My heart suddenly began to beat
fast and loud. I could not reply for a minute or two. I nearly fancied
I had lost the power of utterance. Just at this moment a dog barked. Was
it Lassie's bark--my brother's collie?--an ugly enough brute, with a
white, ill-looking face, that my father always kicked whenever he saw it,
partly for its own demerits, partly because it belonged to my brother. On
such occasions, Gregory would whistle Lassie away, and go off and sit
with her in some outhouse. My father had once or twice been ashamed of
himself, when the poor collie had yowled out with the suddenness of the
pain, and had relieved himself of his self-reproach by blaming my
brother, who, he said, had no notion of training a dog, and was enough to
ruin any collie in Christendom with his stupid way of allowing them to
lie by the kitchen fire. To all which Gregory would answer nothing, nor
even seem to hear, but go on looking absent and moody.
Yes! there again! It was Lassie's bark! Now or never! I lifted up my
voice and shouted "Lassie! Lassie! for God's sake, Lassie!" Another
moment, and the great white-faced Lassie was curving and gambolling with
delight round my feet and legs, looking, however, up in my face with her
intelligent, apprehensive eyes, as if fearing lest I might greet her with
a blow, as I had done oftentimes before.
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