"It was a bitterly cold morning in the month of February, several years
ago. How the time does fly, to be sure! Snow had been lying on the
ground for weeks, and more had fallen during the night; the wind, too,
blew high from the east, and the few passengers who were abroad made the
best of their way along the street, I can assure you, and looked as
though they would rather be at home and at the fireside. I myself was
out in the cold from force of habit. It had long been my custom to take
a short walk before breakfast, and as the post-office of our village was
only half a mile from my residence, going down for the letters that
arrived by the first mail afforded me just sufficient excuse for my
early ramble. But on this particular morning, as I was returning
homewards, I was very much surprised to find my little friend Nellie May
standing at her gate bare-headed, and with her pretty auburn hair
blowing hither and thither in the wind.
"`Why, Nellie, dear!' I exclaimed, `what can have sent you out of the
house so early? It is hardly eight o'clock, and the cold will kill you,
child.'
"`I was watching for you, sir,' said Nellie, looking as serious as a
little judge. `Do come and tell me what I shall do with this poor dog.
He was out in the snow, looking so unhappy, and has now taken up his
abode in the shed, and neither Miss Smith nor I can entice him out, or
get him to go away. And we are afraid to go near him.'
"I followed Nellie readily enough, and there, lying on a sack, which he
had taken possession of, was the dog in question. To all intents and
purposes he was of a very common kind. Nobody in his senses would have
given sixpence for him, except perhaps his owner, and who that might be
was at present a mystery.
"`Will you turn him out and send him away?' asked Nellie.
"The dog looked in my face, oh, so pleadingly!
"`Kind sir,' he seemed to say, `do speak a word for me; I'm so tired, my
feet are sore, I've wandered far from home, and I am full of grief.'
"`Send him away?' I replied to Nellie. `No, dear; you wouldn't, would
you, if you thought he was weary, hungry, and in sorrow for his lost
mistress? Look how thin he is.'
"`Oh!' cried Nellie, her eyes filling with tears, `I'll run and bring
him part of my own breakfast.'
"`Nellie,' I said, as we parted, `be kind to that poor dog; he may bring
you good fortune.'
"I do not know even now why I should have made that remark, but events
proved that my words were almost prophetic. It was evident that the dog
had travelled a very long way; but under Nellie's tender care he soon
recovered health and strength and spirits as well, and from that day for
three long years you never would have met the girl unaccompanied by
`Tray,' as we called him.
"Now it came to pass that a certain young nobleman came of age, and a
great fete was given to his tenantry at P--Park, and people came from
quite a long distance to join in it. I saw Nellie the same evening. It
had been a day of sorrow for her. Tray had found his long lost
mistress.
"`And, oh, such an ugly little old woman!' said Nellie almost
spitefully, through her tears. `Oh, my poor Tray, I'll never, never see
him more!'
"Facts are stranger than fiction, however, and the little old lady whom
Nellie thought so ugly adopted her (for she was an orphan), and Nellie
became in time very fond of her. The dog Tray, whose real name by the
way was Jumbo, had something to do with this fondness, no doubt.
"The old lady is not alive now; but Nellie has been left all she
possessed, Jumbo included. He is by this time very, very old; his lips
are white with age, he is stiff too, and his back seems all one bone.
As to his temper--well, the less I say about that the better, but he is
always cross with everybody--except Nellie."