with the help of a rough little crutch. His face, too, was pinched and pale in spite of its coat of summer tan. He had a pair of big, wistful, dark eyes, but except for this the face was not remarkable in any way, the features being insignificant, and the eyelashes and brows of the same pale, sandy tint as the hair.
“Guten Tag!” (which means good-day) said Squib, gravely, and the little boy returned the salutation in the same words, whilst the two dogs eyed each other suspiciously. For a minute the two children stood looking at each other almost in the same tentative and wondering fashion, and then Squib’s face suddenly lighted with the smile which few could resist.
“Let’s sit down and talk,” he said, suiting the action to the words. “You’ve got a dog and I’ve got a dog. I think we ought to be friends.”
The little goat-herd smiled in response, and sank down upon the mossy knoll where he had been before, looking out at the little English Herr from under his sandy brows. He was not very ready with his tongue at first, but he was wooed into speech before long by Squib’s frank friendliness. He spoke a queer sort of mixed language, which Squib did not find quite easy to follow all at once; but a freemasonry was quickly established between them, and the shaggy dog lay blinking at the little stranger, as much as to intimate that he understood them both.
“My dog’s called Czar—what you would call Kaiser,” said Squib, with his hand on Czar’s great head, although the two dogs seemed to find no cause of quarrel between themselves; “what’s yours called?”
“His name is Moor,” answered the little goat-herd, “because he’s black. But I often call him Ami, and that means friend—because he’s the best friend I have.”
“That’s how I feel about Czar!” cried Squib, a link at once forming itself between the pair. “He goes everywhere with me, and they all know I am safe when Czar is there. Does Moor come out with you every day when you take the goats up here to the hill?”
“Yes, I couldn’t come here if it wasn’t for Moor.”
“Why not?” asked Squib, full of interest.