Dr. Johns smiled. Always Van appeared to get the best of what was offered.
“I shall be glad if you look after him nights, my boy. He’s a house-pet, and a kennel will be hard on him at the very best.”
Dr. Johns stooped down and took Vanny-Boy’s head in his two hands. The little fellow shivered with a fear of something about to happen, and looked up, with eyes big and questioning.
“Good-by, little Van. Be brave, and learn your lessons.”
Dr. Johns turned away, and hurried off down the road to the station, so that no one should see his mouth quiver.
And the other end of Van’s chain was in the hands of little Pete, and Van was left behind!
He stood still, dazed and astonished, until he saw Dr. Johns disappear around a corner; then the truth flashed upon him. He had been deserted!
With a leap he started to follow, but the chain held him. He bounded from side to side, he jerked, he tugged. He barked, he howled, he yelped, he whined, he begged. It was all useless. The chain held, although it took all Pete’s strength. All the other dogs set up a howl of sympathy. They had been through the same sorrow, and not one of them but had grieved over just such a cruel desertion. This was the College of the Deserted—the Masterless Dogs.
Pete tried to comfort him, but he would have none of it. His grief was too new and poignant. He struggled away, and tried to break the hated leash. Howl after howl went up. The little dog who held up such a brave head in the face of dangers was prostrated by sorrow. But this was more than sorrow; it was anguish at a betrayal.
“Better chain him to the kennel, Honey,” said Mrs. Trimble. “He might get away. Here, I’ll help you. My! but he’s a strong little feller!”