Blacky didn't know what to make of it.
He had never been more surprised in his life. He didn't know which
surprised him most, finding Bowser 'way over here where he had no
business to be, or Bowser's friendliness.
As for Bowser, he had spent such a forlorn, miserable night, and he was
so terribly lonesome, that the very sound of Blacky's voice had given
him a queer thrill. Never had he thought of Blacky the Crow as a friend.
In fact, he never thought much about Blacky at all. Sometimes he had
chased Blacky out of Farmer Brown's corn-field early in the spring but
that is all he ever had had to do with him. Now, however, lonesome and
lost as he was, the sound of a familiar voice made him tingle all over
with a friendly feeling. So he whined softly and wagged his tail feebly
as he looked up at Blacky sitting in the top of a tall tree. Presently
Bowser limped out to the middle of the little clearing and turned first
this way and then that way. Then he sat down and howled dismally. In an
instant Blacky the Crow understood; Bowser was lost.
"So that's the trouble," muttered Blacky to himself. "That silly dog has
got himself lost. I never will be able to understand how anybody can
get lost. I never in my life was lost, and never expect to be. But it is
easy enough to see that Bowser is lost and badly lost. My goodness, how
lame he is! I wonder what's happened to him.
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