Who’s Rove?  Oh, he’s the collie, and the only thing on earth
That I will ever love again.  Why, Squire, that dog is worth
More than you ever handled, and that’s quite a piece, I know. 
Ah, there the beggar is!—­come here, you scalawag! and show
Your broken leg all bandaged up.  Yes, sir, it’s pretty sore;
I did it,—­curse me,—­and I think I feel the pain far more
Than him, for somehow I just feel as if I’d been untrue
To what my brother said before he went beyond the blue.

You see, the day before he died he says to me, “Say, Ned,
Be sure you take good care of poor old Rover when I’m dead,
And maybe he will cheer your lonesome hours up a bit,
And when he takes to you just see that you’re deserving it.” 
Well, Squire, it wasn’t any use.  I tried, but couldn’t get
The friendship of that collie, for I needed it, you bet. 
I might as well have tried to get the moon to help me through,
For Rover’s heart had gone with Ben, ’way up beyond the blue.

He never seemed to take to me nor follow me about,
For all I coaxed and petted, for my heart was starving out
For want of some companionship,—­I thought, if only he
Would lick my hand or come and put his head aside my knee,
Perhaps his touch would scatter something of the gloom away. 
But all alone I had to live until there came a day
When, tired of the battle, as you’d have tired too,
I wished to heaven I’d gone with Ben, ’way up beyond the blue.

. . . . .

One morning I took out Ben’s gun, and thought I’d hunt all day,
And started through the clearing for the bush that forward lay,
When something made me look around—­I scarce believed my mind—­
But, sure enough, the dog was following right close behind. 
A feeling first of joy, and than a sharper, greater one
Of anger came, at knowing ’twas not me, but Ben’s old gun,
That Rove was after,—­well, sir, I just don’t mind telling you,
But I forgot that moment Ben was up beyond the blue.

Perhaps it was but jealousy—­perhaps it was despair,
But I just struck him with the gun and broke the bone right there;
And then—­my very throat seemed choked, for he began to whine
With pain—­God knows how tenderly I took that dog of mine
Up in my arms, and tore my old red necktie into bands
To bind the broken leg, while there he lay and licked my hands;
And though I cursed my soul, it was the brightest day I knew,
Or even cared to live, since Ben went up beyond the blue.

I tell you, Squire, I nursed him just as gently as could be,
And now I’m all the world to him, and he’s the world to me. 
Look, sir, at that big, noble soul, right in his faithful eyes,
The square, forgiving honesty that deep down in them lies. 
Eh, Squire?  What’s that you say? He’s got no soul? I tell you, then,
He’s grander and he’s better than the mass of what’s called men;
And I guess he stands a better chance than many of us do
Of seeing Ben some day again, ’way up beyond the blue.