Horace really believed the dog understood him, and many were the secrets he had poured into his faithful ears. Pincher would listen, and wink, and wag his tail, but was sure to keep everything to himself.
"I tell you what it is, Pincher," Horace burst forth, "I'm not going to have you die! My own pa gave you to me, and you're the best dog that ever lived in this world. O, I didn't mean to catch your foot in that trap! Eat the chicken, there's a good fellow, and we'll cure you all up."
But Pincher couldn't eat the chicken, and couldn't be cured. His eyes grew larger and sadder, but there was the same patient look in them always. He fixed them on Horace to the last, with a dying gaze which made the boy's heart swell with bitter sorrow.
"He wanted to speak, he wanted to ask me a question," said Horace, with sobs he did not try to control.
O, it was sad to close those beautiful eyes forever, those beseeching eyes, which could almost speak.
Mrs. Clifford came and knelt on the stone hearth beside the basket, and wept freely for the first time since her husband's death.
"Dear little Pincher," said she, "you have died a cruel death; but your dear little master closed your eyes. It was very hard, poor doggie, but not so hard as the battlefield. You shall have a quiet grave, good Pincher; but where have they buried our brave soldier?"
CHAPTER X
TRYING TO GET RICH
With his own hands, and the help of Grasshopper, who did little but hold the nails and look on, Horace made a box for Pincher, while Abner dug his grave under a tree in the grove.