He was seized with jubilant longing. "Hurrah! Now for mother!" he exclaimed, throwing his cap up in the air. It flew over the hedge and fell into the garden. "Shall I present myself at the door of my home without a cap, in true vagabond fashion?" he asked himself, with a laugh. But he was given no time to reflect on the matter, for his shout had awakened one of the yard-dogs, whose bark was echoed in a distant chorus from one or two other directions. The animals seemed to be fast-chained--no doubt an innovation on the part of Uncle Kutowski, to ensure the calves of his nocturnal boon-companions going uninjured. Then he thought of his friend Leo. Once in a Cæsar-like mood he had taken into his head to have his favourite hound christened by his own name, "So that the fellows should know," he had explained, "that they were to esteem the fine beast as his representative." "Leo!" he cried, with all the strength of his lungs. For a moment there was a dead silence. "Leo!" he called a second time. And then an ear-splitting, marrow-freezing din arose. The animals seemed suddenly to have gone mad. With their howls was mingled the clang of shaken chains, and the gnashing of their teeth as they bit on the iron links. Joyous delight, faithful yearning, all the emotions which can sway the breast of a living creature, found moving expression in the wild ecstasy of these chain-laden animals. Leo felt his eyes grow moist "It is time I came, indeed," thought he. He made the knocker of the outer portal resound threateningly through the house. The echo came back on his ear in reverberating waves. Then the window of the room where the light was was pushed open, and a white figure leaned out. "Who is there?" called a woman's voice, which he knew at once. "Johanna, is it you?" There was a cry, but it seemed to Leo that it was not by any means a cry of pleasure. His sister's figure disappeared. Two long anxious moments he waited at the door. The dogs went on howling; people began to stir in the stables and call each other; lanterns flashed hither and thither. At last hurrying footsteps were heard within, crossing the hall, amidst sounds half of laughing, half of weeping. The key turned, the bolts ground back. And there she was, dear, fat, bright old lady; her nightcap awry on her curly grey hair, her white dressing-gown buttoned up long, odd slippers on her feet. There she stood, holding the candle high in her trembling hand, while glistening tear after tear rolled down her cheeks. "Leo, my dear boy--my dear, dear boy!" The caressing, confused murmur was half shy, as if she hardly dared all at once to take the son, as son, to her bosom. Then she gave herself a little shake and clung round his neck, while the candle she still held trickled grease down his back. The silence of this embrace was broken by the heartrending howling and whining of the dogs, who yearned for their master with all their lungs. His mother noticed the noise.