“So,” he said in a deep foreign voice, “you are the dogling there has been such a stir about. If you want to get stolen again, it won’t be at night. I’m on guard then.”
“Danke,” I murmured, “you are a good fellow; I can tell by the sound of your voice.”
“No compliments,” he said gruffly, “just work, work—Boo, hoo! boo hoo!” and he howled like a siren.
Master burst out laughing, and stopped to let him out. “I never saw such zeal,” he exclaimed. “You want to be on guard all the time. A short drive would not take up too much time.”
Baron Ledgar, with an exceedingly intense manner, leaped out before the machine stood still, and went on with his work of examining every inch of ground about the estate.
“He’s a treasure,” said master enthusiastically; “doesn’t hurt any one but keeps every stranger under surveillance. You other dogs can sleep o’ nights now. If any wanderers come, the Baron and his brother policeman dog will take care of them.”
I whined to let him know I was listening, and he went on gaily, “There’s a great fashion of giving double sir-names and handles to dogs and horses’ names. You’re Boy of Pleasant River now, if it please you. You’re too distinguished for just plebeian Boy.”
I gave a kind of dog chuckle. How little I cared what I was called, as long as I was permitted to live with him.
It seemed to me my heart would burst with joy when the car drew up before the big hall door and dogs and human beings rushed out to greet me.