But another day arrived when the prescribed fugitive had wandered many a mile, and sat down faint and weary by a brooklet that crossed his path. He had turned aside for the purpose into a little wood through which the stream gurgled. It was a golden harvest day, with the green of the fern changing to straw-colour, and the leaves of the wild cherry-trees becoming brushed with crimson. He could hear the hearty voices of the reapers from a cornfield beyond the wood in which he had taken shelter; but there was no harvest or ingathering for Master Neville. He scrupled even to draw near to his fellow-creatures and ask grace from them in their rejoicing, since he was in a specially hostile district. However, it was not his way to complain. He sat and courted repose after his fatigue, while he listened to the trill of the robin which was taking up the fuller song of earlier song-birds. He had a hunch of bread in his wallet, and he prepared to divide it with Roy and Reine. The little dogs had lost much of their sleekness and trimness. No ribbons adorned their necks; their master had cut off the last faded rag long ago. As he watched them listlessly, he was sorry to see the tokens of adversity in their roughening coats, in the griminess of Reine, which gave her white livery a strong resemblance to the greasy shabbiness of a disreputable white kitten that has run the gauntlet of all the pots and pans in a kitchen. Then he glanced at his own ragged sleeve and at the weather-stained skin beneath, and reflected that the appearance of the dogs was in keeping with that of their master. Reine certainly did not take ill with reverses; though she was getting up in years, she was more frisky than he recollected to have known her. As he was about to give her the crust which was her due, she voluntarily stood up on her hind legs, and, quite ignoring the fact that dancing was prohibited by the Puritans, began to execute a _pas seul_ which he had taught her when he was an idle gentleman and she a pampered favourite in the hall of the Alders. The spectacle of the dirty, dishevelled little dog, in the untoward circumstances, capering demurely, of her own accord, like Queen Elizabeth before the Scotch Ambassador, overcame a man in whom a sense of the ridiculous was naturally strong, and he laughed till the tears ran down his battered cheeks. Afterwards his attention was drawn to Roy, that was not joining in the dance, and had only sniffed at the bit of bread he had already received. The action had not been disdainful, as of old, but wistful, and with a certain heaviness before the dog turned away from his meal, and crept back, with hanging head and drooping tail, to crouch down near his master. Master Neville remembered that Roy had fallen behind in the morning’s walk. He spoke encouragingly to the dog, and invited him to his knee, which had always been a coveted couch and throne of honour with the little pair.