Unfortunately, she lived under a curse. The only pup of what should have been an abundant litter, a bad enough thing if considered by itself, Precious Sue had been born on a wild night at the wrong time of the moon. Therefore, she had a streak of wildness that must assert itself whenever the moon was dark. If she were run at such times, she must surely meet disaster. But as Precious Sue met and fell in beside them, Harky thought only of his dream.
"Do you think Old Joe will prowl tonight?" he asked his father.
"What you drivin' at, Harky?"
"I was thinking Old Joe might prowl, and come here, and Sue will run him up that sycamore in the woodlot, and—"
"Harky!" Mun thundered. "Heed what you say!"
"Huh?" Harky asked bewilderedly.
Mun shook a puzzled head. "I can't figger you, Harky. I can't figger you a'tall. This is the dark of the moon!"
"I forgot," Harky said humbly.
"I reckon you ain't allus at fault for what runs on in that head of yours."
"Hadn't you ought to tie her up?" Harky questioned.