In the midst of my trouble I heard a soft voice calling, "Joe! Joe!"
It was Miss Laura's voice, but I felt as if there were weights on my
paws, 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 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?"