There is not the slightest doubt that Bran had a conscience. No dog who was not fully aware that he had misbehaved himself, and deeply penitent on account of it, could have shown so much sorrow and contrition.

We were staying at Yarmouth, and Bran, who was allowed perfect liberty, was lost for one entire day.

At night, just before the house was shut up, he made his appearance, very tired and travel-stained. Being met at the hall door, he was rebuked, and his offered paw not taken, in token that he was in disgrace.

His nightly resting-place was a cellar, where he had a comfortable straw couch provided for him, and his usual custom was to run down stairs immediately to his bed and supper; but on this evening he remained at the top of the stairs, and cried and whined piteously.

Presently my brother said, "You must come and make it up with Bran, or the poor fellow will cry there all night."

Accordingly we opened the door, and one by one shook Bran's paw in sign of forgiveness, whereupon he quietly walked down stairs, and after eating his supper with avidity, curled himself up on the straw and went to sleep.