Black spots were scattered at random over his yellow carcass, one of them, apparently, blotting out an eye.

His ears were in tatters, for Monday was never successful in affairs of honour.

But he possessed one talisman.

He knew that not all dogs could be handsome or eloquent or victorious, but that every dog could love.

Inside his homely hide beat the most affectionate, loyal, faithful heart of any dog since dogs were; and something looked out of his brown eyes that was nearer akin to a soul than any theologian would allow.