“Now then, rough un,” he cried, “as you have invited yourself to bed and breakfast, here is your mess, and you’d better eat it and go.”
The dog opened his eyes, looked at him wistfully, and beat the floor again, but he made no effort to rise.
“Poor brute! He is weak, Bel. Here, let’s help you.”
Passing his arm under the dog’s neck, he raised him a little so that he could place the shallow tin of steaming food beneath his muzzle; but the only result was a low whine, and a repetition of the movement of the tail.
At last, though, the eyes opened, and the poor brute sniffed, and began to eat very slowly, pausing now and then to whine before beginning again, till at last the effect of the hot mess seemed magical, and the latter half was eaten with avidity, the tin being carefully licked clean.
A few minutes later the dog was asleep again, but in a different attitude, for he had, after a few efforts, curled himself up as close to the fire as he could get without burning, his muzzle covered over by his bushy tail.
“Dallas Adams, Esquire, gold medal from the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. Bow from Dallas Adams, Esquire, and loud cheers from the audience at the annual meeting.”
“And well deserved,” said Abel, smiling. “Oh, I wish I had your spirits.”
“Get your frozen foot well, and then you will,” was the reply. “Look here, I’ll take a sack and go begging at once, and then come back and get in some wood, for there will not be time to work in the shaft, only get out the snow.”
“Go on, then, and you will succeed.”