Mr. Belcher started on.  He crossed the bridge, and drove up the steep hill toward his mansion.  Arriving at the hight, he stood still by the side of the Seven Oaks, which had once been the glory of his country home.  Looking down into the town, he saw lights at the little tavern, and, by the revelations of the lantern that came to the door, a horse and wagon.  At this moment, his great Newfoundland dog came bounding toward him, growling like a lion.  He had alighted to stretch his limbs, and examine into the condition of his horse.  The dog came toward him faster and faster, and more and more menacingly, till he reached him, and heard his own name called.  Then he went down into the dust, and fawned upon his old master pitifully.  Mr. Belcher caressed him.  There was still one creature living that recognized him, and acknowledged him as his lord.  He looked up at his house and took a final survey of the dim outlines of the village.  Then he mounted his wagon, turned his horse around, and went slowly down the hill, calling to his dog to follow.  The huge creature followed a few steps, then hesitated, then, almost crawling, he turned and sneaked away, and finally broke into a run and went back to the house, where he stopped and with a short, gruff bark scouted his retiring master.

Mr. Belcher looked back.  His last friend had left him.  “Blast the brute!” he exclaimed.  “He is like the rest of ’em.”

As he came down the road to turn into the main highway, a man stepped out from the bushes and seized Old Calamity by the bridle.  Mr. Belcher struck his horse a heavy blow, and the angry beast, by a single leap, not only shook himself clear of the grasp upon his bit, but hurled the intercepting figure upon the ground.  A second man stood ready to deal with Mr. Belcher, but the latter in passing gave him a furious cut with his whip, and Old Calamity was, in twenty seconds, as many rods away from both of them, sweeping up the long hill at a trot that none but iron sinews could long sustain.

The huge pile that constituted the Sevenoaks poor-house was left upon his right, and in half an hour he began a long descent, which so far relieved his laboring horse, that when he reached the level he could hardly hold him.  The old fire of the brute was burning at its hottest.  Mr. Belcher pulled him in, to listen for the pursuit.  Half a mile behind, he could hear wheels tearing madly down the hill, and he laughed.  The race had, for the time, banished from his mind the history of the previous week, banished the memory of his horrible losses, banished his sense of danger, banished his nervous fears.  It was a stern chase, proverbially a long one, and he had the best horse, and knew that he could not be overtaken.  The sound of the pursuing wheels grew fainter and fainter, until they ceased altogether.

Just as the day was breaking, he turned from the main road into the woods, and as the occupants of a cabin were rising, he drove up and asked for shelter and a breakfast.