I began to laugh. I was so happy I couldn’t help it. “Don’t be too humble,” I said, “we may have another falling out.”
Gringo was quite shocked, and stopped short.
“Why not,” I said gaily. “Fight, and forgive, and make up—fight, and forgive, and make up. That’s life.”
“I don’t believe in fighting,” said Gringo soberly.
“Nor do I,” said I, “but if fights come, don’t dodge them. Dogs aren’t perfect, nor are human beings.”
“My boss don’t fight his wife,” said Gringo.
“Nor does mine,” I retorted, “but sometimes they are just a little sharp with each other. Then they kiss and make up. You and I have kissed, and made up. I don’t want you to go mourning all your days, because you once snapped at me. It was partly my fault. I got on your dog nerves.”
Gringo grinned at me. Then he said, “You’re a comic dog—trouble runs off you like water off a duck’s back—Good land! how I’ve missed you. Come on, let’s trot a bit. It won’t hurt you.”
“Cows first,” I said when we struck Green Hill, and I limped into the stable. I loved Mr. Bonstone’s Jerseys, and the big fragrant creatures, chewing their cud, boo-hooed at me, for they knew I liked them, and they had heard of my adventures.
I went from stall to stall and greeted them, then rejoined Gringo, who was fussing about the stable door because I was so long.