The daily star-mirror. (Moscow, Idaho) 1911-1939, 1915-04-02
CHAPTER VIII.
Homesick.


Pitchoune was a soldiers dog, born
in stable, of mother who had been
dear to the canteen. Michette had been
une vraie vivandiere, a real daughter
of the regiment.
Pitchoune was worthy son. He
adored the drums and trumpets He
adored the fife He adored the drills
which he was accustomed to watch
from respectable distance. He liked
Brunei, and the word had not yet been
discovered which would express how
he felt toward Monsieur lie Capitaine,
his master. His muscular little form
expressed it in, every fiber. His brown
eyes looked it until their pathos might
have melted heart of iron.
There was nothing picturesque to
Pitchoune in the Chateau dEsclignac
or in the charming room to which he
was brought. The little dog took a
flying tour around it, over sofas and
chairs, landing on the window-seat,
where he crouched He was not
wicked but he was perfectly miser-
able, and the lovely wiles of Julia Red
mond and her endearments left him
unmoved. He refused met and drink,
was Indifferent to the views from the
window, to the beautiful view of King
Rene's castle, to the tantalizing cat
summing herself against the wall He
flew about like mad leaving destruc.
ton in his wake, tugged at the leash
when they took him out for exercise.
In short, Pitchoune was a homesick,
loyesick little dog, and thereby en-
deared himself more than ever to his
new mistress. She tied a ribbon
around his neck, which he promptly
chewed off. She tried to feed him
with her own fair hands; he held his
head high, looked bored and grew thin
in the tanks.
Il think Captain de Sabron's little
dog is going to die, ma tante," she told
her aunt
"Fiddlesticks, my dear Julia! Keep
him tied up until he is accustomed to
the place. 1t won't hurt him to fast;
he will eat when he is hungry. I have
a note from Robert He has gone to
Monte Carlo"
"Ahl' breathed Miss Redmond in
differently.
She slowly went over to her piano
and played few measures of music
that were torture to Pitchoune, who
found these ladylike performances in |
strong contrast to drums and trumpets.
He felt himself as soldier degraded |
and could not understand why he
should be relegated to a salon and to
did not even know how to pull his ears
or roll him over on the rug with their
riding boots and spurs. He sat against
the window as was his habit, looking
yearning.
'Vous avez tort, ma chere," said her
aunt, who was working something less
than a thousand flowers on her tap
estry. "The chance to be a princess
and a fremont does not come twice
in a young girls life, and you know
you have only to be reasonable, Julia
: Miss Redmond's fingers wandered,
Theoretically drawn by her thoughts,
into song which she played softly
through. Pitchoune heard and turned
lis beautiful head and his soft eyes to
ler He knew that tune. Neither
lrums nor trumpets had played it, but
here was no doubt about it's being at
or soldiers. He had heard his master
sing it, hum it, many times. 1t had
;oothed his nerves when he was sick
puppy and it went with many things
If the intimate life with his master.
lie remembered it when he had dozed !
" the fire and dreamed of chasing
,ats and barking at Brunei and being c
faithful dog all around; he heard |
gain beloved voice hum it to him.
'itchoune whined and softly jumped
Iown from his seat. He put his fore
Jaws on Miss Redmond,s lap. She J