Humorous stories, American; Short stories, American; United States -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
For half an hour there was a commotion downstairs, and shoutings,
and rushing footsteps, and then there was quiet again. Quiet for some
minutes, and that was grateful to my spirit, for then my fears began
to go down; and fears are worse than pains--oh, much worse. Then came a
sound that froze me. They were calling me--calling me by name--hunting
for me!
It was muffled by distance, but that could not take the terror out of
it, and it was the most dreadful sound to me that I had ever heard. It
went all about, everywhere, down there: along the halls, through all
the rooms, in both stories, and in the basement and the cellar; then
outside, and farther and farther away--then back, and all about the
house again, and I thought it would never, never stop. But at last it
did, hours and hours after the vague twilight of the garret had long ago
been blotted out by black darkness.
Then in that blessed stillness my terrors fell little by little away,
and I was at peace and slept. It was a good rest I had, but I woke
before the twilight had come again. I was feeling fairly comfortable,
and I could think out a plan now. I made a very good one; which was, to
creep down, all the way down the back stairs, and hide behind the cellar
door, and slip out and escape when the iceman came at dawn, while he was
inside filling the refrigerator; then I would hide all day, and start
on my journey when night came; my journey to--well, anywhere where they
would not know me and betray me to the master. I was feeling almost
cheerful now; then suddenly I thought: Why, what would life be without
my puppy!
That was despair. There was no plan for me; I saw that; I must say where
I was; stay, and wait, and take what might come--it was not my affair;
that was what life is--my mother had said it. Then--well, then the
calling began again! All my sorrows came back. I said to myself, the
master will never forgive. I did not know what I had done to make him so
bitter and so unforgiving, yet I judged it was something a dog could not
understand, but which was clear to a man and dreadful.
They called and called--days and nights, it seemed to me. So long that
the hunger and thirst near drove me mad, and I recognized that I was
getting very weak. When you are this way you sleep a great deal, and I
did. Once I woke in an awful fright--it seemed to me that the calling
was right there in the garret! And so it was: it was Sadie's voice,
and she was crying; my name was falling from her lips all broken, poor
thing, and I could not believe my ears for the joy of it when I heard
her say:
“Come back to us--oh, come back to us, and forgive--it is all so sad
without our--”
I broke in with _such _a grateful little yelp, and the next moment
Sadie was plunging and stumbling through the darkness and the lumber and
shouting for the family to hear, “She's found, she's found!”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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