“‘Oh, in a lonely place down by the Dedham ponds. They say it’s getting dangerous there, and I want a dog. I need one. Say, as you’re goin’ off, what will you take for him?’ “‘I don’t know; I wouldn’t sell him for anything if I didn’t have to.’ “‘I’ll give you ten dollars for him. That is high, but I’m lonely like, and they say them woods are getting dangerous. What do you say?’ “‘You may have him.’ “I felt somehow that I had done an unworthy thing,—that I had sold my dog to an unworthy master. That dog had such a true nature that he would never have tricked me with any act. “How should I part with Silas? I felt my head ache at the thought of it—the dog had been so faithful. I decided I would have Searle put a rope on his collar, and would leave him in the evening in the office of the inn with him, and so steal away from him unknown. I did so,—and if ever I felt like a coward, it was then. “Five years passed, when one November day I received a letter. My old friends, the Whites, had remembered me, and they invited me to spend Thanksgiving with them at Green Harbor. “Wife’s folks lived in the old town of Dedham, and she urged me to accept the invitation, as she wished to go with me to Dedham. Her folks were getting old—but, poor woman, they outlived her. “So I secured a driver to take my place for a few weeks, and we set out together for Boston and Dedham. One day, late in November, I left my wife among her folks, and set out, intending to walk over to Weymouth to see some friends, and there to take the stage for Marshfield. [Illustration: DETAIL OF STATUE SOUTH OF MANUFACTURES BUILDING.] “I had expected to start in the morning and make a day of it, but I was delayed until the afternoon. It was delightful Indian summer weather, and I did not mind a night walk, as I could rest in Weymouth. “‘Don’t stop at the Phantom inn,’ said my wife, as we parted. [Illustration: IRISH VILLAGE,—BLARNEY CASTLE.] “‘I sha’n’t stop at no phantom inns,’ said I, ‘if I expect to reach Randolph to-night. There will no acorns sprout under my feet.’ “‘But,’ said my wife’s mother, ‘they do tell strange stories still about those woods. Are you armed?’ “‘Yes, as much as I ever am.’ “‘But you used to keep a dog.’ “I stalked away, laughing. “Nightfall overtook me on the border of the old Dedham woods. “I remember the strange mysterious feeling that came over me as I entered the shadow of the pines of that lonely road among the skeleton trees. I stopped and looked back. “As I stood listening, there came a vivid impression that somehow I was in the companionship of the old coach dog, as I used to be. I could feel my heart shrink as I recalled how meanly I had treated him, and I eased my conscience with the reflection that I had done as well for him, and myself, as I could.