I have not said that old Dido was with me, but, since she was my
constant companion this was to be expected. She had followed me to the
glade, and was lying with her head on the end of my skirt, at peace,
since she was with me. Away from me or my grandmother or Miss Champion
she would whimper and shiver like a lonely old ghost in a world of
living things.
Suddenly as I sat there, thinking, she crept close to me with a low
growl. I had not heard a sound except the songs of the birds and the
stir of the south wind in the leaves that was like the placid flowing of
waters. I put my hand on her head and she bristled under my hand, but
she was quiet. She would always be quiet with my hand upon her head.
I wondered if it were a wild cat or a weazel or a stoat that had so
excited her. But I was not long in suspense. There came a murmur of
voices and a man's laugh. Then there were footsteps. I had a vague
alarm. Who could it be that walked in our woods and set Dido bristling?
She was a gentle creature and knew her friends; and the people about
were all kind and friendly to "Master Luke's" old dog.
I threw a fold of my skirt over her head to keep her from hearing, and,
with my hand on her collar, I moved as close as I could to the leafy
screen that separated the glade from the wood-path.
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