A week ago Bart's long-promised, red setter pup arrived, a
spirit of mischief on four clumsy legs. Hardly had I taken him from his
box (I wished to be the one to "first foot" him from captivity into the
family, for that is a courtesy a dog never forgets) when we saw that
Dave was sitting just outside the doorless threshold watching solemnly.
The puppy, with a gleeful bark, licked the veteran on the nose, whereat
the expression of his face changed from one of uncertainty to a smile of
indulgent if mature pleasure, and now he takes his young friend on a
daily ramble down the pasture through the bit of marshy ground to the
river, always bringing him back within a reasonable length of time, with
an air of pride. Evidently the hound was lonely.
_The Man from Everywhere_, who prowls about even more than usual, using
Bart's den for his own meanwhile, says that the setter will be ruined,
for the hound will be sure to trail him on fox and rabbit, and that in
consequence he will never after keep true to birds, but somehow we do
not care, this dog-friendship between the stranger and the pup is so
interesting.
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