The Freemason's Daughter: A Novel — page 192: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE FREEMASONS DAUGHTER. 185 started off to Flin’s accompanied by her husband’s favourite terrier, Pepper, who had been wistfully watch- ing by the side of the desolate wife for the return of his master. Pepper was no ordinary dog. When only nine months old, he had won himself a reputation in the rat- catching annals of Manchester, was as good as a ferret after rabbits—that is to say, wild ones—for the little weaver had so disciplined him that he never ventured to cast a forbidden look upon the long-eared favourites In the yard; and on one occasion even defended a patriarchal buck, which had escaped from the hutch, from the felonious attack of a stray cur; from that day he became an increased favourite with his master. The sleek, sharp-faced, intelligent little animal marched soberly on by the side of Meg. On all other occasions when she had taken him out, he had expressed his joy in noisy barkings and indescribable gyrations: bound- ing In advance, returning and gambolling round: but now he walked with an air as subdued as a mute at a funeral. *“Poor Pepper,” exclaimed his mistress, struck by the unusual manner of the dog, “ thee art grieving for him too.” Pepper looked wistfully into her face on hearing his name, slightly wagged tail, and walked on. The cellar of Flin was half-filled by men and boys, who were taking breakfast at the little dirty deal tables ranged against the wall and down the centre SS (SO COniclooecl