Owd Bob [antikvár]

O W D BOB.CHAPTER L THE GREY DOG's CA\ T1 riTHOUT, the slow rich stillness of a summer's morn* V ing; the wickering m-a-a-a of sheep; the stealthy hail of curlews; the hum of bees; and the whole sleepy murmur of a sluggard summer day. Within, a cold dead room, uncared, unkempt, barren with all the bleak discomfort of a womanless home; and on the floor, huddled his length, a little man. Lying there in the dust and deadness, on the edge of a slant sunbeam, he slept noisily. His shirt, open at the neck, discovered a meagre throat; one careless arm shrouded his face; and the black mask of a bottle, glinting from his pocket, betrayed him. At his head, l^ing in a pond of sun, absorbing light as only a dog knows how, was a veterán collie, whose grey-flecked muzzle lay along the boards, while her eyes blinked large, eternal love, as they rested on their God, Hero, Ideál of the Perfect Being, thus sleeping off his debauch. From without there came the sound of stealthy feet. The old dog's ears leaped to attention. The door gaped softly, and a fair young face peered in.