that's a good fellow," said the man. "Let me see it." The Airedale advanced a step. The author patted his head, then slowly laid his hand upon the cross. The dog watched his every movement.
It was not a trinket, but a real Croix de Guerre. Many a brave man had given his life to be buried with that cross upon his breast.
"Guess I had better take it off and keep it for you," the man said. "You might lose it," and so he started to unclasp the chain. Quickly the dog's jaws closed over the wrist and his eyes glazed. A deep growl admonished the man.
"Oh, if you feel that way about it I will not touch it," he said, and he never tried to take the cross from Pierre again while he remained at Sunnyside. When the author finally heard from Madame how the Aire-
