Catharine thought he eyed the spring with wishful looks, and
she soon supplied him with water in the bark dish, to this great relief.
Wolfe had been out for several days with his master, who would repeat, in
tones of sad earnestness, to the faithful creature, "Lost, lost, lost!" It
was his custom to do so when the cattle strayed, and Wolfe would travel in
all directions till he found them, nor ceased his search till he discovered
the objects he was ordered to bring home. The last night of the father's
wanderings, when, sick and hopeless, he came back to his melancholy
home, as he sat sleeplessly rocking himself to and fro, he involuntarily
exclaimed, wringing his hands, "Lost, lost, lost!" Wolfe heard what to him
was an imperative command; he rose, and stood at the door, and whined;
mechanically his master rose, lifted the latch, and again exclaimed in
passionate tones those magic words, that sent the faithful messenger forth
into the dark forest path. Once on the trail he never left it, but with ah
instinct incomprehensible as it was powerful, he continued to track the
woods, lingering long on spots where the wanderers had left any signs of
their sojourn; he had for some time been baffled at the Beaver Meadow, and
again where they had crossed Cold Creek, but had regained the scent and
traced them to the valley of the "big stone," and then with the sagacity of
the bloodhound and the affection of the terrier he had, at last, discovered
the objects of his unwearied, though often baffled search.
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