Do you suppose I haven't been thinking about it, on the hot
nights when I couldn't sleep? But, when the time comes--when it
comes--you'll--you'll do it, yourself, won't you?"
"Yes," promised the Master, miserably. "No one else shall. I'd
rather cut off one of my own hands, though. I'VE been doing a bit
of thinking, too--at night. It's nobody's job but mine. Laddie
would rather have it that way, I know. And, by a bullet. He's a
gallant old soldier. And that is the way for him to go. Now, for
the Lord's sake, let's talk about something else! A man or woman
is a fool to care that way about any mere dog. I--"
"But Lad isn't a 'mere' dog," contradicted the Mistress, stooping
to pet the collie's classic head as it lay across her foot.
"He's--he's Laddie."
The sound of his name pierced the sleep mists and brought the dog
to wakefulness. He raised his head inquiringly toward the
Mistress, and his plumed tail began to thump the floor. The
Mistress patted him again; and spoke a word or two. Lad prepared
to drowse once more. Then, to his dulled ears came the padding of
little bare feet on the grass.
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