“He ain’t bad. He’s good. He jest kissed me too hard!” protested the little one indignantly.
“He hurt the Kid’s face. I ain’t right sure but what he snapped at him,” said Joe Barnes.
“He didn’t hurt me! He didn’t mean to,” went on the Kid.
“Of course he didn’t,” said Ann with conviction. “Father, ye’re too hard on the dawg. Ye hadn’t oughter have kicked him.”
An obstinate look settled on Joe Barnes’s face. “Yes, I had, too. ’N’ he’ll be gittin’ more’n that, ef he don’t l’arn not to be ugly to the Kid,” he retorted harshly. Then, with an uneasy sense that, whether right or wrong, he was in the minority, he returned to the doorstep and moodily resumed his smoking. Ann called Sonny many times to come out and get his dinner. But Sonny, broken-hearted, and the ruins of all his life and love and trust tumbled about his ears, would not hear her. He was huddled in the back of his kennel, with his nose jammed down into the corner.
Two days later it happened that both Joe and Ann went down together into the field in front of 288 the house to weed the carrot patch. They left the Kid asleep in his trundle bed, in the little room off the kitchen. When they were gone, Sonny came out of his kennel and lay down in the middle of the yard, where he could keep a watchful eye on everything belonging to Joe Barnes.
It was the Kid’s invariable custom to sleep soundly for a good two hours of the early afternoon. On this afternoon, however, he broke his custom. Joe and Ann had not been ten minutes away, when he appeared in the kitchen door, his yellow hair tousled, his cheeks rosy, his plump fists trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes. His face was aggrieved, because he had woke up and found himself alone. But at the sight of Sonny the grievance was forgotten. He ran to the dog and began to maul him joyously.
His recent bitter experience raw in his heart, Sonny did not dare to respond, but lay with his nose on his paws, unstirring, while the child sprawled over him. After a few minutes this utter unresponsiveness chilled even the Kid’s enthusiasm. He jumped up and cast his eyes about in search of some diversion more exciting. His glance wandered out past the barn and up the pasture toward 289 the edge of the forest. A squirrel, sitting on a black stump in the pasture, suddenly began jumping about and shrilly chattering. This was something quite new and very interesting. The Kid crawled through the bars and started up the pasture as fast as his sturdy little legs could carry him.
The squirrel saw him coming, but knowing very well that he was not dangerous, held his ground, bouncing up and down on the stump in vociferous excitement. When the Kid was within three feet of him, he gave a wild “K-r-r-r-r!” of derision, and sprang to another stump. With eyes dancing and eager little hands outstretched, the Kid followed––again and again, and yet again––till he was led to the very edge of the wood. Then the mocking imp in red fur whisked up an ancient hemlock, and hid himself, in silence, in a high crotch, tired of the game.