air
came the whiff of frying bacon. The cook waddled down the back steps, a
tin bucket flashing under her arm, and the chickens flocked round her
like fringes to her skirt. But still the dog remained in the woods,
with the hunger in his stomach and the longing in his heart.

Then, when the cook had gone back, chickens vanished, the glow grown dim
in the windows, and life seemed to have ceased in the yard, a little
figure darted across it, disappeared in the lot, reappeared in the back
door of the barn, and with a backward glance made for the woods where he
lay. He had run away, plainly, for he had on neither overcoat nor hat.
He was frightened, for he stopped a hundred feet away from the woods and
his voice quavered.

"F'ank?"

He listened painfully, his mouth open, his chest heaving. When next he
called there were tears in his voice. Finally, he looked all up and down
the border of the woods. A third time he called, shriller, more
tremulously. Then slowly he turned his back and started toward the
house. Something must have blinded him, for he stumbled and fell. He got
to his feet and looked at the hands he must have cut on the sharp stones
of the field. Again he faced about and looked up and down the woods, and
again he turned away.

Something tragic in this last turning about, something final, as if he
had left hope behind him buried in the woods, swelled the tender heart
of the watching dog. He could stand it no longer. Lightly he leaped the
fringe of bushes, silently he galloped after the disconsolate little
figure. Not until his warm breath on the nape of the white neck caused
Tommy to turn, did he realize the depth of woe through which Tommy had
passed. The frightened gasp, the look of terrible reproach, the
tear-soiled face, the tragic eyes, told the story. It was fully a minute
before Tommy controlled his sobs and hugged him round the neck. Then,
ashamed to have been seen in this hour of weakness, the boy began to
pound the dog with his fists. Finally he cried out--and in the shrill
exultation of his voice, Frank knew that his own troubles and Tommy's
troubles had all passed away.

"They gone--they gone on the chain!" Then, with wistful wonderment,
"Where you been, F'ank?"

There were lights in the living-room and kitchen windows when they
started toward the house, the boy's hand tightly clutching the mane of
the dog.

"Mr. Lancaster," Tommy was explaining in a breathless voice that caught,
"he says--