Right away the people in that farmhouse
knew what had happened to Bowser. That is, they knew part of what had
happened to him. They knew that he had been lost and had somehow hurt
one leg. They were very, very good to him. They fed him, and made a
comfortable bed for him, and rubbed something on the leg which he had
hurt and which had swollen. Almost right away after eating Bowser went
to sleep and slept and slept and slept. It was the very best thing he
could have done.
The next day he felt a whole lot better, but he was so stiff and lame
that he could hardly move. He didn't try very much. He was petted and
cared for quite as tenderly as he would have been at his own home. So
several days passed, and Bowser was beginning to feel more like himself.
The more he felt like himself, the more he wanted to go home. It wasn't
that there he would receive any greater kindness than he was now
receiving, but home is home and there is no place like it. So Bowser
began to be uneasy.
"This dog doesn't belong anywhere around here," said the man of the
house. "I know every Hound for miles around, and I never have seen this
one before. He has come a long distance. It will not do to let him go,
for he will try to find his way home and the chances are that he will
again get lost. We must keep him in the house or chained up. Perhaps
some day we may be able to find his owner.
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