"He's gone after his dog," he said. "Peerless has run away!"
VII
THE CRISIS IN 25
He prayeth best who loveth best
All things, both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us
He made and loveth all.
Something was wrong with little Tommy Earle. Consequently, something was wrong with the whole Earle plantation. Frank, the Earle dog—a stately Irish setter, rich in the wisdom and devotion of the nobly bred bird dog—Frank had sensed it yesterday afternoon. The boy had not come out of the house until long after dinner. Then he had strolled off forlornly and in silence toward the garage. His frowsy head had been bowed as if he were studying his own little shadow at his feet. His wide blue eyes—they were exactly on a level with the dog's anxiously inquiring ones—had had in them a suggestion of pain and helplessness, of dependence on things bigger than himself.