A DOG OF FLANDERS. IAI

He rallied himself as best he
could, for he was weak from fasting,
and retraced his steps to the village.
Patrasche paced by his side with his
head drooping and his old limbs fee-
ble from hunger and sorrow.

The snow was falling fast ; a keen
hurricane blew from the north; it
was bitter as death on the plains.
It took them long to traverse the
familiar path, and the bells were
sounding four of the clock as they
approached the hamlet. Suddenly
Patrasche paused, arrested by a scent
in the snow, scratched, whined, and
drew out with his white teeth a small
case of brown leather. He held it
up to Nello in the darkness. Where
they were there stood a little Calvary,