I turned to my pipe and lighted it again.  Old Captain came and rested his head on my knee and looked up at me, as I stroked it slowly.

“Poor dog,” I said.  It was such a relief, and Perry misunderstood.

“Has he been hurt?” he asked sympathetically.

“Yes,” I answered, still stroking the old hound’s head.  “Very badly.  But he’ll be all right in a few days—­and we’ll go on watching the mountains—­and thinking—­and chasing foxes—­to the end—­the end that comes to all poor dogs.”

“It’s curious how attached one gets to a dog,” said Perry sagely, resuming his rocking from heel to toe and toe to heel.

“It is curious,” I said, smoking calmly.  I even forced a grim smile.

Now that I could smile, I was prepared to hear what Perry had to tell me, for after all I had been drawing conclusions from what might prove to be but inferences of his.  But he had been so positive that in my inmost heart I knew the import of all he had to say.

“Well, Perry,” I said, “you did give me a surprise.  I didn’t know it, and, to tell the truth, was taken back a bit, for it hurt me here.”  I imitated his effective waistcoat-pocket gesture, which caused him much amusement.  “I had hopes myself—­you know that, and as I neither fiddled nor recited poetry your own conclusions may be wrong.”

“But Tim didn’t do nothin’,” Perry cackled.  “He just goes away and lets her pine.  When he comes back she falls right into his arms and gazes up into his eyes, and—­” Perry stopped rocking and looked into the fire.  “You know, Mark,” he said after a pause, “it must be nice not to be disappointed.”

“It must be very nice,” said I, smoking harder than ever.

“That’s what I said to myself as I looked in the window and seen them.”

“You looked in the window—­you peeped!” I fairly shouted, making a hostile demonstration with a crutch.

“Why, yes” said Perry, looking hurt that I should question his action in the least.  “I didn’t mean to.  Comin’ from over the ridge I passed Warden’s and thought I’d stop in and warm up and see how Weston was.  So I stepped light along the porch, not wantin’ to disturb him, and seein’ a light in the room, I looked in before I knocked.  But I never knocked, for I says to myself, ’I’ll hurry down and tell Mark; it’ll please him.’”

[Illustration:  “And seein’ a light in the room, I looked in.”]

“And you saw Tim and Mary,” said I.

“I should say I did,” said Perry, “till I slipped away.  But says I to myself, ‘It must be nice not to be disappointed.’”

“You said you saw Tim and Mary,” said I, a trifle angrily.

“I should say I did,” Perry answered, chuckling and rocking again on his feet.  “The two of ’em, standin’ there in the lamplight by the table, him a-lookin’ down like he was dyin’, her a-lookin’ up like she was dyin’ and holdin’ on to him like he was all there was left for her in the world.  It made me swaller, Mark, it made me swaller.”