One autumn day, just before leaving her country home for the city, Miss Benson was obliged to return to town for a half day. “Good-by, dear Douglas,” she said in her usual way. “I shall come home soon,” and the unwilling creature followed her with his brown eyes, and whined that he could not go also. Later in the afternoon he was let out of doors, and soon disappeared.
When Miss Benson returned her first word was, “Douglas! Douglas!” but there was no response to her call. He had followed her, had lost the trail, and had gone too far to find his way back to his home. In vain she called for her pet. She left the door ajar, hoping at nightfall she should hear the patter of his feet, or his eager bark to come in, but he did not come. She wondered where he slept, if he slept at all; thought a dozen times in the night that she heard him crying at the door; imagined him moaning for her, or, supperless and exhausted, lying down by the roadside, to wait for the sunrise to begin his fruitless journey.
Douglas had become that sad thing, a lost dog. He belonged to nobody now, and both owner and dog were desolate. Miss Benson could scarcely go about her work. She spent days in searching, and hired others to search, but all was useless. For weeks she thought Douglas might possibly come back. If she could know that he was dead, that even would be a consolation; but to fear he was cold and hungry, to realize that the world is all too indifferent to animals, unless perchance they are our own, to imagine he might be in some medical college, the victim of the surgeon’s knife,—all this was bitter in the extreme. Weeping and searching did no good, and finally the inevitable had to be accepted, though the sadness in Miss Benson’s heart did not fade out.
As is ever the case, those of us who have lost something precious become more tender and helpful in a world full of losses. Miss Benson welcomed and cared for every stray animal that she found, perhaps never quite giving up the hope that she would see gentle, great-hearted Douglas again.
And what of Douglas? He ran fast at first, eager to overtake the one to whom he was passionately devoted. She had been gone so long that he soon lost track of her footsteps, and then with a dazed look he began to howl, hoping that she would hear his voice. He lay down to rest, but it was growing dark and he was hungry.
He stopped at a large house and the servants drove him away. He was unused to this, but he dragged himself along to the next place. Here a kind woman gave him something to eat, and would have made him welcome for the night, but he would not stay after he had eaten. He must needs wander on, hoping to find his home and his beloved mistress. All night long he tramped, lying down now and then by the side of the road to rest a few minutes.
The next day was a hard one. He was beginning to realize that he was lost. He ran more slowly, looked eagerly at every passer-by, and seemed half demented. At night he stopped at a home where the lights had just been lighted, and some pretty children seemed flitting from room to room. He whined at the back door.
A flaxen-haired little girl opened it. “Oh, mamma,” said the child, “here is a big black dog, and I know he is hungry! May I feed him?”
“No,” replied the woman, “take a whip and send him off. I will have no lean stray dogs about this house.”
“But he looks hungry, mother,” pleaded little Emma Bascomb, “and I know he won’t bite.”