"He has done us a good turn, uncle. Couldn't we wait an hour or two and see if he appears?"
"It's not business, Jack."
"My dear uncle, it's no use your posing as a hard-hearted man of business. You know you're quite fond of the boy."
"Eh! Well, I own he's a likely little fellow, and I sort of felt he's a part of the concern; in short, Jack, we'll put in an hour or two and give him a chance."
An hour passed, and Pat made his appearance. He trotted soberly into the camp, not frisking or barking joyously as was his wont.
"Arrah thin, ye spalpeen, where's Samba?" cried Barney as the dog came to him.
Pat hung his head, and put his tail between his legs and whined.
"Go and fetch him, then," cried Barney.
The terrier looked at his master, turned as if to do his bidding, then moved slowly round and whined again.
"Sure 'tis not devoured by a crocodile he is, or Pat would be in a terrible rage. The bhoy has deserted, sorr, and Pat's heart is after being broken."