Children -- Fiction; Elves -- Fiction; Kentucky -- Fiction; Magic -- Fiction; Pride and vanity -- Fiction
"Pow-wow, is it really you, old pard, and no mistake? And are we all
alive and here at grandpap's house, and no dreaming about it? (Pausing
to pat the old dog's head.) Pow-wow, did Nick of the Woods ever give you
a pair of red moccasins? No, he never did, because he knew you weren't a
fool. (Here closing his eyes and seeming for a moment to forget the
dog.) Pow-wow, were you ever chased by the Manitous? No, you never were,
for you never sneaked away from home with a lie in your mouth, like a
spit-thief dog. (Again closing his eyes for a few moments, to open them
again and add:) The Manitous chase nobody but bad people, and chase them
only to make them good. (Pausing to play with the old dog's ear.) And so
they have chased your old Sprigg, Pow-wow; chased him out of the world!
You shall never see your old friend Sprigg again! Never! Never! Never!"
(Now giving the old dog's ragged ear a certain pluck which had always
been well understood between them.)
At each repetition of his name the only part of his little master's
speech which had any sound of English to his ear, Pow-wow would fall to
wagging his tail in a hearty, emphatic manner, as were he,
Chinaman-like, shaking hands with himself over the glad event of the
day. But on receiving the pluck of the ear, in the dear old way, the
dear old fellow, quick to take the hint, gave vent to a sort of double
yelp, peculiar to him when in a waggish humor--a smothered nasal
"boo-woo," so irresistibly ludicrous that it had always made Sprigg
laugh, as now it did, right heartily. This is but the prelude to what
needs must follow. Up he rears himself on his hind legs, snaps at the
imaginary bone thrown up by an imaginary hand, catches it in his mouth,
drops with it to the floor, and, stretching himself out at full length,
pretends to gnaw what he pretends to hold between his paws. But this was
Pow-wow's only accomplishment--fancy accomplishment, I mean--for he was
a finished hunter and a finishing fighter, and we have seen for
ourselves that he knew exactly what to do with cows when he went with a
nice little girl to the pasture to help her drive them home. Therefore,
finding himself at the end of his programme sooner than the occasion
seemed to demand, he raised himself to his haunches and looked around
him with a deprecating air, as if he would fain apologize for his
deficiencies.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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