"What ails you, Sire? Poor fellow! Old master gone; house burned down; getting old yourself. Yes, it's too bad. Good dog."
Sire whined at the sympathy in Robert Floyd's voice.
"Nothing was saved?" asked the youth.
"Not a stitch. But I don't mind if I was only sure Ellen——"
"Are you really anxious about Ellen? I thought she went out?"
"Oh, yes. It was her day out. But when she came back to supper she ought to have looked for me."
"Perhaps she did hunt for you and missed you, or went to her sister's in the confusion. You haven't found a lodging yet yourself for the night?"
"I suppose I'll have to go to my aunt's."
"Mrs. Christenson's. That's the place for you; and take good care of Sire until I call for him."
"Go with Bertha, Sire," he commanded, but the dog had to be dragged away, the tall Swedish maiden laying her hand on his collar.