Dickon did as he was told, but he was puzzled to hear laughter from behind the door he had just closed. He hurried to his chamber, grateful to escape, but when he pushed open the door, he gave a startled cry as a gray behemoth bounded off the tester bed, knocked him on his backside and dislodged the new bowl from his hands. The young wolfhound then proceeded to give Dickon’s face a thorough washing with its long, rough tongue. As he tried to sit up, Dickon knew this dog was not Ned’s Ambergris nor George’s Alaris, but all the same he tried the universal canine command, “Down, sir!” And immediately the dog quietened and lowered its lanky haunches to the floor in front of the astonished Dickon. “Traveller?” he said in disbelief, “Is it you?” Upon hearing its name, the dog’s head tilted to one side and the long tail thumped an assent.

“Tiens! At last you have come, Master Dickon,” Nurse Anne said, bustling in from an adjacent room. “I do not like the dogs on the bed, tu comprends?” she grumbled. “Her Grace tell me keep the monster here until you come. She say it was une surprise. Nom de Dieu, it was a surprise for me! And, too, I could not keep him from the bed.”

Dickon gave the servant half an ear but was otherwise engaged in hugging the noble head and neck of his beloved abandoned dog from Fotheringhay. With all the family upheaval, he had never dared to ask for Traveller. It did not seem important, but during those eighteen months he had often wished for his dog. He had given up hope altogether when Ned had found Alaris abandoned and had given him to George. When Dickon had asked George if he didn’t feel unfaithful to Captain, George had laughed. “It’s just a dog, Dickon. Do you truly believe they would remember us now?”

“Dogs are the most faithful of creatures,” Dickon had shot back, “and they never forget somebody’s scent. I am sure my Traveller would know me.”

“Pah!” George had been scornful and quickly transferred his allegiance to Alaris.

Traveller was now proving Dickon right, however, as the dog responded to Dickon’s touch and leaned into his master. “What a beauty you have become. Are you really mine?” Dickon asked, half expecting the dog to respond.

His mother answered instead. “Indeed he is, my son.” Her voice came from the threshold. “And the bowl is for his food. I am sorry I tricked you. Happy New Year, Dickon!”

She was rewarded by a sudden rush of love that flooded her as her youngest son’s slate-gray eyes spoke volumes of gratitude.

No bad dreams interrupted Dickon’s sleep for the next few nights, and his days were spent in the company of his new canine friend.