Late that night he was sitting as usual alone, and rather absently turning over his papers; and already it had come to this that now, when he chanced to read any of these writings of his of former days, they seemed to have been written by some one else. Who was this man, then, that seemed to go through the world with a laugh and a song, as it were; rating this one, praising that; having it all his own way; and with never a thought of the morrow? But there was one piece in particular that struck home. It was a description of the little terrier; he had pencilled it on the back of an envelope one warm summer day when he was lying at full length on the heather, with Harry not half a dozen yards off, his nose between his paws. Harry did not know that his picture was being taken.
Auld, gray, and grizzled; yellow een;
A nose as brown's a berry;
A wit as sharp as ony preen—
That's my wee chieftain Harry.
Lord sakes!—the courage of the man!
The biggest barn-yard ratten,
He'll snip him by the neck, o'er-han',
As he the deil had gatten.
And when his master's work on hand,