“What’s the matter, Joe?” said Mrs. Wood; “the pig won’t hurt you.”

But it wasn’t the pig I was afraid of, and I kept on barking.  And all the time that strange live thing kept sticking up its head and putting out its tongue at me, and neither of them noticed it.

“Its getting on toward six,” said Mrs. Wood; “we must be going home.  Come, Mr. Maxwell.”

The young man put the guinea pig in his pocket, picked up his crutches, and we started down the sunny village street.  He left his guinea pig at his boarding house as he went by, but he said nothing about the other creature, so I knew he did not know it was there.

I was very much taken with Mr. Maxwell.  He seemed so bright and happy, in spite of his lameness, which kept him from running about like other young men.  He looked a little older than Miss Laura, and one day, a week or two later, when they were sitting on the veranda, I heard him tell her that he was just nineteen.  He told her, too, that his lameness made him love animals.  They never laughed at him, or slighted him, or got impatient, because he could not walk quickly.  They were always good to him, and he said he loved all animals while he liked very few people.

On this day as he was limping along, he said to Mrs. Wood:  “I am getting more absent-minded every day.  Have you heard of my latest escapade?”

“No,” she said.

“I am glad,” he replied.  “I was afraid that it would be all over the village by this time.  I went to church last Sunday with my poor guinea pig in my pocket.  He hasn’t been well, and I was attending to him before church, and put him in there to get warm, and forgot about him.  Unfortunately I was late, and the back seats were all full, so I had to sit farther up than I usually do.  During the first hymn I happened to strike Piggy against the side of the seat.  Such an ear-splitting squeal as he set up.  It sounded as if I was murdering him.  The people stared and stared, and I had to leave the church, overwhelmed with confusion.”

Mrs. Wood and Miss Laura laughed, and then they got talking about other matters that were not interesting to me, so I did not listen.  But I kept close to Miss Laura, for I was afraid that green thing might hurt her.  I wondered very much what its name was.  I don’t think I should have feared it so much if I had known what it was.

“There’s something the matter with Joe,” said Miss Laura, when we got into the lane.  “What is it, dear old fellow?” She put down her little hand, and I licked it, and wished so much that I could speak.

Sometimes I wish very much that I had the gift of speech, and then at other times I see how little it would profit me, and how many foolish things I should often say.  And I don’t believe human beings would love animals as well, if they could speak.

When we reached the house, we got a joyful surprise.  There was a trunk standing on the veranda, and as soon as Mrs. Wood saw it, she gave a little shriek:  “My dear boy!”