Page:Diary of a Pilgrimage (1891).pdf/190

 was much drawn towards George's legs. George used to be, I remember, rather proud of his legs. I could never see enough in them, myself, to excuse George's vanity; indeed, they always struck me as lumpy. It is only fair to acknowledge, however, that they quite fascinated that bull-dog. He walked over and criticised them with the air of a long-baffled connoisseur who had at last found his ideal. At the termination of his inspection he distinctly smiled.

George, who at that time was modest and bashful, blushed and drew them up on to the chair. On the dog's displaying a desire to follow them, George moved up on to the table, and squatted there in the middle, nursing his knees.

George's legs being lost to him, the dog appeared inclined to console himself with mine. I went and sat beside George on the table.