Three rough-coated dogs, of a breed that would have puzzled a connoisseur, gave themselves the rousing shake, and, deserting the luxurious hearth, came in various welcome to their master. One rubbed himself against Cole’s sturdy legs, murmuring soft rejoicings: he was the grandsire of the canine race, and his wick of life burned low in the socket. Another sprang up almost to the face of his master, and yelled his very heart out with joy; that was the son, exulting in the vigour of matured doghood; and the third scrambled and tumbled over the others, uttering his paeans in a shrill treble, and chiding most snappishly at his two progenitors for interfering with his pretensions to notice; that was the infant dog, the little reveller in puppy childishness! Clarence stood by the door, with his fine countenance smiling benevolently at the happiness he beheld, and congratulating himself that for one moment the group had forgot that he was a stranger. As soon as our gypsy friend had kissed his wife, shaken hands with his eldest hope, shaken his head at his youngest, smiled his salutation at the father-in-law, and patted into silence the canine claimants of his favour, he turned to Clarence, and saying, half bashfully, half good-humouredly, “See what a troublesome thing it is to return home, even after three days’ absence. Lucy, dearest, welcome a new friend!” he placed a chair by the fireside for his guest, and motioned him to be seated. The chief expression of Clarence’s open and bold countenance was centred in the eyes and forehead; and, as he now doffed his hat, which had hitherto concealed that expression, Lucy and her husband recognized him simultaneously. “I am sure, sir,” cried the former, “that I am glad to see you once more!” “Ah! my young guest under the gypsy awning!” exclaimed the latter, shaking him heartily by the hand: “where were my eyes that they did not recognize you before? “Eight years,” answered Clarence, “have worked more change with me and my friend here” (pointing to the boy, whom he had left last so mere a child) “than they have with you and his blooming mother. The wonder is, not that you did not remember me before, but that you remember me now!” “You are altered, sir, certainly,” said the frank chief. “Your face is thinner, and far graver, and the smooth cheeks of the boy (for, craving your pardon, you were little more then) are somewhat darkened by the bronzed complexion with which time honours the man.”