And I just heard some fellows talking about Kentucky up at the store, and wondered how far away it was.
Much to my relief, the conversation was ended. The days dragged by.
A week passed and still no word about my dogs. Terrible thoughts ran through my mind.
Maybe my dogs were lost; the train had a wreck; someone stole my money; or perhaps the mailman lost my order.
Then, at the end of the second week, the notice came.
My grandfather told me that he had talked to Jim Hodges that day.
He was going into town in about a week and I could ride in with him to pick up my dogs.
Again I thanked my grandfather. I started for home.
Walking along in deep thought, I decided it was time to tell my father the whole story.
I fully intended to tell him that evening. I tried several times, but somehow I couldn’t.
I wasn’t scared of him, for he never whipped me. He was always kind and gentle, but for some reason, I don’t know why, I just couldn’t tell him.
That night, snuggled deep in the soft folds of a feather bed, I lay thinking.
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