nts love but it can't reach him. I'll say it,
Phil. I feel that he's not mine, that he's apart from us. Ridiculous,
isn't it? I can't feel true kinship for my own child, much as he means
to me. I feel better now that I've said it."

"I wish I could say the same, but I don't know that I feel any better
for adding one more question mark to a long, long line of them. Like
you, I sense a loneliness, a reaching out from Timmy for something I
can't give him no matter what I do, no matter how I try to understand.
I watch him, and I think of that line '... a stranger and afraid ...'
What is there that frightens him? Can it ... possibly ... be us?"

VI

Indian summer now lay softly upon the land.

On a wooded rise ten miles from the outskirts of the town, close by
a bluff overlooking the bushland, the tan walls of a small tent warmed
to the late afternoon sun. Here and there beyond the bushland the
supper-smoke of scattered farms stood columned and motionless. The only
sound on the still air was the harsh, labored breathing of the dying
Homer.

The dog lay in the open near the edge of the bluff, his eyes closed, his
companions seated nearby. Phil had brought Timmy on a week-end camping
trip that now appeared spoiled at the outset, for the short, steep climb
up the bluff had unexpectedly proven too much for old gray-muzzle. His
trembling legs had barely carried him to the top before he collapsed,
and now it was only a question of how long he must suffer before
release. Phil glanced toward a .22 rifle lying with their gear. It would
be more merciful.

"No, Uncle Phil. He'll live until sundown at least. Let him have that
much."

"I'm sorry this happened, Timmy, but now that it has I think we should
make it easier for him."

"You liked him, didn't you, Uncle Phil?"

"Yes, Tim ... I'm a bit surprised to find that I really did. I can't say
that I'm much of an animal-lover, but in his way Homer was the perfect
Old Faithful. No beauty and not very bright, you must admit, but he
never left your side. It won't seem the same."

"It won't _be_ the same, Uncle Phil." The boy raised his head to look
over the distant bushland. His face was composed.

"Timmy, I hesitate to say this, but--"

"I don't seem very upset about it?"

"Well, yes. Did you really care much for Homer? You never paid any
attention to him, never petted or played with him, just let him tag
along."

"I had no need to pet or play with him, and it was