“At present; but not for long, I hope.”
“Quiet, Bruno!” she said, to hide her confusion. “He has been hurt very much. I brought him out here for a change.”
“Lucky dog,” he said; and then in dread lest it might be considered an impertinence: “How was he hurt? Run over—a kick?”
“No, poor fellow; somebody must have struck him a terrible blow on the head.”
“Indeed! That’s bad. Let me look at him. I understand a good deal about dogs.”
“You do?” cried Gertrude eagerly.
“Oh, yes. I have been in the wilds, sometimes for months, with no other companion than a dog. May I come through? There is quite a gap here.”
“A gap? Then let me bring Bruno to you,” she said hastily.
He smiled as he said to himself, “this is a strange position;” and he appreciated the maiden delicacy which prompted the words, and stood religiously on the field side of the hedge as Gertrude coaxed the dog to follow her.
Bruno rose painfully and walked to the gap, where he suddenly seemed to revive, for he growled fiercely, set up his ruff, and began to look eagerly about, snuffling loudly the while.