"Very well; and where is Blacky?"
"He is resting in the sun, in the garden. Already this morning he has taken some English people to the Caldron. Shall I call him?"
"Yes, call him."
"Blacky! Blacky!"
He came with a leap through the window. He was a rather ugly-looking little dog, with long frizzy hair, all mussed; he wasn't much to look at, but he had, however, about him a certain air of gravity, resolution, and importance. His first glance was at me—a clear, searching, confident look that took me in from head to toe, and that seemed to say, "It's a traveller, and he wants to see the Caldron."
One train missed sufficed me for that day, and I was particularly anxious not to lay myself open to another such experience, so I explained to the good woman that I had only three hours for my visit to the Caldron.
"Oh, I know," she said; "you wish to take the four-o'clock train. Don't be alarmed; Blacky will bring you back in time. Now then, Blacky, off with you; hurry up!"
But Blacky didn't seem at all disposed to mind. He stayed there motionless, looking at his mistress with a certain uneasiness.
"Ah, how stupid of me!" said the old woman. "I forgot the sugar;" and she went to get four pieces of sugar from a drawer, and gave them to me, saying: "That's why he wouldn't start; you had no sugar. You see, Blacky, the gentleman has the sugar. Now then, run along with you, sir, to the Caldron! to the Caldron! to the Caldron!"
She repeated these last words three times, slowly and distinctly, and during that time I was closely examining Blacky. He acknowledged the words of his mistress with little movements of the head, which rapidly became more emphatic, and towards the end he evinced some temper and impatience. They could be interpreted thus: "Yes, yes, to the Caldron—I understand. The gentleman has the pieces of sugar, and we are going to the Caldron—it's settled. Do you take me for a fool?"