It was a bleak morning in April, the country roads being muddy and heavy and discouraging, and as the young man trudged along, his mind wandered back to the day he started as a tramp. His parents had become suddenly wealthy, through an oil strike on their mountain farm. They immediately moved to the city and purchased a fine home. The boy was sent to college. He was then eighteen years old. On the second year term Walter was progressing in his studies rapidly, and the teachers were proud of their bright pupil. They told him so. Their words of praise came back in memory whispers as he trudged along, footsore, sick, weary and hungry. It was a bitter recollection to recall the day when the news was brought to him of his father’s and mother’s death. They had been killed in a railroad wreck. After the funeral it was discovered that good fortune had given Aaron Burfield the big head, and he started to gamble in stocks. He knew as much about it as a cow knows about Latin. He was a lamb to be easily fleeced. All the fortune had been lost and the big house was mortgaged. Walter was a beggar when twenty years of age. He realized that he had no rich relatives or friends to help him. His foolish father had deserted all his old friends and many poor relatives the hour he found himself wealthy. Walter’s pride barred him from going back to these deserted friends and relatives. He went back to school, but the news of his change of fortune reached the ears of the young aristocratic friends with whom he had associated, and they cut him short. His tuition was paid in full, but he could not remain at school and be the outcast and beggar. News reached him that the big house was sold, and did not satisfy the creditors. He had nothing left but his clothes and a gold watch. Now he regretted, as he walked along, that he had not remained at school and graduated. The sting of becoming an outcast was painful. Had he to do it all over again, he might do just as he had done—jumped a freight train one night with ten dollars in his pocket and left the college town forever. This was two years ago. He had harvested in the Dakotas, worked on the lakes, tried packing-house drudgery and tried his hand at work on a farm. He was now too sick and discouraged to beat his way by rail. He had lost his old-time courage, and felt like a whipped child. He must give up the careless, worthless life he was leading, and secure a permanent job. He came to a large farm-house and went around to the back door to ask for a bite of breakfast. A tired woman told him to go away. He asked permission to sit on the porch step and rest. The old farm dog came up and licked his hand. His heart leaped in a glad response to even the friendship of a dog. He put one arm around the dog’s neck and unconsciously spoke aloud: “Do you know how heart-sick and friendless I am, old doggie?” “Do you like dogs?”