"And you, dear one," I said, "be careful. Do not roam far from home in future. You court danger when you do so."
"I know it," she said, lowering her snowy head among the pines to touch something at her feet, "but I have a guard now."
"Who is it?" I asked.
"The good Ravaud, the warden's hound. Our master has told him to accompany me wherever I go. He is getting another dog to go on government trips."
"Hello! old fellow," I said, "come out here and speak to me. You were very short the first day I saw you."
The long-eared hound came out from behind the doe, curling his lip in a dog smile.
"Duty first, Pony friend," he said. "That doe has been a sister to me. How could I speak to a stranger when I thought she lay dying?"
"You were quite right," I said. "Now you just keep your eye on her, for she doesn't seem to mind a bit the idea of stepping out of this old world, which is after all a pleasant place."
"Right you are," said Ravaud in his deep hollow voice, and he looked at her anxiously. Then he added, "She has quite a good appetite."
I burst out laughing. I could not help it and the offended doe turned to leave me.