A DOG OF FLANDERS. 113

would never lie a moment in his
straw when once the bell of the
chapel, tolling five, let him know
that the daybreak of labor had begun.

“My poor Patrasche, we shall soon
lie quiet together, you and I,” said
old Jehan Daas, stretching out to
stroke the head of Patrasche with
the old withered hand which had al-
ways shared with him its one poor
crust of bread; and the hearts of
the old man and the old dog ached
together with one thought, — when
they were gone, who would. care
for their darling?

One afternoon, as they came back
from Antwerp over the snow, which
had become hard and smooth as
marble over all the Flemish plains,