"Good dog! dear old fellow!"
Bob licked the caressing hands fondly. Never before had such appreciation been shown him even by the one who was lavishly bestowing it now; Bob did not seek to understand, he merely accepted and snuggled closer.
Sandy knew a later parting with the dog was inevitable, but human nature could not contemplate it then, so he bade Bob follow on and, with regained courage and determination, the two plodded down The Appointed Way with firmer tread. The shed was reached, and nestling close in a protected corner, they slept for several hours with no dream to disturb or frighten them. The storm passed; the stars shone out, and a new moon crept up from the east. At four o'clock Sandy started up and began the readjustment of life. Bob was lying across his legs and breathing evenly. The warmth had been grateful even if the weight had been a burden, and a sense of joy flooded the boy as he patted the dear, faithful head.
A few minutes later the two were again on the road. Breakfast would have been acceptable, but both boy and dog had learned that food was not a vital necessity for the day's beginning. A cup of warming fluid would have set Sandy up wonderfully, for his throat was sore and his bones ached, but The Forge was not a great distance away and it was a new sensation to have a pocket full of money.
"Bob, when we get there you and I will fill up—I swear it, Bob!"
The collie resented the oath. He was willing to share and share alike, and between friends surely there was no need for such emphasis.
A soaked wood road on an early August morning is not a cheering place, and the travellers plodded on with weakening limbs and heavy hearts. Sandy comforted himself by the thought that food would set him up, but as he thought this his stomach rejected the idea with sickening insistence. The more he thought of food the more his head ached and his throat throbbed. Bob, unhampered by physical claims, jogged along cheerfully. He was used to hope deferred, and he was appreciative of the company he was in, and the absence of rough words and well-aimed kicks and blows.
The few miles of The Way seemed doubled on the moist August morning; the rising sun merely drew more dampness from the sodden earth; it did not dry it; but at last Sandy saw the opening ahead which marked the clearing around Smith Crothers' factory, he heard the buzzing and warning of machinery—at first he thought it was the strange sensation that was gaining force in his head, but presently he righted things and plucked up courage. Two miles beyond the factory: two miles of lighter woodland and then the sharp little hill at whose foot The Forge lay!
A busy day lay before Sandy. He must eat—the thought now was positive agony—buy some necessary clothing and get into touch with some inspired fellow creature who could give him information about Massachusetts. Over and over Sandy repeated the magic word. For nearly a year it had lain dormant in his consciousness. It was his earthly heaven; the paradise of his longings and desires, but now it had suddenly taken on earthly meaning and proportions. How was he to get there? Had he money enough to carry him to that wonderland where one could exchange work for an education?
So absorbed was the half-sick boy with the problem of his near future that he passed Crothers' factory unheedingly, and was well down the last sharp little hill before he realized it. A fever was gaining control over him and making him light-headed and care-free. Massachusetts lost its agonizing doubts—everything appeared to be coming to him; even the inevitable parting with Bob became vague and blurred. Why not take Bob along with him? Why not, indeed?