do in the old, happy days, and a little yelp of pain escaped him.
Gran’père pulled her gently away, and poor old Pierrot did his best to
leap gayly upon them with little whines of delight, to show how glad
he was.
Yes, he was home again, back among the loved faces and caressing hands
that he had dreamed about so long. He could hardly contain himself for
joy and nearly wagged his stump tail off in his exuberance. Oh, if he
could only speak and tell them everything!
True, this was a strange little house; all the surroundings were
strange. But it was home at last! For here were his people, his dear
people, and it is folks, after all, that count.
Gran’père understood dogs and knew that Pierrot was hurt, so as soon as
he could get the dog and children quiet he brought Pierrot out into the
moonlight and examined him.
“Pierrot has been a good soldier,” said he.
Then he sent Henri for the roll of bandages and the bottles. So you see
the kind people across the sea must have heard of Pierrot, too.
[Illustration]
“I fear he will always be lame,” said Gran’père. But the children did
not seem to be greatly depressed by that. Neither did Pierrot, for
that matter, for after he had eaten the crust of bread Mère Marie gave
him, and had kissed them again all around, he stretched himself out on
the edge of Henri’s worn, scorched quilt with a great happy sigh, and
fell asleep, snoring loudly.
THE END
[Illustration]
THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, NEW YORK
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Text in italics is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
End of Project Gutenberg's Pierrot, Dog of Belgium, by Walter A. Dyer