Wants it to eat or play
with or somethin'. Dogs get funny notions, sometimes."
Babbie laughed. "I, think he's awf'ly silly," she said. "He
couldn't have the moon, you know, could he? The moon wasn't made
for a dog."
Jed, still gazing at Ruth, drew a long breath.
"That's right," he admitted.
The child listened to the lugubrious canine wails for a moment;
then she said thoughtfully: "I feel kind of sorry for this poor
dog, though. He sounds as if he wanted the moon just dreadf'ly."
"Um . . . yes . . . I presume likely he thinks he does. But he'll
feel better about it by and by. He'll realize that, same as you
say, the moon wasn't made for a dog. Just as soon as he comes to
that conclusion, he'll be a whole lot better dog. . . . Yes, and a
happier one, too," he added, slowly.
Barbara did not speak at once and Jed began to whistle a doleful
melody. Then the former declared, with emphasis: "I think SOME
dogs are awf'ly nice."
"Um? . . . What? . . . Oh, you do, eh?"
She snuggled close to him on the bench.
"I think you're awf'ly nice, too, Uncle Jed," she confided.
Jed looked down at her over his spectacles.
"Sho! . . . Bow, wow!" he observed.
Babbie burst out laughing. Ruth turned and came toward them over
the dew-sprinkled grass.
"What are you laughing at, dear?" she asked.
"Oh, Uncle Jed was so funny. He was barking like a dog."
Ruth smiled. "Perhaps he feels as if he were our watchdog,
Babbie," she said. "He guards us as if he were."
Babbie hugged her back-step-uncle's coat sleeve.
"He's a great, big, nice old watchdog," she declared. "We love
him, don't we, Mamma?"
Jed turned his head to listen.
"Hum . . ." he drawled. "That dog up town has stopped his howlin'.
Perhaps he's beginnin' to realize what a lucky critter he is."
As usual, Babbie was ready with a question.
"Why is he lucky, Uncle Jed?" she asked.
"Why? Oh, well, he . . . he can LOOK at the moon, and that's
enough to make any dog thankful."
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Shavings, by Joseph C. Lincoln
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