There was no wind, and Rilla heard distinctly a
dog howling in a melancholy way down in the direction of the station.
Was it Dog Monday? And if it were, why was he howling like that? Rilla
shivered; the sound had something boding and grievous in it. She
remembered that Miss Oliver said once, when they were coming home in the
darkness and heard a dog howl, "When a dog cries like that the Angel of
Death is passing." Rilla listened with a curdling fear at her heart. It
was Dog Monday--she felt sure of it. Whose dirge was he howling--to
whose spirit was he sending that anguished greeting and farewell?
Rilla went back to bed but she could not sleep. All day she watched and
waited in a dread of which she did not speak to anyone. She went down to
see Dog Monday and the station-master said, "That dog of yours howled
from midnight to sunrise something weird. I dunno what got into him. I
got up once and went out and hollered at him but he paid no 'tention to
me. He was sitting all alone in the moonlight out there at the end of
the platform, and every few minutes the poor lonely little beggar'd lift
his nose and howl as if his heart was breaking. He never did it afore--
always slept in his kennel real quiet and canny from train to train. But
he sure had something on his mind last night."
Dog Monday was lying in his kennel. He wagged his tail and licked
Rilla's hand.
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