Dick seized him round the neck and hugged him as well as he could, poor fellow! in his feeble arms; then he wept, then he laughed, and then he fainted.
This was a consummation that took Crusoe quite aback.

Never having seen his master in such a state before he seemed to think at first that he was playing some trick, for he bounded round him, and barked, and wagged his tail.

But as Dick lay quite still and motionless, he went forward with a look of alarm; snuffed him once or twice, and whined piteously; then he raised his nose in the air and uttered a long melancholy wail.
The cry seemed to revive Dick, for he moved, and with some difficulty sat up, to the dog's evident relief.

There is no doubt whatever that Crusoe learned an erroneous lesson that day, and was firmly convinced thenceforth that the best cure for a fainting fit is a melancholy yell.

So easy is it for the wisest of dogs as well as men to fall into gross error! "Crusoe," said Dick, in a feeble voice, "dear good pup, come here." He crawled, as he spoke, down to the water's edge, where there was a level patch of dry sand.
"Dig," said Dick, pointing to the sand.
Crusoe looked at him in surprise, as well he might, for he had never heard the word "dig" in all his life before.
Dick pondered a minute then a thought struck him.
He turned up a little of the sand with his fingers, and, pointing to the hole, cried, "_Seek him out, pup_!" Ha! Crusoe understood _that_.