You remember old
Trusty, my shag house-dog; I shall never forget it while I live; the
poor creature was blind with age, and could scarce crawl after us to
the door; he went however as far as the gooseberry-bush that you may
remember stood on the left side of the yard; he was wont to bask in
the sun there; when he had reached that spot, he stopped; we went
on: I called to him; he wagged his tail, but did not stir: I
called again; he lay down: I whistled, and cried Trusty; he gave a
short howl, and died! I could have lain down and died too; but God
gave me strength to live for my children."
The old man now paused a moment to take breath. He eyed Harley's
face; it was bathed with tears: the story was grown familiar to
himself; he dropped one tear, and no more.
"Though I was poor," continued he, "I was not altogether without
credit. A gentleman in the neighbourhood, who had a small farm
unoccupied at the time, offered to let me have it, on giving
security for the rent; which I made shift to procure. It was a
piece of ground which required management to make anything of; but
it was nearly within the compass of my son's labour and my own. We
exerted all our industry to bring it into some heart.
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