Tip licked his master’s face in reply, but did not appear to understand the command to be a good dog; for when the rope was put around his neck he began to howl dolefully, and his cries went straight to Tim’s heart, inflicting as much pain as a blow on his flesh.
With the tears dropping very fast from his eyes, Tim tied Tip in the narrow place which was to serve him as home, at least until Captain Pratt’s intentions concerning him could be known, and then returned to the cabin as the steward had told him.
But as he started to go Tip looked up at him so piteously, uttering a whine that sounded in Tim’s ears so sad, that he ran back, knelt down by his dumb friend, and kissed him over and over again, saying, as he did so:
“Do be good, Tip. You don’t know how bad it makes me feel to have to leave you here, an’ I’d do anything in the world to have you go with me every step I take; but you’ve got to stay here, Tip, an’ I’ve got to leave you.”
Then, as the dog whined again, he cried, passionately: “Oh, what lonesome things we are, Tip! an’ we ain’t got anybody but each other in all this wide world;” and, with both arms around Tip’s neck, he gave way to a perfect flood of tears.
“Now, do be good, Tip, an’ don’t make me feel so bad,” he said, as he wiped his eyes on the dog’s head, and prepared once more to leave him.
It seemed almost as if the dog understood what his master had said, for he stopped whining, and made no sound, but kept wagging his little stump of a tail till Tim did not dare to look at him any longer.
He turned resolutely away, and, with eyes still blinded with tears, walked down into the cabin, where he was soon busily engaged in the not very pleasant occupation of cleaning knives.