“From the moment that it was necessary to protect the only friend I have against your violence,” replied the boy.
“Indeed!” answered Gray.
“Aye indeed!” said the boy, trembling with excitement.
“Your only friend?” continued Gray. “Humph! You think more, then, of that dog than of me?”
“The hound,” said Harry, in a lower tone, “is kind, affectionate, and faithful—’tis in its way, poor thing, tender and devoted; Uncle Gray, are you all that?”
Gray laughed hysterically, as he replied,—
“Ha! Ha! Is that all? Have you quite summed up the virtues of your hound?”
“Its virtues,” said Harry, “are much to me, for they are the only ones I have now an opportunity of noting. Its kindly instincts and dumb affection appear to me so great and estimable because I have no human ones with which to contrast them. I do love the dog, for I have nothing else to love.”
“Now,” cried Gray, “by hell—”
“Hold, uncle—for shame!” said Harry. “Love the dog, and the dog will love you. They never betray their masters.”