In his arms lay the dog Lelaps, which, bleeding from the wound made by a bullet, that grazed its neck, nestled trembling against its master.
Bowing courteously to Ruth, the soldier said: "Take pity on this poor creature, fair maiden, and wash its wound with a little wine.

It deserves it.

I could tell you such tales of its cleverness! It came from distant India, where a pirate....

But you shall hear the story some other time.

Thanks, thanks! As to your son, Meister, it's a thousand pities about him.