Green Meadow Stories, Thornton W. Burgess [read people like a book .txt] 📗

have done exactly what that man had said. He would have tried to find his way home, and he hadn’t the least idea in the world in which direction home lay. But he didn’t get the chance to try. When he was allowed to run out of doors it was always with someone to watch him. He was petted and babied and made a great deal of, but he knew all the time that he was a prisoner. He knew that if he was to get away at all he would have to sneak away, and somehow there never seemed a chance to do this. He was grateful to these kindly people, but down in his heart was a great longing for Farmer Brown’s boy and home. He always felt this longing just a wee bit stronger when Blacky the Crow passed over and cawed. XXII Farmer Brown’s Boy Looks in Vain

Loyalty is priceless and
Is neither sold nor bought.
Alas, how few who seem to know
Its value as they ought.

Bowser the Hound.

As I have told you, Farmer Brown’s boy had been all about the neighborhood asking at each farmhouse if anything had been seen of Bowser. Of course nothing had been seen of him, and so at last Farmer Brown’s boy felt sure that something dreadful had happened to Bowser in the woods.

For several days he tramped through the Green Forest and up through the Old Pasture, looking for signs of Bowser. His heart was heavy, for you know Bowser was quite one of the family. He visited every place he could think of where he and Bowser had hunted together. He knew that by this time Bowser couldn’t possibly be alive if he had been caught by a foot in a trap or had met with an accident in the woods. He had quite given up all hope of ever seeing Bowser alive again. But he did want to know just what had happened to him, and so he kept searching and searching.

One day Farmer Brown’s boy heard that a strange dog had been found over in the next township. That afternoon he drove over there, his heart filled with great hope. But he had his long ride for nothing, for when he got there he found that the strange dog was not Bowser at all.

Meanwhile Old Man Coyote and Reddy Fox and Old Granny Fox had become very bold. They even came up around the henyard in broad daylight.

“I believe you know something about what has become of Bowser,” Farmer Brown’s boy said, as he chased Old Man Coyote away one day. “You certainly know that he isn’t home, and I more than suspect that you know why he isn’t home. I certainly shall have to get another dog to teach you not to be so bold.”

But somehow Farmer Brown’s boy couldn’t bring himself quite to taking such a step as getting a new dog. He felt that no other dog ever could take Bowser’s place, and in spite of the fact that he thought he had given up all hope of ever seeing Bowser again, ’way down deep inside was something which, if it were not hope, was something enough like it to keep him from getting another dog in Bowser’s place.

Whenever he went about away from home, he kept an eye out for dogs in the farmyards he passed. He did it without really thinking anything about it. He had given up hope of finding Bowser, yet he was always looking for him.

XXIII Bowser’s Great Voice

To long for home when far away
Will rob of joy the brightest day.

Bowser the Hound

There is as much difference in the voices of dogs as in the voices of human beings. For that matter, this is true of many of the little people who wear fur. Bowser the Hound had a wonderful, deep, clear voice, a voice that could be heard a great distance. No one who knew it would ever mistake it for the voice of any other Hound.

As a rule, Bowser seldom used that great voice of his save when he was hunting someone. Then, when the scent was strong, he gave tongue so fast that you wondered how he had breath enough left to run. But now that he was a prisoner of kindness, in the home of the people who had taken him in when he had crept to their doorstep, Bowser sometimes bayed from sheer homesickness. When he was tied out in the yard, he would sometimes get to thinking of his home and long to see Farmer Brown and Mrs. Brown and especially his master, Farmer Brown’s boy. Then, when he could stand it no longer, he would open his mouth and send his great voice rolling across to the woods with a tone of mournfulness which never had been there before.

But great as was Bowser’s voice, and far as it would carry, there was none who knew him to hear it, save Blacky the Crow. You remember that Blacky knew just where Bowser was and often flew over that farmyard to make sure that Bowser was still there. So more than once Blacky heard Bowser’s great voice with its mournful note, and understood it.

It troubled Blacky. Yes, sir, it actually troubled Blacky. He knew just what was the matter with Bowser, but for the life of him he couldn’t think of any way of helping Bowser. “That dog is homesick,” croaked Blacky, as he sat in the top of a tall tree, scratching his head as if he thought he might scratch an idea out of it. “Of course he doesn’t know how to get home, and if he tried he probably would get as badly lost as he was before. Anyway, they don’t give him a chance to try. I can’t lead Farmer Brown’s boy over here because he doesn’t understand my talk, and I don’t understand his. There isn’t a thing I can