“Is Tige dead, John?” she asked, taking the chair he proffered her.
“Yes, Fannie.”
She was silent for a few minutes, then began to cry.
“Don’t cry, Fannie,” said John.
“I know it’s foolish, but I can’t help it; you know he saved my life.”
“That he did,” said the captain; “for I took you from his jaws, when he brought you to the shore. I would cry as much as I had a mind to.”
“I’m sure,” said Mrs. Rhines, “I don’t see what anybody could be made of, not to feel bad to lose such a good creature as Tige, even if he was a dumb animal. I used to feel just as safe with him, when Captain Rhines was at sea, and I left alone with the children, as though the men folks were round. When Captain Rhines was about home, or we had a hired man, he would lie under the big maple, or, if it was cold weather, in his house; but the very first night I was left alone, he would (without my saying a word to him) come right into the house, and, after I went to bed, stretch himself out before my bedroom door; it seemed as if he knew.”
“Knew! I guess he did know,” said John; “only think how long he smelt us before we got here, when Charlie and I came from Portland, and how glad he was to see us! I thought he would have jumped out of his skin.”
John persuaded Fannie to stop to dinner, as Tige was to be buried in the afternoon.