John Kellock the butcher is the nominal owner of an old bobtailed collie which rejoices in the name of Bang. Bang carries with him into old age many mementos of his pugilistic days, not the least obvious of which are a tattered and limp ear and a short, deformed foreleg. He is long past active service, and only barks now from the shop-door when sheep pass along the village street; but he dearly loves a quiet saunter down the pavement and along the country road with any one who has a mind to chum with him and can keep step with his. John Sterling the shoemaker is also the nominal owner of a dog, a Dandie Dinmont named Jip, which was long a doughty antagonist of Bang, but he is now on the pension list too, and glad of congenial company of limited locomotive capabilities. So the three of us--all more or less 'crocks,' and mutually sympathetic--take a constitutional together almost every day. I have mentioned Jip last, but really it was he who made friends with me first. His master made no demur to Jip's frequent strolls with me, as the shoemaker himself leads a sedentary life, and no man knows better than he that a dog should get exercise; but since Jip has on more than one occasion taken French leave and remained overnight with me, I am afraid jealousy is springing up in the shoemaker's breast. Bang noted the ripening acquaintanceship, and girned disapproval as we passed the butcher's shop; but I never neglected an opportunity of scratching his shaggy underjaw and talking coaxingly in a 'doggie' way to him, and so it came to pass that after following us bit by bit, day by day, he agreed with Jip to bury the hatchet, and we are now a happy trio and the very best of friends. As companions in a country walk I prefer Bang and Jip to any man I know. I can be silent and meditative, and they don't feel neglected or out of it; and when I am minded to talk, they, in the wag of the tail and the intelligent look of the eye, respond and approve. But they never trespass upon my attention or disturb my vein of thought. At first, after our walk, when I reached Betty's door, I asked them to come inside, but they stood with a dubious look in their eyes and with heads turned sideways. Then Jip evidently remembered that John Sterling had paid his license, and that he was in duty bound to make some show of recognition, so he walked sedately and with fixed purpose across the street; while Bang, with recurrent memories of truant acts associated with ash-plants, limped his way to Kellock's door. Now, however, they have both flung discretion and fears to the winds, and accompany me to my fireside with an 'at home' sort of air, and just as if Betty's abode were their own.