For as he spoke, the dog had ferreted out of the long grass, at the foot of the hedge, a broken walking-stick--the upper part of a strong oaken cudgel, whose top was a heavy root knob, over which he growled savagely. "Why, Bruno, what's the matter?" cried Gertrude. "Perhaps you had better go." "Oh, no; I don't like to be afraid of a dog; and, besides, I think they have _nous_ enough to know when you mean well by them. Here, old chap, let's look at your head." Bruno ceased growling, and raised his muzzle with the stick across his mouth, as the young man parted the yew bushes and knelt down. "Yes, Bruno--good dog--friends," said Gertrude nervously. "He does not quite believe it yet," said the young man. "Suppose you shake hands with me." She hesitated a moment as she looked in his eyes, but they were so frank and pleasant to gaze upon that she halted no longer, but placed her hand in his, and then tried to snatch it back in alarm, but it was pinioned tightly in a warm, firm pressure. "There Bruno," he said, "your mistress and I are friends, and she will never have one more faithful and true. Now, old fellow," he added, loosing the hand, "let's have that stick. Good dog. What are you growling at?" He took the stick from the dog, threw it down, and then quietly laid his hand upon his head; then placed the other on the side, and the dog whimpered softly. "Hurt you, old fellow? well, I'll be more gentle, but I must examine you. Poor lad, then. Why, you have been in the wars. You ought to be dead." "Oh!" ejaculated Gertrude. "I only meant the blow was bad enough to have killed him. Do you know how serious it is?" "I know it was a dreadful cut, but it is healing now." "Cut? The poor dog's skull is fractured. A regular crack. Has he seemed stupid and dull?" Gertrude could not answer for a few moments for the sob that choked her; and, as the impromptu surgeon looked up in her eyes he saw that they were brimming over. "Oh, if they would only weep like that for me," he thought; and directly after, "no, I should be very sorry." "I--I did not know he was so bad," she faltered. "But it is mending all right. Yes. Hold still, old fellow; I won't hurt you much. That's right. Oh, yes, he's mending capitally; but it would be better if the hair were cut away a little from the wound. Knife? No. I suppose you could fetch me a pair of scissors?" "I have a pair," cried Gertrude eagerly, producing a tiny embroidery pair from a case. "Capital! but, I say, my great ugly thumb and finger would not go into those holes. Could you--? No, it would be such a nasty task." "I should not consider it a nasty task to do anything to help my poor dog," she said quickly. "Then you shall do it. There, cut boldly between my fingers. Don't be afraid. That nasty, matted hair frets the wound. That's right; capital! Now, there again, and there. Hurt, Bruno? Never mind, old chap; don't flinch. That will do."