No one else was in sight, no cart, no horse, no weather-beaten wayfarer.

At first the dog was only a little black smudge against the snow; then, as he arrived at the Coles' garden-gate, Jeremy could see him very distinctly.

He was, it appeared, quite alone; he had been, it was evident, badly beaten by the storm.

Intended by nature to be a rough and hairy dog, he now appeared before God and men a shivering battered creature, dripping and wind-tossed, bedraggled and bewildered.

And yet, even in that first distant glimpse, Jeremy discerned a fine independence.