It is not to be supposed that the puppy understood the precise words, but it unquestionably understood the tone, and it again fell to licking Peter’s hand.
Peter ferreted in his wallet. He found bread and meat, and together they shared a meal. Water Peter poured into his palm, and the small creature lapped greedily. Finally it curled itself up beside him, and, despite a sore and wounded leg, dropped into a blissful and contented slumber. After a moment or so Peter followed its example. He had not, it will be guessed, slept the previous night, and he had been tramping since daybreak. So now here were two wayfarers forgetting their woes in slumber, though the puppy, it may be safely averred, was confident that his woes were over.
The sun was slanting low through the wood when Peter awakened. He opened his eyes and [Pg 242]looked around without moving. The puppy—the laziness of it!—had not stirred. But, then, who knows how many hours of puppy sleepiness it had not to make up.
“Ouf!” said Peter, stretching himself hugely.
The puppy woke, started, cringed, felt the wound in its leg, and yelped.
Peter picked it up with firm hands. “Now look here,” he said solemnly, “we don’t want any more fear. You’ve got to forget that. Do you understand? We’re going to be comrades, pals, you and I; and we’re both of us going to keep up brave hearts and cheer each other. You’ve got a wound in your leg, and I’ve got one in the region which I suppose is called the heart. You—you puppy thing! have the advantage over me, because with a bit of luck yours will mend in a few days. But anyhow, neither of us is going to whine. You’re going to bark cheerfully and wag your tail, and I’m going to write—presently, and grin as well as I know how. The world would be quite a decent place if people would let it be so, and we’re not going to add dulness to its poor old shoulders. It’s borne quite enough in its time. Have you understood?”
A small red tongue trying to reach Peter’s face testified to entire comprehension.
“Very well, then. Now come along, and as I presume you’d prefer not to walk on three legs I’ll carry you. You’re not much of a size, and only skin and bone at that.”
Peter picked up his wallet and hitched his bundle to his back, which bundle was heavier than when we first met him. It now contained, further, a packet of manuscript, a writing-tablet, and—the foolishness of the vagabond!—a dress suit. The bundle adjusted to exactly that position which made its weight of the least concern, he tucked the small animal under his arm, with careful consideration for its wounded leg, and set off to the edge of the wood and once more down the dusty road. With some shrewdness, at the first two villages he passed, he hid the puppy under his coat with a whispered injunction to lie still, an injunction which was scrupulously observed. Only by the tiniest quivering of the body and the quick beat of the heart against Peter’s arm was the smallest sign of movement and life betrayed. Villages, you perceive, were anathema to him, holding terror, [Pg 244]pain, and everything that was most unholy and unpleasant.