He was older and graver looking than when I saw him last, and he had a light, brown mustache that he did not have when he was in Fairport.
He seemed very fond of his mother and of Miss Laura, and however grave his face might be when he was looking at Mr.Maxwell, it always lighted up when he turned to them.

"What dog is that ?" he said at last, with a puzzled face, and pointing to me.
"Why, Harry," exclaimed Miss Laura, "don't you know Beautiful Joe, that you rescued from that wretched milkman ?" "Is it possible," he said, "that this well-conditioned creature is the bundle of dirty skin and bones that we nursed in Fairport?
Come here, sir.

Do you remember me ?" Indeed I did remember him, and I licked his hands and looked up gratefully into his face.

"You're almost handsome now," he said, caressing me with a firm, kind hand, "and of a solid build, too.

You look like a fighter but I suppose you wouldn't let him fight, even if he wanted to, Laura," and he smiled and glanced at her.
"No," she said; "I don't think I should; but he can fight when the occasion requires it." And she told him about our night with Jenkins.
All the time she was speaking, Mr.Harry held me by the paws, and stroked my body over and over again.