As she
spends the day here and is out larking at night, she is not much of a
bedfellow after all. It is probable that I disturb her slumbers more
than she does mine. I think she is some support to me under there-a
silent wild-eyed witness and backer; a type of the gentle and harmless
in savage nature. She has no sagacity to give me or lend me, but that
soft, nimble foot of hers, and that touch as of cotton wherever she
goes, are worthy of emulation. I think I can feel her good-will
through the floor, and I hope she can mine. When I have a happy
thought I imagine her ears twitch, especially when I think of the sweet
apple I will place by her doorway at night. I wonder if that fox
chanced to catch a glimpse of her the other night when he stealthily
leaped over the fence near by and walked along between the study and
the house? How clearly one could read that it was not a little dog
that had passed there. There was something furtive in the track;
it shied off away from the house and around it, as if eying it
suspiciously; and then it had the caution and deliberation of the fox
--bold, bold, but not too bold; wariness was in every footprint.
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