And so boy and dog, muddy and fagged, came to the end of the hill, to the edge of the town and the first house, known as Stagg's Place, where room and board could be obtained for a consideration!
Sandy, with that growing nausea, made his way toward it, and Bob, with his sixth sense serving him well, pricked up his ears, put on more style of carriage and estimated his chances at the back door. But at that critical moment an excited old gentleman dashed out of Stagg's Place and gripping a walking stick madly waved it on high. Spying Sandy he sensed probable help.
"Boy!" he shouted lustily, "stop that man! It's—it's life or death. Stop him! Send him back and I'll give you a dollar."
Sandy rallied his last remnants of strength and turned about. Off in the distance he saw the mounted postman jogging on his way toward the village and he dashed ahead! Bob, with his smouldering puppy nature coming unexpectedly to his help, scampered on, crazily barking and yelping as he had never permitted himself to do in the guarded past.
The postman, at last, heard the commotion and stopped short.
"You are to go back!" Sandy panted; "it's life or—death."
The horse was turned about and in the mud raised by the retreating hoofs the boy and dog followed wearily.
Whatever the matter was that had caused the confusion, it was adjusted by the time Sandy again reached the house. The old gentleman, muttering about a weak leg and a degenerate rascal, was sitting on the piazza fanning himself with a panama hat, while a thin, eager-eyed woman urged him to calm himself before worse harm was done.
"The Lord will provide, Levi," she was saying, as Sandy and his dog approached. "His ways are not our ways, but we might as well give credit where credit is due. His leadings are generally clearer sighted than ours be, having—as you might say—wider scope to scan." Then she glanced at the dirty, worn pair on the steps.
"Shoo!" she ejaculated, but neither dog nor boy stirred.