hen
I got up in the morning, and found a breakfast for me as nice as the
supper, and looked at my clothes, which, if not so smart as some of the
others, were better and finer than any I could ever have thought I should
have worn, I was at last convinced, that although I was poor Job, and
although I did not, perhaps, deserve all the happiness I felt, that it
was not a dream, but real, plain truth. "As it is so," I said again, "I
must do my duty as well as I am able, for that is the only way a poor dog
like me can show his gratitude."

After breakfast, I accompanied Sir John to the place of my future home. A
quarter of an hour's walk brought us to a gentle hill, which, similar to
the one whereon the mansion itself was situated, sloped downwards to the
water. One or two trees, like giant sentinels, stood near the top, and
behind them waved the branches of scores more, while beyond for many a
mile spread the dark mass of the thick forest of which I have more than
once made mention. Nearly at the foot of the hill, beneath a spreading
oak, was a cottage, a very picture of peace and neatness; and as we
paused, Sir John pointed out the peculiarities of the position and
explained my duties. It appeared that this part of his grounds was noted
for a delicate kind of bird, much esteemed by himself and his family, and
which was induced to flock there by regular feeding and the quiet of the
situation. This fact was, however, perfectly well known to others besides
Sir John; and as these others were just as fond of the birds as himself,
they were accustomed to pay nightly visits to the forbidden ground, and
carry off many of the plumpest fowl. The wood was known to shelter many a
wandering fox, who, although dwelling so near the city, could not be
prevailed on to abandon their roguish habits and live in a civilised
manner. These birds were particularly to their taste, and it required the
greatest agility to keep off the cunning invaders, for, though they had
no great courage, and would not attempt to resist a bold dog, they
frequently succeeded in eluding all vigilance and getting off with their
booty. Often, too, a stray cur, sometimes two or three together, from the
lowest classes of the population, would, when moved by hunger, make a
descent on the preserves, and battles of a fierce character not seldom
occurred, for, unlike the foxes, they were never unwilling to fight, but
showed the utmost ferocity when attacked, and were often th