Reference has been made to Bob’s grin. When he was tickled over anything his whole upper lip curled back, exposing a row of shining white teeth and brilliant red gums. Thus, grinning at one end and wagging at the other, he tried to show his pleasure. However, it was not a becoming face that he made when he grinned, and many people, not used to his oddity, mistook it for a snarl, and were afraid. As soon as they came to know him, they understood what a good-natured fellow he was.
Indeed, a more good-natured dog never lived. Also, never lived a dog queerer and more human. No one made his acquaintance but to like him, and he was suffered to do things that would have earned rebuke for any dog but him.
When Ned was absent at school, sometimes Bob would become lonely, and would start out to find his master. In manner unknown—but through his nose, or ears, or eyes—he had discovered the room in which Ned was caged during school hours, and there, in his quest, he would betake himself.
If the door was open, in he would saunter, and sniff down the aisle; and perhaps the first hint to Ned of Bob’s presence would be that sturdy head laid, amid titters, upon his knee.
As a rule Ned was asked by the teacher to escort Bob to the door again. But occasionally Mr. Bob would choose, rather, to climb into an empty seat, and there, by quietly curling for sleep, make amends for his intrusion. In this case he was allowed to remain, and the room speedily forgot that he was there.
At the stroke of the bell, Bob always promptly arose and trotted out.
Whether or not he learned anything of mathematics or physiology or grammar during his snooze may be a mooted question; but Ned and friends claimed that he did.
When it happened that Bob did not find Ned’s seat occupied, he hopped into it, and there sat bolt upright, as if to fill the vacancy, until Ned returned. Once in a while he would refuse to get out—and then would be hauled down by the collar, and led in disgrace to the door.
With all the wisdom got in school, nevertheless Bob did many foolish tricks. For instance, he should have known better than to bury pancakes in the fall, expecting to dig them up and eat them in the winter! When the pancakes were buried, they and the ground were soft together; but when they were sought again, a month or so later, they came up—if at all—in flinty shreds scarcely to be told from the dirt. Yet Bob seemed not to foresee this; and even during winter thaws he persisted in scratching small holes and placing in them buckwheat cakes, for use in the future!
He so loved to bury things that his nose was nearly always crowned with a little ridge of soil. Once he brought home a five-pound roast of beef, which a neighbor had got at the butcher’s with intent to have it for dinner. Bob buried it in the garden, and for a week and more regularly uncovered it, took a few delicious gnaws, and covered it up again.