And,
sleep-drugged, he mumbled
"Shut up, Laddie!--I hear her.--Let her howl.--If she's lonely,
down there, she'll--she'll remember the lesson--all the better.
Go downstairs and--be quiet!"
He fell sound asleep again. Obedient to the slumbrous mandate,
Lad turned and pattered mournfully away. But, he was not content
to return to his own nap, with that terror-cry of Lady's echoing
in his ears. And he made a second attempt to get out.
At each side of the piano, in the music room, was a long French
window. Often, by day, Lad used to pass in or out of these
door-like windows. He knew that they, as well as the doors, were
a recognized means of exit. Now, with eagerly scratching paw, he
pushed at the nearest of them.
The house was but carelessly locked at night. For Lad's presence
downstairs was a better burglar-preventive than the best bolts
ever forged. Tired and drowsy, the Master, this night, had
neglected to bar the French windows.
The window gave, at Lad's vehement scratch; and swung outward on
its hinges. A second later, the big dog was running at top speed
toward the tool-house.
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