"Only an old coat! That's what it is surely, but that old coat cost me a
good friend, it did. Poor old Tinker was worth more than a dozen coats."
So said Eli Watton, as he put the old coat over his shoulders, and
settled himself in his donkey-cart with a man by his side who had asked
for a lift.
"Who was poor old Tinker?" asked the stranger.
"My dog," answered Eli, "and a better one never followed any man. Poor
fellow! though he weren't much to look at. Well, I'll tell you how it
was I lost him, poor chap. Every Friday I have to drive into town to
fetch the clothes for my wife to wash, and I often had to go in again on
a Monday with clean ones. Tinker, poor fellow, used to go with me most
times, but I never gave much heed to him. He'd always follow without a
word. He was an ugly brute, people used to say--a sort of lurcher, and
he never got much petting from any one.
"Well, one day I drove as usual, and I had this old coat over the basket
of clothes. When I got to one house I suppose I pitched the old coat
out, but I never heeded it; and I never noticed whether Tinker was with
me or not. That night we missed Tinker; and my wife couldn't think what
I'd done with the old coat, and I couldn't remember anything about it.
"On Monday I had to go to that same house, and there I found my poor old
Tinker dead; they'd had him shot. I _was_ in a way about it, I can tell
you. It was in this way, you see. This old coat was in a doorway, where
I suppose I threw it when I was taking down the basket. Old Tinker saw I
left it there, and he sat down upon it to keep it safe for me, showing
his teeth at anybody who offered to touch it. The servants got
frightened; they tried to beat him away, and they tried to coax him
away, but he wouldn't stir, and at last they thought he must be mad, and
told their mistress. She came and did all she could to coax the dog
away, for he was right in the way when they went out or in; but he
snarled at them all. He must have been pretty near starved, lying there
all Saturday night and Sunday, and I dare say he did get fiercer and
fiercer, so at last they got him shot.
"I've never had a dog along with me again. I don't suppose I shall ever
get one like Tinker. I always think of him when I take up this old
coat;" and Eli gave his donkey a cut with the whip, and I am not sure if
there was not something like a tear in his eye as he thought of his lost
Tinker. What did it matter that he was an ugly dog? He did his duty to
the end of his life, and which of us can do more?
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