The first moment Dash could hobble out by himself, he covertly disowned Tot and Nelly’s authority, and put to scorn their opinion, by stealthily seeking the abode of the dog that had all but slain him. Dash was detected begging forgiveness of Cæsar for having so nearly proved his victim, instead of awarding forgiveness on his own account. He was at his old trick of toad-eating, with pauses between times, to recover his lapsed strength, and to peer round so as to avoid observation. If any one calls such an action pathetic, so cannot I. If any one admires such fickleness and faithlessness where true and tried friendship was concerned, such annihilation of right principle and self-respect before the idle fancy of a day, I do not, and never will. Tot and Nelly had no resource but to keep Dash a close prisoner, in order to save him from the worst death a dog can die, till Cæsar was guilty of another fierce outbreak, and this time, as it had a man and not a dog for its victim, he was summarily sentenced to the death which he richly deserved. Dash was released, went on the sly to Cæsar’s empty couch, and sniffed once all round it wonderingly. But his moan was soon made; he did not raise a single useless lamentation, for such weak dogs have often a curious counter-vein of extreme rationality and worldly wisdom. He at once transferred his homage to a lazy, phlegmatic sheep-dog, and, for any sign that could be seen, completely forgot his late savage crony. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER V. “THE CAVALIER’S PETS.” DIFFERENT generations are marked by their different favourites, especially among those who have the means and the leisure for the cultivation of such predilections, in newly introduced animals and plants. Even human beings are included in this category, and so we had an era of dwarfs and an era of black boys, as half-attendants, half-playthings for fine ladies and gentlemen. Among the lower animals there was a monkey period and a macaw period, both of which have passed away in a great measure. Among plants we have had the seasons when dahlias and pansies first came into vogue and became objects of absorbing interest, and the year which saw the importation of the glorious Tom Thumb geranium. Dogs are no exception to this influence of fashion, so that there is a double sense in which “every dog has its day.” Even living persons have seen many canine candidates for such honours. The spotted Danish hound had his day, so had the bouncing, curly, jet black Newfoundland, the grand liver-coloured mastiff, the fierce white bull-dog, the hideous crooked-legged turnspit, the hardly less ugly, long-bodied, pig-headed boar-hound, the Pomeranian, with its sleek hair and fox’s head, and the little cocker, with its indescribably comical, crushed-up nose.