Here was a quiet pool where the rushes bent to the breeze and the quail
dipped her wing; and there a winding path where the cattle came down to
the edge, and having looked upon the scene and found it all very good,
dipped their sleek heads to drink and drink and drink of the river's
nectar. Here the first pink mayflowers pushed their sweet heads through
the reluctant earth, and waxen Indian pipes grew in the moist places,
and yellow violets hid themselves beneath their modest leaves.
And here sat Timothy, with all his heart in his eyes, bidding good-by to
all this soft and tender loveliness. And there, by his side, faithful
unto death (but very much in hopes of something better), sat Rags, and
thought it a fine enough prospect, but one that could be beaten at all
points by a bit of shed-view he knew of,--a superincumbent hash-pan, an
empty milk-dish, and an emaciated white cat flying round a corner! The
remembrance of these past joys brought the tears to his eyes, but he
forbore to let them flow lest he should add to the griefs of his little
master, which, for aught he knew, might be as heavy as his own.
Timothy was comporting himself, at this trying crisis, neither as a hero
nor as a martyr. There is no need of exaggerating his virtues. Enough to
say, not that he was a hero, but that he had in him the stuff out of
which heroes are made. Win his heart and fire his imagination, and there
is no splendid deed of which the little hero would not have been
capable.
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