Good King Harry was there, and Cannie and Czarina, all barking and jumping with excitement and pleasure.
“Make way there, make way there for the distinguished hero—Boy of Pleasant River,” called master, and taking me in his arms, he carried me into the hall and laid me on the settle.
Mistress was about to lay hold of me, but drew back at the sight of my blackness.
“Oh! Rudolph,” she said, “I didn’t realise what the dark colour would be. It isn’t our Boy.”
“Yes, it is your Boy,” I squealed, and I reached my tongue far out and licked her hands.
“You poor, poor doggie,” she said, “how you have suffered,” and she patted and caressed me, and then examined her hands to see if the black came off.
“We’ll have it all washed off in a few days,” said master. “He’s a sick dog yet.”
Just here, I gave a sharp bark of excitement. Master had hinted at a surprise waiting for me, and now I knew what it was. The surprise was Beanie.
That dear dog was on his hind legs beside the settle, licking me, nosing me, assuring me that he loved me as well as he did the mournful day two years ago, when he had to go down South with Ellen.
I should, perhaps, have explained before, that the reason why Beanie never saw young George, and never came to Pleasant River, was on account of Ellen receiving sudden news of the illness of her only sister down in Virginia.