He flew to the place; he tore his own hands with
the nails that were driven through Snip's feet; and then, without a
thought of his grandfather or of his own hunger, he bore away the dead
dog in his arms, and wandered far out of sight or sound of the hateful,
cruel world, into one of the most solitary plains upon the uplands.
Any one passing by might have thought that Stephen was fast asleep in the
last slanting rays of the sun, which shone upon him there some time after
the evening shadows had fallen upon Botfield; but a frenzy of passion,
too strong for any words, had felled him to the ground, where he lay
beside Snip. The gamekeeper, who had so many dogs that he did not care
for any one of them in particular, had killed this one creature that was
dearer to him than anything in the world, except little Nan, and
grandfather, and Martha. And Snip was dead, without remedy; no power on
earth could bring back the departed life. Oh, if he could only punish the
villain who had shot his poor faithful dog! But he was nothing but a poor
boy, very poor, and very helpless and friendless, and people would only
laugh at his trouble.
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