Joshua, the dog, raced on before in the highest state of ecstasy, but occasionally raced back again, as if to be sure that his large family were following him safely without disappearing in the woods to the right or the left.
Mr. Force knew perfectly well that that dog was going to give him more trouble and embarrassment on land and sea than all his party twice told; that it would be the unfailing cause of rows and rumpuses, on trains and boats, and that might end in Joshua being cast off, or lost, or killed.
But what could he do?
Talk of your henpecked husband, indeed! He is not half so common, or half so helpless, as your chickpecked father.
Wynnette had promised Joshua that he should never be left behind again, and she said that it would be base to deceive and betray a poor dog. Wynnette said the dog must come, and he came.
When they came in sight of Chincapin Creek little Elva put her head out of the window and gazed, and continued to gaze, fondly, if silently, on the spot so full of pleasant, childish memories, until they had crossed the bridge, and left the place behind. Then, with a little, involuntary sigh, she drew in her head and sat back in her seat.
Wynnette mocked her.
“Why don’t you say, ‘Adieu, blest scenes of my innocent infancy! Virtue and simplicity,’ and so on and so on!”
“Oh, Wynnette! How can you?” exclaimed Elva, almost in tears.
“I can’t! I never could! It isn’t in my line! But why don’t you?” mocked the girl, raising her black eyebrows.