The first fine day he was off, and during the
rest of the spring and summer we occasionally met him running about the
town with a set of fast dogs. One day I stopped and asked him how he
contented himself in such a quiet place as Fairport, and he said he was
dying to get back to New York, and was hoping that his master's yacht
would come and take him away.
Poor Dandy never left Fairport. After all, he was not such a bad dog.
There was nothing really vicious about him, and I hate to speak of his
end. His master's yacht did not come, and soon the summer was over, and
the winter was coming, and no one wanted Dandy, for he had such a bad
name. He got hungry and cold, and one day sprang upon a little girl, to
take away a piece of bread and butter that she was eating. He did not
see the large house-dog on the door sill, and before he could get away,
the dog had seized him, and bitten and shaken him till he was nearly
dead. When the dog threw him aside, he crawled to the Morrises, and Miss
Laura bandaged his wounds, and made him a bed in the stable.
One Sunday morning she washed and fed him very tenderly, for she knew he
could not live much longer.
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