What he smelled was smoke. He knew what that meant.
Somewhere not very far ahead of him was a house.
[Illustration: SOMEWHERE NOT VERY FAR AHEAD OF HIM WAS A HOUSE. _Page
96._]
With new hope and courage Bowser tried to hurry on. Presently around a
turn of the road he saw a farmyard. The smell of the smoke from the
chimney of the farmhouse was stronger now, and with it was mingled an
appetizing smell of things cooking. Into Bowser's whimper there now
crept a little note of eagerness as he dragged himself across the
farmyard and up to the back door. There his strength quite left him. He
didn't have enough left to even bark. All he could do was whine. After
what seemed a long, long time the door opened, and a motherly woman
stood looking down at him. Two minutes later Bowser lay on a mat close
by the kitchen stove.
CHAPTER XXI
BOWSER BECOMES A PRISONER
There is no one in all the Great World more faithful than a
faithful dog.
_Bowser the Hound._
Bowser the Hound was a prisoner. Yes, Sir, Bowser was a sure-enough
prisoner. But there is a great difference in prisons. Bowser was a
prisoner of kindness. It seems funny that kindness should ever make any
one a prisoner, but it is so sometimes.
You see, it was this way: When Bowser had been taken in to that strange
farmhouse, he had been so used up that he had had only strength enough
to very feebly wag his tail.
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