I let
him stay till nearly night, and then went and spoke kind to him;
but it was no good. He'd got an awful spite ag'in me. I found
something to eat down cellar, and I made a fire outside an' roasted
some corn and potatoes. That night I slep' in the barn. I wasn't
afraid to be away from the house, for I knew it was safe enough,
with that dog in it and Lord Edward outside. For three days,
Sunday an' all, I was kep' out of this here house. I got along
pretty well with the sleepin' and the eatin', but the drinkin' was
the worst. I couldn't get no coffee or tea; but there was plenty
of milk."
"Why didn't you get some man to come and attend to the dog?" I
asked. "It was dreadful to live that way."
"Well, I didn't know no man that could do it," said Pomona. "The
dog would 'a' been too much for Old John, and besides, he was mad
about the kerosene. Sunday afternoon, Captain Atkinson and Mrs.
Atkinson and their little girl in a push-wagon, come here, and I
told 'em you was gone away; but they says they would stop a minute,
and could I give them a drink; an' I had nothin' to give it to them
but an old chicken-bowl that I had washed out, for even the dipper
was in the house, an' I told 'em everything was locked up, which
was true enough, though they must 'a' thought you was a queer kind
of people; but I wasn't a-goin' to say nothin' about the dog, fur,
to tell the truth, I was ashamed to do it. So as soon as they'd
gone, I went down into the cellar,--and it's lucky that I had the
key for the outside cellar door,--and I got a piece of fat corn-
beef and the meat-axe.
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