had been from under a hall chair, whither she
had retreated, and whence she looked warily.
When it was attempted to draw her from this
lair (disrespectfully by the neck), she growled
and snapped. On this display of an evil soul,
it was almost resolved to deport her, but on
entreaty one chance was given her, of which she
availed herself so speedily, so engagingly, as to
become an universal favourite, the best of
companions, most honest of creatures. This was in
the old school days, when the alliance between
dog and boy is of the strictest sort. There is a
feeling of equality, then. She shared in
everything. As he read and studied, she had her
corner, where, coiled up into something like a
snail-shell, and making a pillow of her own hind
leg, she dreamed the most exquisite dreams, and
groaned over charming processions of endless
rats. There were more delightful holidays when
the sun was shining, and we went forth for the
whole day's walking—a prospect she had
forethought of, and enjoyed as much as her master.
Then, after miles of walking, we came to the
park, and the copses, and sat under a tree,
and basked in the sun; the master finding
Rookwood excellent company, while the Vixen,
with a profoundly business-like air, cultivated
her natural history, and explored the district as
if she were a canine botanist, bound to report
on the Flora of the region. Surely, in these
burrowings and upturnings, these testings with
eye and nose, they see and discover as many
things of interest. Sometimes she would start
a rabbit, and pursue it, hopelessly; but these
were rare openings. Very pleasant were those
bivouacs, and I feel the scent of the May
blossoms floating past me now.

Once, there was a large review of soldiers in
this place, and we agreed to go together, as
usual. But I noticed that the Vixen was
rather taken aback by the long files of red
coats: taking a few steps towards them, halting,
and, with suspicious inquiry in the nostrils,
scrutinising the arrangements up and down.
She did not like the distant bugle, and looked
round uneasily. So, with the hoarse sounds of
command, the faint hum and clatter, and the
tinkling of arms, chains, and bridles; these
unpastoral associations were not what she
expected, and she made slow progress, drawing
back her head and putting the question with
her quivering nostrils:  What the deuce, my
dear fellow, is all this?" But when the
artillery came thundering and clanking up beside
us, and the first gun and the second nearly
shook her off her balance, without a second's
delay, she fled, with ears down, body stretched
put, hare-like, a victim of sudden panic, scouring
the wide plain. I beheld her between two
lines of soldiers. I saw her through the smoke,
giving one hurried glance over her shoulder. For
her, the end of her world was come. Pandemonium
was at her heels. Grief and rage filled my
heart. My companion was gone for ever gone
into that cloud of smoke. I should never see
her again. I made a vain attempt at pursuit,
but saw her grow into a yellow speck, far away
over the plain. It was all over. I was alone.
What was a review now to me? I was
miles from home, and towards home I now
went, moodily, and in deep grief. There, faces
of surprise and eager questions met me. "What
have you done with The Vixen?" Question
answered testily, I fear with petulance even.
Tired and heated, not in the mood to be
questioned, I entered the study, about to fling myself
into the easy-chair, and mourn privately and
wearily. When lo! I see in the easy-chair;
fagged also, and very dusty and travel-stained,
the yellow runaway, the sauve qui peut,
lifting her head, as if it were from a pillow,
languidly, wagging her tail, uncertain whether
about to receive punishment or congratulation.
The boyish heart condoned everything nay,
deemed that she had rather won honours. She
had never taken that journey before, yet had
made her way home by an unfamiliar road, and
must have travelled at headlong speed.

We were always on the best and most familiar
terms, and yet she had a quick temper. She
was passionate; but she knew that failing, and
controlled it. On a few occasions a little chastisement
was threatened, and she retreated under a
chair, and there, as from a fortification, looked
out, all tusks, and teeth, and snarl, with her
upper lip turned inside out, filled with a
demoniacal fury. The next moment she would be
all love and friendliness.

She was not regarded with much favour
above stairs, as wanting refinement and elegant
manners. It was as though one had "taken
up" with a friend of low estate. I think she
was aware of this unreasonable prejudice, and,
regarding it as insurmountable, never attempted
to soften it away. In this she showed her
sagacity; yet once when there was company,
a gentleman playing the violin — an instrument
she detested — the door was pushed open softly,
and she entered, bearing a large junk of
stolen beef. There was a kind of pride in her
achievement, with yet a latent sense of the
unlawfulness of the act, there was an air of guilt,
and also of stolid audacity in the manner in
which she entered, walking slowly and leisurely
in through the midst of the company — half
skulking, half inviting attention, her eyes
rolling round the corner towards her master
with a comic expression of doubt. The scene
was true comedy, for it was a polite meeting—
silks and fine clothes, tea and the "quality"—
and the intruder, wiry and unkempt and a little
dusty, had come direct from the stable. Was
it the vanity of her sex prompted her to pay
that visit with her purloined booty? Was it
ambition, or a love of fine company? She was
free of the kitchen, or, better still, the garden,
where, with that grizzly nose of hers, she had
dug many a little pit, using the same feature
afterwards as a shovel, to cover up secreted
treasure.

Vixen the First lived many years, during
which we enjoyed many delightful country
walks together, and she killed innumerable rats,
and swam in rivers and brooks, and fought