The Adventures of a Dog, and a Good Dog Too | Page 8

confusion of
tongues, and such a rustling sound, as told me, before I peeped inside,
that there was a large party got together, and that tails were wagging at

a fearful rate.
When I stood before the open door, all the scene broke upon me. On
her bed of straw, evidently at the point of death, lay my poor doggess.
Her eyes had almost lost their fierce expression, and were becoming
fixed and glassy--a slight tremor in her legs and movement of her
stumpy tail, were all that told she was yet living; not even her breast
was seen to heave.
I had not much reason to bear love to the old creature for any kindness
she had ever shown me, but this sight overcame me at once. Springing
to her aide, and upsetting half a dozen of the gossips by the movement,
I laid my paw on hers; and, involuntarily raising my head in the air, I
sent forth a howl which shook the rotten timbers of the old kennel, and
so frightened the assembled party as to make them scamper out of the
place like mad things. The sound even called back the departing senses
of the dying doggess. She drew me to her with her paws, and made an
effort to lick me. The action quite melted me. I put down my head to
hers and felt a singular pleasure mixed with grief whilst I licked and
caressed her, I could not help thinking then, as I have often thought
since, of how much happiness we had lost by not being more indulgent
to each other's faults, forgiving and loving one another. She also
seemed to be of this opinion, if I might judge by the grateful look and
passive manner in which she received my attentions. Perhaps the near
approach of her end gave a softness to her nature which was unusual to
her; it is not unlikely; but, of a certainty, I never felt before how much I
was losing, as when I saw that poor doggess's life thus ebbing away.
Night had come on while I sat watching by her side. Everything about
the single room had become more and more indistinct, until all objects
were alike blended in the darkness. I could no longer distinguish the
shape of my companion, and, but that I knew she was there, I could
have thought myself alone. The wind had fallen; the water seemed to
run more gently than it was wont to do; and the noises which generally
make themselves heard in the streets of Caneville appeared to be
singularly quieted. But once only, at another period of my life, which I
shall speak of in its proper place, do I ever remember to have been so

struck by the silence, and to have felt myself so entirely alone.
The moon appeared to rise quicker that night, as though it pitied the
poor forlorn dog. It peeped over an opposite house, and directly after,
shone coldly but kindly through the open door. At least, its light
seemed to come like the visit of a friend, in spite of its showing me
what I feared, that I was indeed alone in the world. The poor doggess
had died in the darkness between the setting of the sun and the moon's
rise.
I was sure that she was dead, yet I howled no more. My grief was very
great; for it is a sad, sad thing when you are young to find you are
without friends; perhaps sadder when you are old; but that, I fortunately
do not myself know, for I am old, and have many friends. I recollect
putting my nose between my paws, and lying at full length on the floor,
waiting till the bright sun should come again, and thinking of my
forlorn condition. I must have slept and dreamed--yet I thought I was
still in the old kennel with the dead doggess by my side. But everything
seemed to have found a voice, and to be saying kind things to me.
The river, as it ran and shook the supports of the old kennel, appeared
to cry out in a rough but gay tone: "Job, Job, my dog, cheer up, cheer
up; the world is before you, Job, cheer up, cheer up." The light wind
that was coming by that way stopped to speak to me as it passed. It
flew round the little room, and whispered as it went: "Poor dog, poor
dog, you are very lonely; but the good need not be so; the good may
have friends, dear Job, however poor!" The trees, as they waved their
heads, sent kindly words across the water, that made their way to my
heart right through the chinks of the old cabin; and when