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There was once an old man whom Fortune (whose own eyes are bandaged) had deprived of his sight. She had taken his hearing also, so that he was deaf. Poor he had always been, and as Time had stolen his youth and strength from him, they had only left a light burden for death to carry when he should come the old man’s way.

But Love (who is blind also) had given the Blind Man a Dog, who led him out in the morning to a seat in the sun under the crab-tree, and held his hat for wayside alms, and brought him safely home at sunset.

The Dog was wise and faithful–as dogs often are–but the wonder of him was that he could talk. In which will be seen the difference between dogs and men, most of whom can talk; whilst it is a matter for admiration if they are wise and faithful.

One day the Mayor’s little son came down the road, and by the hand he held his playmate Aldegunda.

“Give the poor blind man a penny,” said she.

“You are always wanting me to give away my money,” replied the boy peevishly. “It is well that my father is the richest man in the town, and that I have a whole silver crown yet in my pocket.”

But he put the penny into the hat which the Dog held out, and the Dog gave it to his master.

“Heaven bless you,” said the Blind Man.

“Amen,” said the Dog.

“Aldegunda! Aldegunda!” cried the boy, dancing with delight “Here’s a dog who can talk. I would give my silver crown for him. Old man, I say, old man! Will you sell me your dog for a silver crown?”

“My master is deaf as well as blind,” said the Dog.

“What a miserable old creature he must be,” said the boy compassionately.

“Men do not smile when they are miserable, do they?” said the Dog; “and my master smiles sometimes–when the sun warms right through our coats to our bones; when he feels the hat shake against his knee as the pennies drop in; and when I lick his hand.”

“But for all that, he is a poor wretched old beggar, in want of everything,” persisted the boy. “Now I am the Mayor’s only son, and he is the richest man in the town. Come and live with me, and I will give the Blind Man my silver crown. I should be perfectly happy if I had a talking dog of my own.”

“It is worth thinking of,” said the Dog. “I should certainly like a master who was perfectly happy. You are sure that there is nothing else that you wish for?”

“I wish I were a man,” replied the boy. “To do exactly as I chose, and have plenty of money to spend, and holidays all the year round.”

“That sounds well,” said the Dog. “Perhaps I had better wait till you grow up. There is nothing else that you want, I suppose?”

“I want a horse,” said the boy, “a real black charger. My father ought to know that I am too old for a hobby-horse. It vexes me to look at it.”

“I must wait for the charger, I see,” said the Dog. “Nothing vexes you but the hobby-horse, I hope?”

“Aldegunda vexes me more than anything,” answered the boy, with an aggrieved air; “and it’s very hard when I am so fond of her. She always tumbles down when we run races, her legs are so short. It’s her birthday to-day, but she toddles as badly as she did yesterday, though she’s a year older.”

“She will have learned to run by the time that you are a man,” said the Dog. “So nice a little lady can give you no other cause of annoyance, I am sure?”

The boy frowned.

“She is always wanting something; She wants something now, I see. What do you want, Aldegunda?”