"Send the dogs back," I said.
She did so, with a question in her eyes. I took her arm and led her down toward the turn of the lane.
"Nokomis will never come back, Joy," I said.
"Why?" she exclaimed. Then she saw the answer in my eyes, and she grasped my arm, as if she were about to fall.
"Oh, don't say—Nokomis isn't dead?" she whispered.
"It was my fault, Joy; I should have had her taken away out of danger. But I was too late."
I took her to the bed of ferns and pointed to the dead collie still lying there.
She ran to the spot and looked, aghast. Then, dropping to the ground, she took Nokomis' head tenderly and laid it in her lap.
"Oh, Nokomis, Nokomis!" she mourned, her little hand smoothing the ruffled neck affectionately.
I told her how it had happened, and she gazed at me, dry-eyed, till I had finished. Then she put the collie's beautiful head down, straightened out the body and finally broke into sobs that shook her whole body. I let her cry it out.