Memories . this never altered the true look of hiseyes, nor the simple loyalty in his soul. But what a crowd of memories come back, bringing with them the perfume of fallen days ! 63 MEMORIES What delights and glamour, what long hours ofeffort, discouragements, and secret fears did henot watch over—our black familiar ; and withthe sight and scent and touch of him, deepenor assuage ! How many thousand walks didwe not go together, so that we still turn to seeif he is following at his padding gait, attentiveto the invisible trails. Not the least hard thingto bear when they go from us, these quiet
Memories . this never altered the true look of hiseyes, nor the simple loyalty in his soul. But what a crowd of memories come back, bringing with them the perfume of fallen days ! 63 MEMORIES What delights and glamour, what long hours ofeffort, discouragements, and secret fears did henot watch over—our black familiar ; and withthe sight and scent and touch of him, deepenor assuage ! How many thousand walks didwe not go together, so that we still turn to seeif he is following at his padding gait, attentiveto the invisible trails. Not the least hard thingto bear when they go from us, these quietfriends, is that they carry away with them somany years of our own lives. Vet, if they findwarmth therein, who would grudge them thoseyears that they have so guarded ? Nothing elseof us can they take to lie upon with outstretchedpaws and chin pressed to the ground ; and, what-ever they take, be sure they have they know, as we do, that their time must come ? Yes, they know, at rare moments. 64. ^c^ I /if Jo f^Mn^eSf^U ^^^ tj^ fl> ^ fr€t^n^ ^ ftu/r M E M O R I E S No other way can I interpret those pauses ofhis latter Hfe, when, propped on his forefeet,he would sit for long minutes quite motionless—his head drooped, utterly withdrawn ; thenturn those eyes of his and look at me. Thatlook said more plainly than all words could :Yes, I know that I must go! If we havespirits that persist—t/uy have. If icc knowafter our departure, who we were—t/uy one, I think, who really longs for truth, canever glibly say which it will be for dog andman—persistence or extinction of our con-sciousness. There is but one thing certain—the childishness of fretting over that eternalquestion. Whichever it be, it must be right,the only possible thing. He felt that too, Iknow ; but then, like his master, he was whatis called a pessimist. 67 MEMORIES My companion tells me that, since he leftus, he has once come back. It was Old YearsNight, and she was sad, when he c
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