Before long he succeeded in convincing himself that nobody cared for
him, except, perhaps, his father and mother, who were so far away.
Maybe the others would be sorry when he died of hydrophobia. He had
heard that people often had it when they were bitten by dogs, and it
seemed very probable that this would be his fate.
Absorbed in his misery, he hardly knew how time passed, till some one
knocked at his door. He lay on the couch with his face buried in the
pillows, and thinking it was the housemaid he said, "Come in," without
looking up.
The hand that touched his head, however, was not Katie's, nor the
voice that said, "You poor boy!"
It was Mrs. Howard, or Aunt Zelie as he always called her in his
thoughts.
Overwhelmed with mingled delight and dismay, he could only struggle to
a sitting position, with his handkerchief to his nose and not a word
to say.
She did not appear to notice this, but talked on, and in some way it
came about that presently his aching head was down on the pillows
again, and her soft hand was smoothing back his hair, just as Mamma
did, while she told him that Mr. Hazeltine had inquired about the
dogs, and found that they were only very large and lively puppies, not
at all vicious.
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