Our town and civic duty

by Jane Eayre Fryer

But rebuffs and kicks had brought a faint light of distrust and caution to his eyes, and he began to crawl into the weeds along the roadside when he saw any one approaching; and when he came to a farmhouse he would stop at the gate, ready to run at the first hostile move.

Sometimes people set well-fed home dogs on him. When these were his size, or smaller, he would back away with teeth half-bared defensively. He made no move to fight. It was not in his nature to fight unless he had some one to defend. When the dogs were larger than himself, he would run as well as the limp in his leg would allow.

Twice he had been overtaken by dogs—huge, fierce fellows that mauled him without mercy, while their owners encouraged them. But always they had allowed the little dog to go with his life. Even dogs have codes of honor.

It was just at sunset one evening when he limped into the yard where little Nellie was playing. He gazed into her eyes with a pleading, homesick look, and she smiled. Then she threw her arms around his neck and caressed him tenderly. He fawned on her in a very ecstasy of joy, and his scarred, thin little body wagged from end to end. And so the pact was sealed. He was Nellie’s dog and she was his mistress.

There was just a trace of Airedale blood in his veins, and an Airedale dog always selects some one person as the idol of his undying love and faithfulness. Nellie was to him the one person in the world.

II

Nellie’s father was a big man, and abrupt. He became excited when he saw her playing with the little dog, and dragged her away. He declared that she might have been bitten by the cur.

In spite of the little girl’s protests, he kicked the dog from the yard and stoned him, sending him, a whimpering, heart-broken little piece of misery, limping down the road.

Nellie cried and declared that she had always wanted a doggy and that no doggy but the little stray dog would do. But her father was firm; he would have no stray dogs about the place; there was no telling what the dog was, or had been—he might be dangerous; for the father had not looked into the little dog’s eyes as had Nellie.