But, alas, for Billy’s faith in canine intelligence—no sooner were the little noses introduced to the saucer than wails broke forth with tenfold energy. One after another they struggled from his hands and toddled away, until the seventh sat afar in the hay, with milky nose and empty stomach protesting against the insult it had received.
Billy was sorely tried and disappointed; but he considered their youth and blindness; he reflected that even human intelligence fears what it cannot see, and that it becomes one to have much patience with blind puppy babies. So he captured them again, individually, and repeated the process several times, until each, in spite of kicks and screams, had been compelled to sniff or lap up a few drops. He did not rest till the saucer was emptied; and by that time Timothy thought they had probably taken enough to preserve life through the night, though not enough to make them comfortable and hush their wails.
Billy went home with the wails still in his ears. You may be sure, however, that it was not of seven weak, blind, crying infants that he dreamed; but of seven gallant hounds full-statured, noses cold and keen of scent, heads erect and proud—for faith and hope are brave at the age of twelve.
But like other dreams which faith and hope have dreamed at night, Billy’s fled at dawn. One-seventh of it at least could never come true. One-seventh of it was found stiff and still in the hay; and was speedily borne to a lonely little grave beneath the apple tree.
“What did I tell you?” said Timothy. “They’ll all be dead afore night, sooner’n drink from a saucer. You’d best drown ’em, Billy, and put ’em out o’ misery.”
But Billy vowed he would never drown them; that he wouldn’t hesitate if they were kittens; but he’d as soon drown a baby as a puppy. He was going to raise the six! No pains should be spared to rear a round half-dozen. Number Seven was the obstinate member of the family anyway. Billy knew him by the spot on his right ear; and didn’t he remember how much harder he kicked than the other six last night? Drown them! Never!
An expression, not of disappointment, might have been observed on Timothy’s face; although he shook his head, saying:
“Mongrel, very mongrel, Billy. It’s my advice to drown ’em.”
That head shook frequently during the day; indeed, whenever Timothy appeared in the barn door to see how Bob and Billy were succeeding. They were not to be discouraged by head-shakings; but were rather provoked to greater efforts, as perhaps, Timothy intended. Hopes prevailed over fears until evening, when it became only too evident that a pair of the puppies toddled more and more feebly as the shadows fell. Applications of milk to their nostrils, force, and even mild persuasion, so annoyed them that it seemed true kindness to let them depart in peace. They were allowed therefore to toddle into a secluded corner, where they lay down together, and from which they toddled out no more.
“It’s better so,” said Timothy. “They ain’t got nothing to go a-huntin’ and cryin’ for now. If they ain’t found what they wanted by this time, they don’t know the difference.”