"What does the lad want here?" asked Carver.
I had never been asked such a question before. I had been
accustomed to go about the island all my boyhood, and to walk in at
any door I came to with the assurance that no person would question
me as to what I wanted. At length, without going further than the
threshold, I said:
"I was thinking you would give me shelter for a short time on a day
like this."
"On a day like this," replied he, "none but a fool would think of
travelling; and if it's shelter you're seeking here, young Ericson,
I say no!" and the unfeeling "No" was echoed by all the others in
the room, with one exception. That exception was Thora.
I saw the girl's hands quickly clench when she heard this unkind
dismissal, and in her blue eyes the tears welled up and stole
gently down her fair cheeks.
I felt that the "No" could be easily withstood, but the tears in
Thora's eyes overcame me. I gave her a look of thanks, closed the
door behind me, and again faced the storm, first going round to the
back of the house to take up in my arms the body of my poor dog. I
hung up the otter's skin on a hook in the byre, where I believed
Thora would discover it, and so make what use of it she might.
I carried the dog still further, however. Taking it down to a small
creek that gave entrance to the seashore, I came to a rock that was
washed by the deep waters, and here I tied a large stone around
Selta's neck and silently lowered the body into the sea, where the
great waves of the Atlantic murmured a solemn requiem.
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