“Yes,” I said; “before I came up to call you.”
“That’s right. Ah, here the men come!” for there was the trampling of feet, and the noise of voices crossing the yard. “Fed Piter?”
“No; not yet,” I said. “He’s asleep.”
“Asleep!”
“Yes; he has been asleep these three hours past—asleep and snoring. He’s in his kennel now. I couldn’t wake him.”
“Nice sort of a watch-dog, Cob!”
“Yes,” I said, feeling very guilty and shrinking from my confession.
“Do you say you tried to wake him?”
“Yes,” I said, “I took him up in my arms, and carried him down to his kennel, and he was snoring all the time.”
“Carried him down! Where from?”