“For a talk.”
“Ah!” said Tod, and he whistled.
A largish, well-made dog with a sleek black coat, white underneath, and a black tail white-tipped, came running up, and stood before Tod, with its head rather to one side and its yellow-brown eyes saying: 'I simply must get at what you're thinking, you know.'
“Go and tell your mistress to come—Mistress!”
The dog moved his tail, lowered it, and went off.
“A gypsy gave him to me,” said Tod; “best dog that ever lived.”
“Every one thinks that of his own dog, old man.”
“Yes,” said Tod; “but this IS.”
“He looks intelligent.”
“He's got a soul,” said Tod. “The gypsy said he didn't steal him, but he did.”