“Very well, I’ll come,” cried Tom. “Bound to say he has found an adder somewhere, and wants me to kill it, though I should hardly think there are any about now,” and he set off at a trot after the dog, whose whole manner changed at this, for it went bounding off along the road, stopping every now and then to drop the bone and bark excitedly; twice over it left the meat and ran on, but at a word it came back, picked it up, and went on as before, with tail and ears erect, looking as full of business as could be.
“Isn’t this very stupid?” muttered Tom; “me running after this miserable-looking brute. He’s going to change masters, and wants me to go hunting with him—that’s what it is. Pete has knocked him about once too often. Wonder what uncle would say if I took such an object back. And old David!”
He laughed heartily as he pictured the gardener’s disgust, but somehow he could not help feeling satisfied by the dog’s show of affection.
At this point he stopped, for they had gone some distance along beside the fir-wood, and to try how the animal would behave, he called it.
The bone was dropped, and the animal rushed back to him barking excitedly, allowing itself to be patted, and then jumping up and butting its head against him in a way more eager than pleasant.
“Well, isn’t that enough?” cried Tom, giving the dog a few friendly pats, which made it dart on again barking.
“Here! hi! The bone!” and the dog dashed back, picked it up, and bolted steadily on again, till at about a mile from Heatherleigh it stopped by an opening into the wood, bounded up the sandy bank, and stood there barking as it looked back.
“Look here,” cried Tom, as he came up, and talking to the dog as if it understood him. “No treachery, old chap; Pete hasn’t sent you, has he, to lure me into the wood for another fight? Because if that’s it I’m going back. I don’t want to knock myself about again—or be knocked,” he added merrily.
There was a volley of barks here, and the dog was going to plunge into the depths of the fir-wood without the dropped bone, but a word checked it, and it picked up its mouthful and went on, while Tom hesitated at the edge.
“I’m not going any farther,” he muttered. “What’s the good?” but the dog was back, looking wilder and more excited than ever. “All right! go on then; I’m after you,” he cried. “It will be a grand run before breakfast, and there’s plenty of time.”