"What'm I going to do, Chummie?" demanded Link brokenly. "What'm
I going to do about it? I s'pose any other feller'd call me a
fool--like she thinks I am and tell me to sell you. If you was
some dogs, that'd be all right. But not with YOU, Chum. Not with
you. You'd mope and grieve for me, and you'd be wond'ring why I'd
deserted you after all these years. And you'd get to pining and
maybe go sick. And the feller that bought you wouldn't
understand. And most likely he'd whale you for not being more
chipper-like. And you haven't ever been hit. I'd--I'd a blame'
sight sooner shoot you, than to let anyone else have you, to
abuse you and let you be unhappy for me, Chum. A blame' sight
rather."
Side by side they moved on into the darkened house. There, with
the dog curled at his feet, Link Ferris lay broad awake until
sunrise.
Early the next afternoon Dorcas decided she stood in need of
brisk, outdoor exercise. Olive came running down the path after
her, eagerly demanding to be taken along. Dorcas with much
sternness bade her go back.
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