The dog led him at once to the cellar window, where he dug at the earth, and whined and cried harder than ever. At first I did not hear him,—I think I had become unconscious,—but at last I did rouse myself enough to utter a scream which Uncle Will heard. He did not recognize my voice,—indeed he said afterwards that it sounded like nothing human,—but he resolved at any rate to see what it was.
He went to the kitchen door to unlock it, but the dog went wilder than ever, seeming to think I was behind that window. However, Uncle Will came in, and on his unlocking the cellar door, I fell on the floor in a heap, as if dead.
Uncle Will was awfully frightened; he took me up in his arms—big as I was—and ran with me back to his house, which was not far away.
It was hours before I was fully myself, months before I recovered from the illness caused by the cold I had taken, and years before I got back my courage and could bear to be alone—especially at night, when all the horrors of that time would come up before me as vividly as on that dreadful night.
“How dreadful!” said Kristy in a low tone, as Mrs. Wilson paused.
“I needn’t point the moral to you, Kristy,” Mrs. Wilson said, “but I assure you I learned my lesson well; and that’s why I keep my dear little dog’s body in a glass case. I cherished him beyond everything as long as he lived, and couldn’t bear to give him up when he died at a good old age.
“Now,” said Mrs. Wilson, “I must really go. It has stopped raining, Kristy, and I have paid mamma’s debt.”
“No, indeed!” cried Kristy. “You have told me lovely stories, and mamma owes me two to pay for them!”
“That’s a curious way of calculating,” said Mrs. Wilson, laughing; “do you expect to be paid twice for everything?”