A DOG OF FLANDERS. 27

sunrise to sunset, through summer
and winter, in fair weather and foul.

He had got a fair use and a good
profit out of Patrasche ; being human,
he was wise, and left the dog to draw
his last breath alone in the ditch, and
have his bloodshot eyes plucked out as
they might be by the birds, whilst he
himself went on his way to beg and to
steal, to eat: and to drink, to dance
and to sing, in the mirth at Louvain.
A dying dog, a dog of the cart —
why should he waste hours over its
agonies at peril of losing a handful of
copper coins, at peril of a shout of
laughter ?

Patrasche lay there, flung in the
grass-green ditch. It was a busy
road that day, and hundreds of people,