As he came nearer to the house he saw something which, at first sight, he took for a baby’s cradle, with a little awning over it, just at the edge of the forest. Coming nearer, he saw it was no cradle, but a huge dog lying under a tent made of muslin or mosquito netting.
The creature lifted its head feebly, and uttered a low, warning growl at the approach of the stranger; but as it did not move, and was apparently sick or wounded, Dick Bronson came on without hesitation, and, passing the little tent, walked with feeble, uncertain steps towards the open door.
He caught at the door-frame to keep himself from lurching forward into the house, and then found himself confronted by a tall, thin girl in nondescript attire, of which the only details he could remember were a scanty skirt, deplorably shabby, and a man’s holland jacket.
“Will you give me food and shelter for a day or two? I am done up with wandering, and my horse died the day before yesterday.”
Dick’s voice was shaken and unsteady from all that he had gone through, and he looked even more an object of pity than he supposed.
The girl’s eyes were mournful, but she only shook her head, answering regretfully—
“I’m very sorry for you, but this isn’t a hotel, and we don’t cater for strangers.”
“You will surely let me have some food. I can pay you; and can’t you see that I am starving?”
His voice was hoarse and urgent now, and again he had to lay fast hold of the door-frame to keep himself from falling.
“I will give you some food, though I’m afraid you won’t think it is very nice. But you can’t stop here, because granfer wouldn’t let you. Button End, where Joe Lipton lives, isn’t more than ten miles away. He’ll take you in for certain, and make you comfortable too. They often have people there,” the girl answered.