Lumberlegs also knew quite well when Waddles was in his retreat, for though he did not care to venture down the steep stone steps because his back legs were rather sprawly, he would walk past the door growling softly, with bristling hair, and then give a broken bark and, turning, kick grass into the air in the direction of the cellar with a gesture of contempt.
The two weeks that followed were ones of trial for Anne. She was in perpetual fear that the dogs would meet, for she grew more sure every day that “making-up” was out of the question.
Even though Lumberlegs was in his yard, Waddles would not follow her to the village. He forsook his friends along the route upon whom he had never before failed to call daily, sturdily going the rounds alone if Anne omitted her walk.
It was not until he ceased to follow her that Anne fully realized what a friend she had lost, one who was self-reliant, faithful, and wise, giving no trouble, asking nothing beyond the trifling care his rare ailments needed, and the affection his intelligence won. For Waddles knew the speech of House People as well as Anne interpreted Heart of Nature’s language, and he and his mistress had a perfect, mutual understanding.
If Anne, wearing her common hat, said, “Do you want to go to the post-office?” he would give a cheer and start off down the hill before her, waiting on the office steps; while if she said store or market instead of post-office, he would wait by the respective doors.
If, on the contrary, she wore a different hat or said, “Not to-day, Waddlekins, I’m going to town,” he might sometimes go with her to the gate but never farther.
His own voice, too, had different shades of meaning, even beyond the others of his vocal race, for if any dog has speech it is the beagle hound.
While he was on guard no one could enter the gate, two hundred yards from the house, unsignalled, either from his post on the porch corner or his summer night quarters in the wide window of the upper hall.
For a twofoot whom he did not at once recognize he had a bark of inquiry; for a total stranger a querulous gruff note of warning; for a friend the inquiring tone quickly broke into rapid barks, like voluble talk; while for animals his voice had a wholly different key, starting in a series of monotonous yaps, until, if at liberty, he would sniff the air, catch the trail, and follow it in full cry.