appease my thirst."

Daniel listened with sympathy to the old man, who had an honest kind
look. Timidly moving a little closer to him, he said, while his face
grew red: "If you would not feel offended, I should like to give you a
little money, out of my allowance."

"My dear young man," said the traveller, "true it is that I have never
accepted charity, but I must admit, you have offered it to me in such a
friendly, well-meaning manner that I would gladly accept it, if I could;
I thank you heartily for it. May your kind thoughtfulness be rewarded."

The dog, who in the meantime had hurried to the water's edge to quench
his thirst, hastily returned, just as Daniel was about to continue his
way. The next minute, he was leaping and springing and barking, as
loudly as he could, and showing unbounded joy. The traveller cried out
in astonishment: "My dog, you are my Rover. Do I find you again, after
so many years? How did you get here?"

Daniel looked surprised and said: "It seems that the dog knows you very
well. Did he ever belong to you?"

"Yes, truly," said the man, "but I thought he was drowned thirteen years
ago, when the Rhine overflowed and carried my house with it. I never
expected to see my dog again.--But," said he, as he dried his eyes, "I
sustained at that time a greater loss than could ever be retrieved."

"What was that?" asked Daniel.

Then the old man told the tale of the flood and said that, in the