I've had another dog. That makes three dogs that I've had, and I haven't
been allowed to keep any of them. Grown-up folks don't seem to care how
much a boy wants society. Perhaps if they were better acquainted with
dogs they'd understand boys better than they do.
About a month ago there were lots of burglars in our town, and father
said he believed he'd have to get a dog. Mr. Withers told father he'd
get a dog for him, and the next day he brought the most beautiful
Siberian blood-hound you ever saw.
The first night we had him we chained him up in the yard, and the
neighbors threw things at him all night. Nobody in our house got a wink
of sleep, for the dog never stopped barking except just long enough to
yell when something hit him. There was mornascuttleful of big lumps of
coal in the yard in the morning, besides seven old boots, two chunks of
wood, and a bushel of broken crockery.
Father said that the house was the proper place for the dog at night; so
the next night we left him in the front hall. He didn't bark any all
night, but he got tired of staying in the front hall, and wandered all
over the house. I suppose he felt lonesome, for he came into my room,
and got on to the bed, and nearly suffocated me. I woke up dreaming that
I was in a melon patch, and had to eat three hundred green watermelons
or be sent to jail, and it was a great comfort when I woke up and found
it was only the dog. He knocked the water-pitcher over with his tail in
the morning, and then thought he saw a cat under my bed, and made such
an awful noise that father came up, and told me I ought to be ashamed to
disturb the whole family so early in the morning. After that the dog was
locked up in the kitchen at night, and father had to come down early and
let him out, because the cook didn't dare to go into the kitchen.
We let him run loose in the yard in the daytime, until he had an
accident with Mr. Martin. We'd all been out to take tea and spend the
evening with the Wilkinsons, and when we got home about nine o'clock,
there was Mr. Martin standing on the piazza, with the dog holding on to
his cork-leg. Mr. Martin had come to the house to make a call at about
seven o'clock, and as soon as he stepped on the piazza the dog caught
him by the leg without saying a word. Every once in a while the dog
would let go just long enough to spit out a few pieces of cork and take
a fresh hold, but Mr. Martin didn't dare to stir for fear he would
take hold of the other leg, which of course would have hurt more than
the cork one. Mr. Martin was a good deal tired and discouraged, and
couldn't be made to understand that the dog thought he was a burglar,
and tried to do his duty, as we should all try to do.
The way I came to lose the dog was this: Aunt Eliza came to see us last
week, and brought her little boy Harry, who once went bee-hunting with
me. Harry, as I told you, is six years old, and he isn't so bad as he
might be considering his age. The second day after they came, Harry and
I were in Tom McGinnis's yard, when Tom said he knew where there was a
woodchuck down in the pasture, and suppose we go and hunt him. So I told
Harry to go home and get the dog, and bring him down to the pasture
where Tom said the woodchuck lived. I told him to untie the dog--for we
had kept him tied up since his accident with Mr. Martin--and to keep
tight hold of the rope, so that the dog couldn't get away from him.
Harry said he'd tie the rope around his waist, and then the dog couldn't
possibly pull it away from him, and Tom and I both said it was a good
plan.
[Illustration: HOW THAT DOG DID PULL!]
Well, we waited for that boy and the dog till six o'clock, and they
never came. When I got home everybody wanted to know what had become of
Harry. He was gone and the dog was gone, and nobody knew where they
were, and Aunt Eliza was crying, and said she knew that horrid dog had
eaten her boy up. Father and I and Mr. Travers had to go and hunt for
Harry. We hunted all over the town, and at last a man told us that he
had seen a boy and a dog going on a run across Deacon Smith's
corn-field. So we went through the corn-field and found their track, for
they had broken down the corn just as if a wagon had driven through it.
When we came to the fence on the other side of the field we found Harry
on one side of the fence and the dog on the other. Harry had tied the
dog's rope round his waist, and couldn't untie it again, and the dog had
run away with him. When they came to the fence the dog had squeezed
through a hole that was too small for Harry, and wouldn't come back
again. So they were both caught in a trap. How that dog did pull! Harry
was almost cut in two, for the dog kept pulling at the rope all the time
with all his might.
When we got home Aunt Eliza said that either she or that brute must
leave, and father gave the dog away to the butcher. He was the most
elegant dog I ever had, and I don't suppose I shall ever have another.