It was of no use. Paul did not offer to move, and the night was wearing away. The storm had passed on, and there was a faint streak of daylight in the east. Something must be done. What can I do to rouse him? Tom thought. The answer came in a howl from Sherry, shut up in his kennel, where Tom had put him when he left the house. The sagacity of an intelligent dog is wonderful, and Sherry was one of the most intelligent of his race. He had been uneasy ever since the boat glided under cover, and had tried to get out. His ear was trained to catch sounds at a long distance, and his instinct told him something unusual was going on in which he must have a part. It did not seem possible that he could recognize Paul’s voice so far away, but from the moment he spoke he redoubled his efforts to be free, and finally gave the howl which decided Tom. Going to the kennel, he let the dog out, but did not have to tell him where to go. Sherry knew, and when Tom reached the boat house the dog was there, licking Paul’s face and hands and talking to him in the language of a dumb beast. Tom thought of Rip Van Winkle asking for Schneider, as he threw the light of his dark lantern upon the scene and saw the expression on Paul’s face. The dog had saved him. “Yes, Sherry, old fellow,” he said, patting the animal, “you are glad to see me, aren’t you? But, easy, boy, easy. Don’t lick my face off with your long tongue. What is it, Tom? What am I to do? I think I’ve been in a sort of trance from which Sherry wakened me. Good Sherry, who stood by me through it all.” “Come with me to the house,” Tom said, putting his arm around him and almost carrying him up the slope, while Sherry ran sometimes in front and sometimes behind them and jumping on Paul, whom he nearly threw down. Paul made no comment when introduced into the smuggler’s room from the cellar. It seemed very natural to go there, and after Tom had exchanged his wet clothing for dry ones and covered him in bed, he looked up and said: “It’s the old days come back,—when we were boys and played I was hiding here a prisoner, just as I am now.” Tom did not reply. He was thinking what to do next. Paul decided it for him. “Put another blanket, or something, over me,” he said. “I’m very cold, some like Harry Gill. How many did he have, when his teeth they chattered still.” There was no extra blanket there, but Tom put a big rug over him, and gave him a swallow of brandy from the small flask he had in his pocket for just such an emergency. “I know you are temperance,” he said, “and so am I, but if there was ever a time for brandy and lies it’s now. I’ve told a pile and expect to go on telling. Confound that dog with his yelps. He’ll have the whole house up if we don’t stop him,” he continued, as Sherry kept bounding against the door with short, sharp barks for admittance. “Let him in,” Paul said. “He does me good.” Tom let him in, with the result of a scene similar to that at the jail when he first saw Paul.