His own voice, too, had different shades of meaning, even beyond the others of his vocal race, for if any dog has speech it is the beagle hound. While he was on guard no one could enter the gate, two hundred yards from the house, unsignalled, either from his post on the porch corner or his summer night quarters in the wide window of the upper hall. [Illustration] For a twofoot whom he did not at once recognize he had a bark of inquiry; for a total stranger a querulous gruff note of warning; for a friend the inquiring tone quickly broke into rapid barks, like voluble talk; while for animals his voice had a wholly different key, starting in a series of monotonous yaps, until, if at liberty, he would sniff the air, catch the trail, and follow it in full cry. At night when he harked every member of the household knew whether the intruder was man or beast. Oftentimes at dawn he would push open Anne’s door and lick her hand that was lying on the counterpane, to signify that he wanted the front door opened. Then when she, in dressing gown and slippers, or sometimes, I must confess, with bare toes and an airy nighty, would creep down the stairs and undo the bolts, cautioning silence, she was often lured out on to the porch by the expression of his face as he tiptoed about, unravelling the different trails that told him the story of the night. Sometimes he would give a growl and his back bristled--that meant an intruder from Dogtown had left an unwelcome message or disagreeable news. Then his eyes would grow deep and luminous, and when Anne asked, “Squirrel?” he would give a short yap as if to say, “No good,” and gaze up in the trees. But when he began by wildly zig-zagging to and fro with head down, uttering discordant cries, then dashing off without waiting to answer questions, his mistress knew that he was following either a cat or rabbit, and that he would return late for breakfast and very tired. To think that the little animal that knew all this should be moping unkempt and forlorn in the coal-bin, gave affectionate Anne the heartache. Next she tried the experiment of having Baldy carry him upstairs and give him a good bath, for his wounds were now healed, and then invited him to “go to the post-office” in the old-time gay tone. For a moment he rallied and gave an answering cry which was echoed by Bigness, who, as chance would have it, was lying in the shadow of the house front, Tommy having taken him from his yard and strolled away, forgetting to put him up again. At the sound Waddles bristled and then shrank away, and Anne realized for the first time how thin and altered and spiritless he was. But the next day a change came over him: he forsook the cellar and boldly took his old seat under the apple tree in full sight of Bigness’s house, as if tempting fate; but as he did not come out Waddles returned again to the cellar.