not lie still. There was something the matter
with Fleetfoot, too. He was pawing the ground and whinnying, and
looking, not after Mr. Harry, but toward the log building.

"Joe," said Miss Laura, "what is the matter with you and Fleetfoot? Why
don't you stand still? Is there any stranger about?" and she peered out
of the buggy.

I knew there was something wrong somewhere, but I didn't know what it
was; so I stretched myself up on the step of the buggy, and licked her
hand, and barking, to ask her to excuse me, I ran off to the other side
of the log hut. There was a door there, but it was closed, and propped
firmly up by a plank that I could not move, scratch as hard as I liked.
I was determined to get in, so I jumped against the door, and tore and
bit at the plank, till Miss Laura came to help me.

"You won't find anything but rats in that ramshackle old place,
Beautiful Joe," she said, as she pulled the plank away; "and as you
don't hurt them, I don't see what you want to get in for. However, you
are a sensible dog, and usually have a reason for having your own way,
so I am going to let you have it."

The plank fell down as she spoke, and she pulled open the rough door
and looked in. There was no window inside, only the light that streamed
through the door, so that for an instant she could see nothing. "Is any
one here?" she asked, in her clear, sweet voice. There was no answer
except a low, moaning sound. "Why, some poor creature is in trouble,
Joe," said Miss Laura, cheerfully. "Let us see what it is," and she
stepped inside.

I shall never forget seeing my dear Miss Laura going into that wet and
filthy log house, holding up her white dress in her hands, her face a
picture of pain and horror. There were two rough stalls in it, and in
the first one was tied a cow, with a calf lying beside her. I could
never have believed, if I had not seen it with my own eyes, that an
animal could get so thin as that cow was. Her backbone rose up high and
sharp, her hip bones stuck away out, and all her body seemed shrunken
in. There were sores on her sides, and the smell from her stall was
terrible. Miss Laura gave one cry of pity, then with a very pale face
she dropped her dress, and seizing a little penknife from her pocket,
she hacked at the rope that tied the cow to the manger, and cut it so
that the cow could lie down. The first thing the poor cow did was to
lick her calf, but it was quite dead. I used to think Jenkins' cows