Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1896-12-18
THE VERMONT PHENIX. BRATTLEBORO, FRIDAY DECEME

''Yis, sorrY'-it was Mooney now,
standing sheepish, at the salute. eyer
orders was to hang the dog in an hour,
sorr; but when the min was a-trimmin'
the barrick- clock wild Christmas
Crane, sorr, they shtopped it intoirly,
sorr, an
"Grubbins was in the stablesl The dog
gave the alarml
''Yis, sorr. An he hid this divil past
mischief, sorr, till the senthry-"
"Where is the dogT
"Shure he's waitin' his doom, sorr, like
his mashter in the guard-house beyant.
It's quare they re both in trouble togither"
Mooney was apparently addressing the
universe in general, since he never would
have ventured such discourse to his
colonel-"for says Dikkon to me, this
afternoon, says he, 'Grubbins is to me,
saws he, what the shwate little lady up
yon1er is to the Colonel, says he-an' little
did he think that but for Grubbins, this
night, them devils that's gallopin away yon
might ha' been-this blissid minnit-"
Apparently by accident, MONEYS foot
touched the golden hair that fluttered from
the dead Indians belt.
"Release Dikkonl" said the Colonel
briefly. There was a queer look in the
Colonel's eyes. He was very white. "Send
him up to me to report. We shall want
all our available men before we can round
these rascals up"
Yis, sor. An Grubbins sorrp
The Colonel looked hard in silence at
Private Mooney. Then, Don't you know
how to treat the dog that saved the gar
rison9" said he.
"Yis, sorr. 1 think so, sorr," said
Private Mooney.
The smoky lamp had almost burned
itself out.
When a man has his fingers run hard
into his ears, how is it any sound can come
through When his eyes are pressed hard
against the floor, how can he see great
mountains3 Great mountains, with clouds
drifting, majestic, above them. And a
homely garden across which the cloud
shadows play. And girl standing in the
garden, with pretty, timid blue eyes up
turned. And an old yellow dog, whining
for notice, and approximately licking a
mans clenched hands and tear-drenched,
hidden face-licking and whining, and
stumbling eagerly all about a man who
lies prone in the dust, on the guard-house
floor.
"Now I'm looney, for shot" Dixon
whispers to himself through closed teeth
cor p'raps it's his ha'nt. 1 didn't know
dogs had ha'nts. They say ha'nts go
away if you speak won't speak. 1
won't open my eyes It's most as good as +
they hadn't shot him. His tongues warm
His paws rough His nails kin scratch. o
Lord Almighty Take him away Take
him away can't bear anythin' to be 80
like Grubbins, when it's only a ha'ntl"
But the wet tongue caresses. The rough
paws plead.
There are footsteps in the room, and
lanterns A dozen comrades are catching
at his hand. He has no choice but to sit
up and open his eyes.
"Wuz it becos the angels didn't have no
wings to fit yo,' Grubbins, that they fixed
yo' up that a-wayl" said Dikkon.
There, in the full lantern-light, stood
an old yellow dog. His neck was hung
with Christmas greens. A small American
flag was wired to his tail, and was wig
Cling joysomely. His eyes met his mas
ter's With one mighty leap he was in his
masters arms, against his masters breast.
"Come away, b'ys," said Private
Mooney. "Grubbins II be wantin' to exh-
plain matthers to Dikkon, and, begorra!
we'll be in the way"