Mr. Jerry Noakes owned a small coal-yard—very small and very little frequented, though its possessor was a man of some substance—but he drew his means from other sources. Still he was not inclined that these slatey-looking, dusty, crumbling piles of coals which were his property should disappear under the predatory attacks of the loafers in a low neighbourhood. Therefore he procured Prince at a cheap rate, inducted him into a couch—which, as it had been knocked together by Mr. Jerry Noakes’ own hands from some rickety deals, was as poor an affair and as wretched a shelter from the weather as could well be imagined—and put him in charge of the yard. It might be promotion, but it was also a great reverse for Prince. True, he had now a regular meal once a-day, a moderate mess of bran and food for poultry, with the parings of cats’ meat, administered by Mr. Jerry, in place of Prince’s being called upon to forage for himself, with the not uncommon conclusion of finding himself both breakfastless and dinnerless, as had been the case lately in Jack’s family circle. But not only was the gain not large, there was the sentiment of the thing. I hope none of my readers suppose that Prince, though a coarse brute, thick-skinned and obtuse, was destitute of feeling. In Jack’s home the dog was one of the family; indeed from his very doghood he had rather the best of it. For if men and women, responsible beings, will live, like animals, along with animals, the last—the real Simon Pures—have generally the advantage. Jack’s race, reckless as they were, must surely have been visited with some doubts, some anxieties, some pricking sense that they were wasting their capital of time and capacity for work as well as of wages. But of course Prince was never harassed by such a reminder that he had a conscience, and was at once mortal and immortal. He had his little work to do, and did it to the best of his ability. He was occasionally left to keep house, and did not fail in his trust. He sat beside the tools of Jack’s trade many a day, never offering to stir till Jack released him. He entered with pride and zest into his calling as a rat-catcher whenever he had the chance. But all the time he was largely his own master, for he could hardly call it servitude to roam the world of London at Jack’s heels. It was another matter for Prince to be a prisoner himself, while prepared to take others prisoners, in this dreary yard—to spend day and night there—to have no change of scene, no comradeship, though it might result in scuffles and single combats with other dogs—to see nobody for a stretch of twenty-four hours, perhaps, except Mr. Jerry Noakes. He always spoke gruffly, never encouragingly, to Prince; and the dog, though he was gruff himself, with little tenderness or humour, so that he was impatient of fondling, and had no great aptitude for fun, yet knew and appreciated what fidelity and good-fellowship meant.