A DOG OF FLANDERS. 157

passages as they tossed the creaking
signs and shook the tall lamp-irons.

So many passers-by had trodden
through and through the snow, so
many diverse paths had crossed and
recrossed each other, that the dog
had a hard task to retain any hold on
the track he followed. But he kept
on his way, though the cold pierced
him to the bone, and the jagged ice
cut his feet, and the hunger in his
body gnawed like a rat’s teeth. He
kept on his way, a poor, gaunt, shiv-
ering thing, and by long patience
traced the steps he loved into the very
heart of the burgh, and up to the
steps of the great cathedral.

‘“‘He is gone to the things that he
loved,” thought Patrasche: he could