A Dog’s Tale by Mark Twain

crib, which was alongside the bed, on the side next the fireplace. It

was the kind of crib that has a lofty tent over it made of gauzy stuff

that you can see through. The nurse was out, and we two sleepers were

alone. A spark from the wood-fire was shot out, and it lit on the slope

of the tent. I suppose a quiet interval followed, then a scream from the

baby awoke me, and there was that tent flaming up toward the ceiling!

Before I could think, I sprang to the floor in my fright, and in a second

was half-way to the door; but in the next half-second my mother’s

farewell was sounding in my ears, and I was back on the bed again.

I reached my head through the flames and dragged the baby out by the

waist-band, and tugged it along, and we fell to the floor together in a

cloud of smoke; I snatched a new hold, and dragged the screaming little

creature along and out at the door and around the bend of the hall, and

was still tugging away, all excited and happy and proud, when the

master’s voice shouted:

“Begone you cursed beast!” and I jumped to save myself; but he was

furiously quick, and chased me up, striking furiously at me with his

cane, I dodging this way and that, in terror, and at last a strong blow

fell upon my left foreleg, which made me shriek and fall, for the moment,

helpless; the came went up for another blow, but never descended, for the

nurse’s voice rang wildly out, “The nursery’s on fire!” and the master

rushed away in that direction, and my other bones were saved.

The pain was cruel, but, no matter, I must not lose any time; he might

come back at any moment; so I limped on three legs to the other end of

the hall, where there was a dark little stairway leading up into a garret

where old boxes and such things were kept, as I had heard say, and where

people seldom went. I managed to climb up there, then I searched my way

through the dark among the piles of things, and hid in the secretest

place I could find. It was foolish to be afraid there, yet still I was;

so afraid that I held in and hardly even whimpered, though it would have

been such a comfort to whimper, because that eases the pain, you know.

But I could lick my leg, and that did some good.

For half an hour there was a commotion downstairs, and shoutings, and

rushing footsteps, and then there was quiet again. Quiet for some

minutes, and that was grateful to my spirit, for then my fears began to

go down; and fears are worse than pains–oh, much worse. Then came a

sound that froze me. They were calling me–calling me by name–hunting

for me!

It was muffled by distance, but that could not take the terror out of it,

and it was the most dreadful sound to me that I had ever heard. It went

all about, everywhere, down there: along the halls, through all the

rooms, in both stories, and in the basement and the cellar; then outside,

and farther and farther away–then back, and all about the house again,

and I thought it would never, never stop. But at last it did, hours and

hours after the vague twilight of the garret had long ago been blotted

out by black darkness.

Then in that blessed stillness my terrors fell little by little away, and

I was at peace and slept. It was a good rest I had, but I woke before

the twilight had come again. I was feeling fairly comfortable, and I

could think out a plan now. I made a very good one; which was, to creep

down, all the way down the back stairs, and hide behind the cellar door,

and slip out and escape when the iceman came at dawn, while he was inside

filling the refrigerator; then I would hide all day, and start on my

journey when night came; my journey to–well, anywhere where they would

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