My master paused, and leaning both elbows on the stone parapet, stared at the moon. “Suppose it should come,” he murmured—“perfect happiness—in the right way—the only way it could come now, is a wrong way.”
His voice was frightfully sad and perplexed. How I longed to comfort him, but I was only a dog—and moreover, I didn’t know all his troubles. I was pretty sure they weren’t money troubles.
I did all I could. I jumped up, and licked his hand.
“Boy,” he said, withdrawing his gaze from the moon to look at me, “you’re the greatest comfort I have.”
Wasn’t I proud and happy! I almost wriggled myself out of my body.
With a beautiful smile, but a heavy sigh, he turned, and we started toward home which we did not reach without a further adventure.
CHAPTER VII
THE WOMAN BY THE RIVER
As all travelled dogs know, Riverside Drive, which I claim is the loveliest stretch of avenue in New York, has, at intervals, a sunburst of a park. Those strips of park are delicious for my race. Did you ever notice a sober, city dog trotting behind his master till an open square is reached? If he is a normal dog, his legs begin to dance, and he begs permission to have a scamper.