gard the matter the other way about, and judge that the
family belongs to them. In Murphy's case there is no shadow of doubt
that, so far as his master was concerned, that master most certainly
belonged to him. At first, the position had been different. There was
reason for that. But even the reason had now apparently passed out of
mind: injustice had doubtless been forgiven, and what was far more
wonderful--or rather, would have been, had man been in the case and not a
dog--had also, so far as could be seen, been totally forgotten.

So completely had confidence been won that anything was permitted, even
to the playful brandishing of a stick. Sticks were things to play with.
They had no relation to punishment at all. Besides, was not life a state
to be enjoyed, and as happy as the day was long? And had he not taught
his one great friend no end of facts of which he had hitherto been
desperately ignorant?

It was all very well for Him to say that he had educated and trained this
dog. The dog had all the while been training Him. It was all very well
for Him to think in his heart that he had given this dog happiness in
life. Happiness had in a measure also come back to Him. There had been,
in more than one direction, a strange parallel between their cases, and
as this had made itself felt, it had bound them both more closely
together. They were now not only never apart, but they were of one mind
in other ways as well--in joy of life as they found it under the sky; in
the happiness of comradeship as they learnt to rely on it--indoors and
out; in the deeper meaning of friendship, with the trust and undeviating
truth that friendship claims; in the faith that the one had always in the
other, through the good days and the hard.

Those who watched were often overheard to say, "The dog has taken charge
of the man." And so he had, to a certain degree. He had learnt his
master's habits exactly. He knew the time of day by the striking of the
clock; and, morning after morning, at a particular hour, if this master,
with his funny ways, delayed his going, he would get up from his familiar
corner and come and stand and fix him with his eyes. Or, if this failed,
would come, gently, closer, and lay his chin upon a knee, and make him
lay down his work and come out for the regulation interval. In the longer
marches of old days, there were halts in every hour. Come out! Come out!
New strength and new ideas are to be gathered outside; you wil