The man nodded gravely.
"Ah, so! Then you realize this day to be the most important of all the coming year to me; this hour a solemn one that influences my whole after life.

It is time for your annual decision on my fate for a twelve-month.
Are you sure you are fully alive to the gravity of the situation, Bel ?" The dog felt himself safe in answering a rising inflection ending in his name uttered in that tone, and wagged eager assent.
"Well then," said the man, "which shall it be?
Do I leave home for the noise and grime of the city, open an office and enter the money-making scramble ?" Every word was strange to the dog, almost breathlessly waiting for a familiar syllable.

The man gazed steadily into the animal's eyes.

After a long pause he continued: "Or do I remain at home to harvest the golden seal, mullein, and ginseng, not to mention an occasional hour with the black bass or tramps for partridge and cotton-tails ?" The dog recognized each word of that.

Before the voice ceased, his sleek sides were quivering, his nostrils twitching, his tail lashing, and at the pause he leaped up and thrust his nose against the face of the man.
The Harvester leaned back laughing in deep, full-chested tones; then he patted the dog's head with one hand and renewed his grip with the other.
"Good old Bel!" he cried exultantly.