Lad, being only a dog, had no such way of sharing his burden. He
had been told to find the child. And his simple code of life and
of action left him no outlet from doing his duty; be that duty
irksome or easy. So he kept on. Far ahead of the Master, his keen
ears had not caught the sound of the shouts. The gale and the
snow muffled them and drove them back into the shouter's throat.
Cyril, naturally, had not had the remotest intent of laboring
through the bitter cold and the snow to the house of any
neighbor; there to tell his woeful tale of oppression. The
semblance of martyrdom, without its bothersome actuality, was
quite enough for his purpose. Once before, at home, when his
father had administered a mild and much-needed spanking, Cyril
had made a like threat; and had then gone to hide in a chum's
home, for half a day; returning to find his parents in agonies of
remorse and fear, and ready to load him with peace-offerings. The
child saw no reason why the same tactics should not serve every
bit as triumphantly, in the present case.
He knew the maids were in the kitchen and at least one man was in
the stables.
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