and I could not go to her.

"Joe! Joe!" she said, again. She was going up the walk to the stable,
holding up a lighted lamp in her hand. She had on a white dress, and I
watched her till she disappeared in the stable. She did not stay long in
there. She came out and stood on the gravel. "Joe, Joe, Beautiful Joe,
where are you? You are hiding somewhere, but I shall find you." Then she
came right to the spot where I was. "Poor doggie," she said, stooping
down and patting me. "Are you very miserable, and did you crawl away to
die? I have had dogs to do that before, but I am not going to let you
die, Joe." And she set her lamp on the ground, and took me in her arms.

I was very thin then, not nearly so fat as I am now, still I was quite
an armful for her. But she did not seem to find me heavy. She took me
right into the house, through the back door, and down a long flight of
steps, across a hall, and into a snug kitchen.

"For the land sakes, Miss Laura," said a woman who was bending over a
stove, "what have you got there?"

"A poor sick dog, Mary," said Miss Laura, seating herself on a chair.
"Will you please warm a little milk for him? And have you a box or a
basket down here that he can lie in?"

"I guess so," said the woman; "but he's awful dirty; you're not going to
let him sleep in the house, are you?"

"Only for to-night. He is very ill. A dreadful thing happened to him,
Mary." And Miss Laura went on to tell her how my ears had been cut off.