I watched him
with breathless interest.
He cut a couple of crotched sticks to hang the pail on and in two
or three minutes had a little fire, no larger than a man's hand,
burning brightly under it. ("Big fires," said he wisely, "are not
for us.") This he fed with dry twigs, and in a very few minutes
he had a pot of tea from which he offered me the first drink.
This, with my luncheon and part of his sausage, made up a very
good meal.
While we were eating, the little dog sat sedately by the fire.
From time to time his master would say, "Speak, Jimmy."
Jimmy would sit up on his haunches, his two front paws hanging
limp, turn his head to one side in the drollest way imaginable
and give a yelp. His master would toss him a bit of sausage or
bread and he would catch it with a snap.
"Fine dog!" commented my companion.
"So he seems," said I.
After the meal was over my companion proceeded to produce other
surprises from his pockets--a bag of tobacco, a brier pipe (which
he kindly offered to me and which I kindly refused), and a soiled
packet of cigarette papers. Having rolled a cigarette with
practised facility, he leaned up against a tree, took off his
hat, lighted the cigarette and, having taken a long draw at it,
blew the smoke before him with an incredible air of satisfaction.
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