itz, examining the poor paw, much apparently to the
dog's satisfaction. "It's from a piece of shell, probably the same that
settled the horse there; but it's not a bad wound, and will soon get
well, doggie!" So saying, lifting up the injured member gently, he
began to bind it round with a piece of lint which he had in his pocket,
the retriever keeping perfectly quiet, as if knowing that no injury was
intended him.

Fritz then proceeded to open the dead officer's jacket, in order to
search for any papers or articles of value, which he might keep and
forward to his relatives. Previously, the dog would not allow him to
touch the body at all, but now he did not offer any objection, so Fritz
turned out all the pockets. He could discover no paper, however, nor
any trace of identity. The only token he could find was a little silver
ring wrapped in a small piece of paper, inscribed, "From my beloved,
18th July, 1870." This was carefully enclosed in a little bag of silk,
and suspended by a ribbon round the poor young fellow's neck, resting on
the cold and lifeless spot where his heart once used to beat.

"A love gage," said Heinrich sympathisingly.

"Ah, yes," replied Fritz; "and the poor girl will, I suppose, continue
to look out for him, hoping to see him again, while he lies here in a
nameless tomb! Never mind, I will keep the token and the dog; perhaps I
may discover her and his friends some day through them. Now, let us
make the grave quickly, comrade, and commit him to his rest!"

In silence the two then dug a low trench in the soil beneath the tree
where the officer had found his death, and then reverently laid him in
it. He had died calmly from the effects of a bullet which must have
penetrated his brain, as only a small blue orifice was to be seen in the
centre of his forehead; and a smile was on his handsome young face, as
if no painful thought had vexed his last moment.

During the sad obsequies, the dog kept close to the side of Fritz,
watching attentively everything that was done, without stirring or
uttering a sound, save when they shovelled the earth on his poor
master's breast. He then gave vent to a short, angry bark; but, on
Fritz speaking to him soothingly, he again became quiet, remaining so to
the end, when he laid down on the newly-made grave, with a deep, low
whine that was almost a sigh, that seemed to come from the bottom of his
faithful canine heart!

From a piece of broken wood close by