At bedtime he would be wrapped in his own blanket that smelled of home, to sleep away the long nights. At the first crack of dawn he would stretch himself, yawn, and walk from the foot of Pete’s bed up to where the little boy’s tousled head lay on the pillow. There he would paw at the coverlet until Pete woke up, and let him inside for one more delicious snooze, before it was time for Pete to be out helping his father with the chores.
But this was “College,” and the life he led was quite secondary to the lessons which he was there to learn.
Mr. Trimble returned three days after Van’s arrival. He had been to Boston, and had come back, bringing with him another dog, who was chained in front of a kennel just as Van had been, and who went through the same period of revolt and frenzy.
Mr. Trimble came over and looked at Van, and nodded approvingly as he noted the points of the thoroughbred.
“No doubt about your breeding, young fellow, but how anybody ever let such a dog as you are run wild, beats me. Why, you ought to be on the benches at the shows, taking prizes. Well, you’ll have to mend your manners; if you stay with me. But I’ll give you two or three days more to git acquainted. And then, we’ll see what can be done with you.”
“You’ll let him stay with me nights, won’t you, Pop?” Pete was hovering about anxiously.
“Land, yes, ef you want him. It won’t do him no hurt, and his trainin’ll only take daytimes. He’s a house-coddled pet anyway, and spoiled, like they always are. Hm! I guess his lessons’ll surprise him some.”
“You won’t hurt him too hard, Pop?”
“Pete, you’ll never make a trainer. You’re too soft-hearted, like yer Ma. You’ll make a better husband than me mebbe, but I’ll hev to learn you another trade. Come, we’ve got to move them kennels over to the other side of the yard, where they’ll git the sun in the cold weather.”
One bright cool morning, Mr. Trimble, after Pete had gone to school, came out to Van’s kennel, and unfastened one end of his chain, still keeping him confined.