Eily sat motionless, looking eagerly up into his face, and her eyes sparkled in the starlight.
She was waiting for her master’s invitation to go along with him. One word would have been enough to have sent her wild with joy.
“Where can he be going?” she was asking herself. “Not surely to the forest at this time of night! But wherever he goes, I’ll go too.”
“Eily,” said the boy, seriously, even sadly, “I’m going away, far, far away.”
The dog listened, never moving ear nor tail.
“And, Eily, you cannot come with me, dear, dear doggie.”
Eily threw herself at his feet, or rather fell; she looked lost in grief.
He patted her kindly.
This only made matters worse. She thought he was relenting, that his words had been only spoken in fun. She jumped up, sprang on his shoulder, licked his ear, then went gambolling round and round him, and so made her way to the gate.
It was very apparent, however, that all these antics were assumed, there was no joy at the dog’s heart. She was but trying to overcome her master’s scruples to take her along with him.