("Big fires," said he wisely, "are not for us.") This he fed with dry twigs, and in a very few minutes he had a pot of tea from which he offered me the first drink.

This, with my luncheon and part of his sausage, made up a very good meal.
While we were eating, the little dog sat sedately by the fire.

From time to time his master would say, "Speak, Jimmy." Jimmy would sit up on his haunches, his two front paws hanging limp, turn his head to one side in the drollest way imaginable and give a yelp.

His master would toss him a bit of sausage or bread and he would catch it with a snap.
"Fine dog!" commented my companion.
"So he seems," said I.
After the meal was over my companion proceeded to produce other surprises from his pockets--a bag of tobacco, a brier pipe (which he kindly offered to me and which I kindly refused), and a soiled packet of cigarette papers.

Having rolled a cigarette with practised facility, he leaned up against a tree, took off his hat, lighted the cigarette and, having taken a long draw at it, blew the smoke before him with an incredible air of satisfaction.
"Solid comfort this here--hey!" he exclaimed.
We had some further talk, but for so jovial a specimen he was surprisingly uncommunicative.