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After a while, he thought to himself, "I'll give that old mouser a scare and I'll do it before little Luke can hinder me." So he got up and walked silently around to the corner of the porch. With one foot raised, he stopped scarcely three feet from Old Klaws, who was sitting on the end of the top step. Just as the old cat finished his story, Old Boze sprang toward him with a loud, "Bow-wow-wow."
We all trust you. You may come to see me as often as you like, but be careful not to leave any trail near my nest. I don't want Old Boze nosing around here. And when you come along with any of the house people, just go right by and don't look this way. I am more afraid of Old John the Indian than of anyone else. He looked right at me the other day and I was sure he saw me.
He had a thirst for knowledge, of which he possessed not a little, but was somewhat pedantic. Madam de Boze much resembled him; she was lively and affected. I sometimes dined with them, and it is impossible to be more awkward than I was in her presence. Her easy manner intimidated me, and rendered mine more remarkable.
It was Madame's voice I heard first, in a kind of frightened cry. "Mon Dieu, Monsieur Auguste, you will not part with that!" she exclaimed. "Why not?" demanded the young man, indifferently. "It was painted by Boze, the back is solid gold, and the Jew in the Rue Toulouse will give me four hundred livres for it to-morrow morning."
What became of the old Indian woman I do not know." "Served her right," said the little boy. "If she hadn't been so stingy with her meat, she wouldn't have lost it. And Sun-ka would have stayed with her to help catch more." It was hot. Little Luke sat on the doorstep in the shade. Over in the pasture Old Boze the Hound gave tongue. He was at his favorite sport of trailing rabbits all by himself.
Regardez, Monsieur, you have a bargain. Here is Mademoiselle Helene de Saint-Gre, daughter of my lord the Marquis of whom I have the honor to be a cousin," and he made a bow. "It is by the famous court painter, Joseph Boze, and Mademoiselle de Saint-Gre herself is a favorite of her Majesty." He held the portrait close to the candle and regarded it critically.
Going around to the doorstep, he lay down on the cool porch with his head close to the little boy's shoulder. He was tired, and his dripping tongue hung far out from his open mouth. The little boy looked at it. "Old Boze," said he, "what a long tongue you have. Why is it that dogs have such long tongues?" Old Boze shifted his eves uneasily and looked the other way, but said nothing.
"But ask Old Boze," he went on with a grin, "perhaps he'll tell you." Old Boze got up slowly and with dignity. "I am too tired to tell stories," said he, "but I'm not too tired to shake the foolishness out of a cat." "Here now," said the little boy, "no quarreling and fighting. I won't have it. And Klaws shall tell me that story about your long, red tongue, if he will."
Old Boze jumped over the fence and found the trail again. He followed it until he came to the creek. There he was puzzled. But he crossed the brook and found the trail at last. Over in the pasture he lost it again. Mother Wa-poose had been too cunning for him this time. After nosing the ground in all directions for a long time in vain, the old hound gave it up, and went back to the house.
Little Luke had jumped almost as lively as Old Klaws, but when he saw who it was and took in the old cat's language, and the old dog's funny looking face, he lay down on the porch and laughed till the tears came. "Dear Old Boze," said the little boy, after the fun was over, "can't you tell me a story of the old days?" "Yes," replied the old hound, "I can.
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