"Not yet--safe to try once more to find him."
What was I to do?
I could not read the note. I opened it and moved my fingers over it as
a blind person would, but could not feel a letter, as I might have
known.
What was I to do?
Gyp would be going back. The letter would be gone, while the doctor
might not know but what it had been lost.
What should I do?
There was only one thing, and that was to tie my handkerchief, my torn
and frayed silk handkerchief, tightly to the dog's collar.
"He will know that I am here, and alive," I said to myself. "I wish I
could send him word that Jimmy is here as well."
I tried hard to think of some plan, but for a long time not one would
come.
"I have it!" I said at last; and rapidly taking off the handkerchief I
tied two knots fast in one corner.
"Perhaps he will understand that means two of us," I said; and I was
about to fasten it to the dog's collar, when there was a noise outside
as of some one moving, and Gyp dashed away from me and was gone.
"Without my message," I said to myself in tones of bitter
disappointment, as all became silent again.
To my great joy, though, I heard a faint panting once more, and Gyp
touched my hand with his wet nose.
"I'll be safe this time," I remarked, as I rapidly secured and tied the
knotted handkerchief, ending by fondling and caressing the dog, I was so
overjoyed.
"Go on, dear old Gyp," I cried softly; "and come back to-morrow night
for an answer. There, good-bye. Hush! don't bark. Good-bye!"
I patted him, and he ran his nose into my breast, whining softly. Then
after feeling the handkerchief once more, to be sure it was safe, I
loosened the dog and he bounded from me. I heard a rustling in the
corner, and all was silent, while I lay there holding the note tightly
in my pocket and longing for the day to come that I might read all that
my friends had to say.