n jubilee. As I
say, it was no wonder we liked him, and I think I may also say, without
flattering ourselves, that the sentiment was reciprocated. I don't
believe the joy he showed at all times could have been assumed. It must
have been pure joy, without alloy.

His table manners were above reproach. He would, never grab or show
unseemly greed. He awaited our pleasure and each bone or chop that fell
his way was received with every token of mute but eloquent gratitude.
You were constantly made to feel that he loved you for yourself and not
for what he hoped you would give him. If I were to be wrecked on a
desert island, I believe there is hardly more than one person that I'd
prefer to have as my sole companion than Little Wanderobo Dog.

Perhaps a few words about the architecture of the little dog might not
come amiss. He was built somewhat on the lines of the German
renaissance, being low and rakish like a dachshund, but with just a
little more freeboard than the dachshund. His legs were straight instead
of bowed, as are those of his distinguished German cousin. His ears were
hardly as pendulous, being rather more trenchant than pendulous, and
therefore more mobile in action. His tail was facile and retrousse, with
a lateral swing of about a foot and an indicated speed of seventeen
hundred to the minute. When you add to these many charms, those mild
eyes, surcharged with love light, and a bark as sweet as the bark of the
frangipanni tree and as cheerful as the song of the meadow-lark, you may
realize some of the estimable qualities that distinguished Little
Wanderobo Dog.

For some weeks he stayed with us, Tray-like in his faithfulness, and
always in the vanguard when danger threatened the rear. One day our
caravan passed through a group of migrating Wanderobos. There were a
dozen or so of men, all armed with spears and bows and arrows; also
fifteen or twenty women, thirty or forty _totos_, and about a score of
dogs.

Here was the test. Would Little Wanderobo Dog, reclaimed from the swamp,
harken to the call of the blood and join the band of his own kind? If he
did, we could only bow our heads in grief and submission, for after all
were not we only foster friends and not blood relations? But Little
Wanderobo Dog never wavered in his allegiance to us. He had planted his
lance by our colors and with these he would stick till death.

He passed those other Wanderobo dogs as if they were creatures from
another world. I