“That’s all right; neither am I, I guess. Good-by. Good-by, Mr. Osgood! And thanks for letting Jerry off.”
“Good-by,” echoed the others.
The Four turned down the walk to the gate. Barry, who during the proceedings had been manifestly uneasy, now pricked his ears and watched Dan’s departure with alert interest. Once he turned and looked inquiringly at Mr. Osgood. The farmer returned his look with a smile and a wink. Perhaps Barry understood that, like Jerry, he was free to choose for himself. For after one indecisive moment he gave a bark and flew down the walk as hard as he could go. He caught Dan at the gate, and leaped ecstatically about him. Dan, his lips trembling, waved him back and tried to tell him to go home. But the words wouldn’t come. Bob and Nelson and Tom watched, silently sympathetic. Barry ran into the road and turned, his tail wagging fast, as though asking, “What are you waiting for? Aren’t we all here?”
“Barry,” muttered Dan miserably, “I can’t take you, old chap. You aren’t my dog any more. You—you’ll have to go home.”
Then footsteps crunched on the gravel, and Dan turned to find Mr. Osgood smiling kindly into his eyes.
“I gave him his choice,” said the farmer, “and he’s made it. He’s yours if you want him, my boy.”
Three hours later the Four—or should I say the Five?—were standing on the deck of the little steamer watching the Long Island shore recede across the waters of the Sound. The boat’s nose was pointed toward New York—and school and study and hard work. But every face there showed happiness and contentment. For, being healthy and sensible, they knew that study and hard work stand just as much for enjoyment as do vacation days. And of all in the group there on the deck the happiest was Dan, unless—well, unless, possibly, it was Barry!
THE END
BY RALPH HENRY BARBOUR.