The sound came again, and Joseph remarked: 

“’Tis some poor dog who perchance has lost master and home.  There be only too many such in the city they say.  They throw them by scores into the river to be rid of them; but I have heard father say that it is an ill thing to do, and likely to spread the contagion instead of checking it.  Alive, the poor beasts do no ill; but their carcasses poison both the water and the air.  Beshrew me, but he makes a doleful wailing!”

Going on cautiously through the darkness, for the moon was veiled behind some clouds, the brothers presently saw, lying just outside a shut-up house, a long still form wrapped in a winding sheet, put out ready for one of the many carts that passed up the street on the way to the great pits in Bunhill and Finsbury Fields.  Whether the corpse was that of a man or a woman the boys could not tell.  They made a circuit round it to avoid passing near.

But beside the still figure squatted a little dog of the turnspit variety, and he was awakening the echoes of the quiet street by his lugubrious howls.

Both the brothers were fond of animals, and particularly of dogs, and they paused after having passed by, and tried to get the creature to come to them; but though he paused for a moment in his wailing, and even wagged his tail as though in gratitude for the kind words spoken, he would not leave his post beside the corpse, and the boys had perforce to go on their way.

“The dumb brute could teach a lesson in charity to many a human being,” remarked Joseph, gravely; “he will not leave his dead master, and they too often flee away even from the living.  Poor creature, how mournful are his cries!  I would that we could comfort him.”

At the gate they were stopped and questioned.  They told a straightforward and truthful tale; their pass was examined and found correct; and their father’s name being widely known and respected for his untiring labours in the city at this time, the boys were treated civilly enough and wished God speed and a safe return.  They were the more quickly dismissed that the sound of wheels rumbling up to the gate made itself heard, and the guard darted hastily away into his shelter.

“These plague carts will be the death of us, passing continually all the night through with their load,” he said.  “Best be gone before it comes through, lads.  It carries death in its train.”

The boys were glad enough to make off, and found themselves for the time being free of houses in the pleasant open Moor Fields, which were familiar to them as the favourite gathering place of shopmen and apprentices on all high days and holidays.  The moon shone down brightly again, although near her setting now; but before long the dawn would begin to lighten in the east, and the boys cared no whit for the semi-darkness of a summer’s night.

Behind them still came the rumble of wheels, and they drew aside to let the cart pass with its dreadful cargo.  Behind it ran a small black object, and Benjamin exclaimed: