Then the Doctor unfastened the chain, and he tied Timothy’s shoes round the dog’s neck, saying, “Perhaps they will help to lead their wearer aright.” And either the shoes did pull in the right direction, or the sagacity of Bernardus sufficed him, for he started off without a moment’s hesitation. The men followed him as fast as they were able, and from time to time Bernardus would look round to see if they were coming, and would wait for them. But if he saw the lanterns he was satisfied and went on.
“It’s a rare good thing there’s some dumb animals cleverer than we are ourselves,” observed one of the laborers as they struggled blindly through the snow, the lanterns casting feeble and erratic patches of light for a yard or two before their feet. To Bernardus his own wonderful gift was light, and sight, and guide, its own sufficient stimulus, and its own reward.
“There’s some’at amiss,” said another man presently; “t’dog’s whining; he’s stuck fast.”
“Or perhaps he has found something,” said the Doctor trembling.
The Doctor was right. He had found Timothy and Bramble minor, and the Usher: and they were still alive.
* * * * * *
“Mrs. Airey,” said the Doctor, as an hour later, they sat round the study fire wrapped in blankets, and drinking tumblers of hot compounds—“Mrs. Airey, that is a creature above kennels. From this eventful evening I wish him to sleep under our roof.”
And Mrs. Airey began, “Bless him!” and then burst into tears.
And Bernardus, who lay with his large eyes upon the fire, rejoiced in the depths of his doggish heart.