Her father bent his head gravely: "Ay, ay; let the dog have the best;" for the stern old man was moved and shaken to his heart's depths.
It was Christmas Eve, and the mill-house was filled with oak-logs and squares of turf, with cream and honey, with meat and bread, and the rafters were hung with wreaths of evergreen, and the Calvary and the cuckoo-clock looked out from a red mass of holly. There were little paper-lanterns, too, for Alois, and toys of various fashions, and sweetmeats in bright-pictured papers. There were light and warmth and abundance everywhere, and in it the child would fain have made the dog a guest honoured and feasted.
But Patrasche would neither lie in the warmth nor share in the cheer. Famished he was and very cold, but without Nello he would partake neither of comfort nor food. Against all temptation he was proof, and close against the door he leaned always, watching only for a means of escape.
"He wants the lad," said Baas Cogez. "Good dog! good dog! I will go over to the lad the first thing at day-dawn."
For no one but Patrasche knew that Nello had left the hut, and no one but Patrasche divined that Nello had left him there, to face starvation and misery alone.
