Another time, as I was sniffing the ground where several streets branched off, I heard an ill-toned voice say, "There's a dog that has lost his master."
"Fine dog, too," said another; "there will be a good reward advertised for him."
"Humph, there's more to be made by him than that," replied the first; and as I looked up at him, I recognised the very man whom I had formerly prevented from breaking into my master's country house. I growled fiercely; and if he had attempted to approach me, I was prepared for a spring at his throat.
"He seems to have a spite against you; best leave him alone," said the other. And the two turned away, evidently aware that it would not be safe to meddle with me; and I once more pursued my journey in quiet.
Having my own reasons for not wishing to attract attention, I jostled against as few passengers as possible, and did my utmost to keep clear of inquisitive dogs or arrogant horses, so that I met with few obstacles, and before mid-day arrived safely at the outskirts of London. Then my way became much plainer; a country road, with hedges and fields on each side, was easily tracked; and I could hold up my head in comfort as I ran along at a good pace, instead of keeping my nose close to the ground for fear of losing my way.
I came to a place where four roads met, and there, though but for a few moments, I was perplexed. There was a sign-post, but that was nothing to me; it might have been useful to my poor master, but to me it was only one of his many encumbrances, which were superseded by my nose.
So I followed my nose up one of the roads; it would not do. Up a second and a third; still my nose refused assent. As there was but one road more, I had no further choice; so I troubled my nose no more, but galloped joyfully ahead without any difficulty on the subject, wondering whether my master would have found the way by his reason as surely as I by my instinct.
As the day went on, I began to grow uncommonly hungry; that is to say, hungry for me, who had never yet known what it was to want a meal. Accustomed to regular daily food as often as I required it, I do not suppose that in my comfortable life I ever knew what real hunger was, such hunger as is felt by poor creatures with but scanty food for one day, and uncertain even of that for the next. But I felt that I should like my dinner; and, for the first time in my life, was called upon to find it for myself.
And, really, when a person has been accustomed to see set before him every day, at his own hour, on his own platter, a supply of bread and meat nicely mixed, with perhaps some pudding to finish it, and no trouble required on his part but to eat it tidily, and say "Thank you" after his fashion, it is no small puzzle suddenly to be obliged to provide his own dinner from beginning to end—catching, cooking, and serving it up. There are more in the world than I who would know how to do nothing but eat it. If I had been a wild dog, used to the habits of savage life, I might have hunted down some smaller animal as wild as myself, torn it to pieces, and devoured it raw; but I was a civilised creature, so altered by education, that in my hunting days I always brought the game to my master instead of eating it myself; and here, on the London high road, there was not even game to be caught. I really was quite at a loss what to do.
In course of time I came up with a traveller sitting under a hedge, eating a lump of bread and cheese. I would not have accepted bread and cheese at home if it had been offered me, but now I stopped in front of the eater and began to beg for some, licking my lips, and wagging my tail in my most insinuating manner.