. The key to Betsy's heart . hull of it. My! Look at them stripes! I aint neverhad em on me like that. Tender hands werefeeling all over Vans little legs and sides. Nownever you mind, Van, I brought sumpin to makeem feel better. The sumpin proved to be a box of soft, oilystuff that had a queer nice smell. Pete rubbedit all over the welts, taking great care not to hurtthem any more. The oily stuff had a very good taste, and Vanlicked it all off carefully. Then he snuggledclose to Pete, with his sorrowful head hidden inthe little boys shirt. Now you jest git up as dost as you like, ango ter slee
. The key to Betsy's heart . hull of it. My! Look at them stripes! I aint neverhad em on me like that. Tender hands werefeeling all over Vans little legs and sides. Nownever you mind, Van, I brought sumpin to makeem feel better. The sumpin proved to be a box of soft, oilystuff that had a queer nice smell. Pete rubbedit all over the welts, taking great care not to hurtthem any more. The oily stuff had a very good taste, and Vanlicked it all off carefully. Then he snuggledclose to Pete, with his sorrowful head hidden inthe little boys shirt. Now you jest git up as dost as you like, ango ter sleep an forgit all about it. Ill stay with 192 The Key to Betsys Heart you, and dont you feel bad. Im right here, andIll take keer of you. Mrs. Trimble called Pete for the noon-daymeal. There was no response. She had her sus-picions, however, went out, and peeped into thekennel. There they lay, fast asleep, the tousledtow head and the smooth brown one, close to-gether, the doggie still breathing in sobbing gasps,but He was home again and his collegedays were over. 193 CHAPTER XVI THEJOURNEY HOME IN the after-noon Vanskennel was putback into its oldplace, and he laythere a 11 day,sick, exhausted,and miserable. Next morninghe was turnedloose once morein the chicken-yard, and stayedoutside. Therewas no one to in-t e r f e r e ; Vanmight have 194 The Key to Betsys Heart killed the whole flock, for anything that he couldsee to hinder. He never glanced at them—•not even at the smallest broiler. He was sickof even the very thought of chickens. He laydown by the gate in the sun, and licked the stillsmarting seams on his sides. Roosters strutted proudly past him; old hensscratched placidly in the dirt all around him; theyoung ones came and went right under his verynose—it was all the same to him. One lesson wasthoroughly learned; and although for eight longmonths afterward he spent an hour every morn-ing in the yard with the chickens, never again washe known to
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