him most severely. Garm knew as
well as I that this was the last time he could hope to see his man, and
followed Stanley like a shadow. The retriever said nothing, but licked
his lips after his meal and waddled off without so much as saying "Thank
you" to the disgusted dog-boy.

So that last meeting was over, and I felt as wretched as Garm, who
moaned in his sleep all night. When we went to the office he found a
place under the table close to Vixen, and dropped flat till it was
time to go home. There was no more running out into the verandahs, no
slinking away for stolen talks with Stanley. As the weather grew warmer
the dogs were forbidden to run beside the cart, but sat at my side on
the seat, Vixen with her head under the crook of my left elbow, and Garm
hugging the left handrail.

Here Vixen was ever in great form. She had to attend to all the moving
traffic, such as bullock-carts that blocked the way, and camels, and led
ponies; as well as to keep up her dignity when she passed low friends
running in the dust. She never yapped for yapping's sake, but her
shrill, high bark was known all along the Mall, and other men's terriers
ki-yied in reply, and bullock-drivers looked over their shoulders and
gave us the road with a grin.

But Garm cared for none of these things. His big eyes were on the
horizon and his terrible mouth was shut. There was another dog in the
office who belonged to my chief. We called him "Bob the Librarian,"
because he always imagined vain rats behind the bookshelves, and in
hunting for them would drag out half the old newspaper-files. Bob was a
well-meaning idiot, but Garm did not encourage him. He would slide his
head round the door panting, "Rats! Come along Garm!" and Garm would
shift one forepaw over the other, and curl himself round, leaving Bob to
whine at a most uninterested back. The office was nearly as cheerful as
a tomb in those days.

Once, and only once, did I see Garm at all contented with his
surroundings. He had gone for an unauthorised walk with Vixen early one
Sunday morning, and a very young and foolish artilleryman (his battery
had just moved to that part of the world) tried to steal them both.
Vixen, of course, knew better than to take food from soldiers, and,
besides, she had just finished her breakfast. So she trotted back with a
large piece of the mutton that they issue to our troops, laid it down
on my verandah, and looked up to see what I thought. I asked her where
G