That surely was a disappointment to Van. He leaped vainly against the tree-trunk; he ran around it in circles; he barked and barked.
Dr. Johns in the house looked up at Mrs. Johns, who was reading aloud.
“Surely that is Van barking so loudly. I fear he will disturb the patients.”
“That’s his bark, sure,” said Betsy, dropping her work. “I’ll go out and fetch him.”
Now Betsy said that as if she were going out to bring in an ordinary, obedient little dog. It was easy to say.
She took down the whistle that she used to call him. It sounded clear and shrill across the lawn. There was no result. Van’s loud and insistent barking did not change its tone one whit.
“Here, Van! Here, Van! Come here, Vanny-Boy!”
More barking, and a little louder and fiercer.
“Van!”—this was very stern—“Come here, I say!”
More barking; then a sound of sniffling and rustling, as if Pussy had gone down one tree and scuttled up another.