“’Cause it looked so. It was sneaking along at the edge of the hedge and it was tired looking. Then, it had a piece of frayed rope tied around its neck. Oh, it was a stray dog all right,” declared the smaller boy eagerly.
“Where’d it go to?”
“Under Mr. Cummerford’s barn,” said Roger. “I bet we could coax it out, if it’s still there.”
“Not likely,” grunted Joe.
Nevertheless, he started off at once in the direction indicated by his brother, and the boys were soon at the stable of the neighbor whose place adjoined The Cedars on that side.
Oddly enough, the dog was still there. He had crawled out and lay in the sun beside the barn. He was emaciated, his eyes were red and rolling, and he had a lame front paw. The gray, frayed rope was still tied to his neck. He was a regular tramp dog.
But he allowed the boys to come close to him without making any attempt to get away. He eyed them closely, but neither growled nor wagged his tail. He was a “funny acting” dog, as Roger said.
“I bet he hasn’t had anything to eat for so long and he’s come so far that he hasn’t got the spunk to wag his tail,” Joe said, as eager as Roger now. “We’ll take him home and feed him.”
“He’s sure a stray dog, isn’t he, Joe?” cried the smaller boy. “I haven’t ever seen him before around here, have you?”
“No. And I bet his owner won’t ever come after him,” said Joe, picking up the end of the rope. “He’s just the kind of a dog we want, too. You see, he’s a bird dog, or something like that. And when he’s fed up and rested, I bet he’ll know just how to go after partridges.”