But in the barn it was quiet and humming and lazy and warm.
Only Lennie was in the barn, and Lennie sat in the hay beside a packing case
under a manger in the end of the barn that had not been filled with hay.
Lennie sat in the hay and looked at a little dead puppy that lay in front of him.
Lennie looked at it for a long time, and then he put out his huge hand and stroked it, stroked it clear from one end to the other.
And Lennie said softly to the puppy, “Why do you got to get killed? You ain't so little as mice. I didn't bounce you hard.”
He bent the pup's head up and looked in its face, and he said to it,
“Now maybe George ain't gonna let me tend no rabbits, if he finds out you got killed.”
He scooped a little hollow and laid the puppy in it and covered it over with hay, out of sight;
but he continued to stare at the mound he had made.
He said, “This ain't no bad thing like I got to go hide in the brush. Oh! No. This ain't. I'll tell George I found it dead.”
He unburied the puppy and inspected it, and he stroked it from ears to tail.
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