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Updated: June 28, 2025
She seemed to be struggling with a hundred conflicting emotions. Waggie ran to her, as if he considered her a friend, and put his forepaws on her dress. "Are you going to give us up?" asked Watson. "I am a loyal Southerner," returned the minister, very slowly, "and I know what my duty is. Why should I shield you?" Watson turned to George. "It was bound to come," he said.
This is Friday and we must be in Marietta by this evening." On they trudged, over rocks and paths that would have taxed the ability of a nimble-footed chamois, as they wondered how the rest of their friends were faring, and where might be the intrepid Andrews. Sometimes Waggie scampered joyously on; sometimes he reposed in his master's overcoat.
He stroked the dripping back of the rescued dog, whereupon Waggie looked up at him with a grateful gleam in his eyes. "I found him just below here, lying on a bit of rock out in the water a few feet away from the bank," enthusiastically explained George. "He must have been hurled there, by the current." Watson laughed. "Well, Waggie," he said, "we make three wet looking tramps, don't we?
He had been having a walk, with a daughter of the jailer, and one of the negro servants had taken him up-stairs and unlocked the door. The next moment the key was turned; the prisoners were again shut in from the world. "Poor little Waggie," said Macgreggor. "Is he going too?" "I've taken him through too much to leave him behind now," said George fondly. "Look. This is as good as a kennel."
But fatigue and hunger, and exposure to the rain, had done their work. George tottered, clutched at the air, and then sank on the hillside, inert and unconscious. In a moment Waggie was licking his face, with a pathetic expression of inquiry in his little brown eyes, and Watson was bending over him. Again came the bay from the hound and the distant cry from a human voice.
Several of the children were near him. "Oh, papa, I hope you did not catch them," cried one of the latter. She was the little girl who had pulled Waggie from George's pocket. Mr. Peyton laughed, in spite of himself. "Have you fallen in love with the boy who sang, Laura?" he asked, with a twinkle in his eye. "No," said Miss Laura, indignantly, "but Mr.
So we can drop in on them to-night, ask for supper and a bed, and be off at daybreak to-morrow before the old fellow has gotten wind of anything." Soon they were off, Watson, George and Waggie, and covered the fields leading to the house in unusually quick time for such tired wanderers. When they reached the gate of the little garden in front of the place George asked: "What story are we to tell?"
"Seen no suspicious characters?" echoed the man at the fireplace. "No boy with a dog?" The tongue of the good clergyman seemed to cleave to the roof of his mouth. He could see the eagle glance of Miss Cynthia fixed upon him. Just then Waggie, who had been sniffing at the closet door, returned to the fireplace. "Why, since when have you started to keep dogs, parson?" asked the last speaker.
"It makes me sick to think where he is," whispered Watson, "for " Before he could finish his sentence George entered the office, followed by Waggie. He had lingered about the Marietta Station, after leaving the platform of the car, until he was safe from meeting the Captain, in case that gentleman should have alighted at this place. Then he had cautiously made his way to the hotel.
"If I could only go with them," he thought. What was camp life compared to the delight of such an adventure? Waggie gave a bark. Even he seemed to scent something interesting. "You soldiers," continued Andrews, "must break into detachments, make your way eastward into the Cumberland Mountains, and then southward, well into the Confederate lines.
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