“One would think the dog was mad,” said he, “only it is not the season.” Then he looked out again hopefully to the coming ship.
The great dog ran round the corner, and through the wet streets all day.
The steamer had arrived, and there were new faces looking eagerly about for old familiar ones, and the old were looking for the new; so there was altogether a great bustle such as was never seen, only in those early days when the ships came in from home. Thus the day passed, and the evening came on, raining dismally--yet it was Christmas eve.
In a dark alley sat the great dog. His shaggy coat kept him warm, yet it was very desolate there alone.
“One should have something to live for,” growled he, “something to take care of and protect, or there is no use in being strong and brave. One might as well be a puny poodle, and sit by the parlor fire,” and he gave an ugly bark, “bow, wow, wow! one should have an object in life.”
Just then he heard a low moan, and looking round, he saw a poor lame dog, very thin and sick, lying down in the mud, and ready to die of hunger.
It was really quite wretched, and all the great dog’s sympathies were aroused. “There _is_ an object, to be sure,” he said. “It is Christmas eve, and the good Santa Claus has taken pity on me, and given me this poor fellow, who needs me as much as I do him. What a zest life has, when one has something to live for.”
Without any useless ceremony, he raised the poor dog, and tenderly as the mother dog carries her little ones, he bore him to a warm, dry place, and made him a nice bed of clean straw.
“This is better, my friend,” said the noble creature, quite flushed and happy with the pleasure of doing a kind act. “What more can I do for you?”
“I am famishing with hunger,” replied the lame dog, with a feeble groan, and off went his great shaggy protector, through rain and mud, to a restaurant, and there the cook gave him a bone, saying, “take it, you Bummer.”
He caught the bone, and running off as fast as possible, in a few moments laid it before the lame dog.
It was a rich bone, and had a delicious smell that was quite reviving to the sick one.
It was so pleasant to see the poor hungry fellow eat, that Bummer could not leave him until he had finished. “I never enjoyed a bone so much in my life,” said Bummer, as he tucked the warm straw around his new friend, and saw him closing his eyes with a pleasant satisfied languor.