Free Penny by Hal; Borland Page A

covered with bluets.
    That was Memorial Day weekend, and we spent two whole days at the lake, coming home to sleep only because the beds here are more comfortable than the built-in bunks at the boathouse. And both evenings when we came home at dusk Barbara stopped and looked at the front porch before she went up the walk.
    The second evening I asked, “What’s the matter? What are you looking for?”
    â€œNothing,” she said, and we came on into the house. But a few minutes later she said, “I have a feeling that she will be back.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œI didn’t want to say anything, but—”
    â€œLook, Cassandra, put away the crystal ball. Ask me. I have known since—oh, ever since the first day she came here—that she will be back. The Bad Penny. There’s no escaping it. But she ain’t back yet! … Forget it, kid, till she yips at the door.”
    â€œI still have the feeling—” She sighed.
    There was work to be done in the woods down at the lake, and George had promised to get at it as soon as he finished another job. George is a professional forester and one of the best men in the woods that I know. I phoned him, and he said, “I tried to reach you an hour ago.”
    â€œWhen can you come?”
    â€œTomorrow morning.”
    â€œMeet you there, pal. What time do you get going?”
    â€œHow about eight o’clock?”
    â€œAs you say. Eight A.M. tomorrow.”
    The next morning I was at the top of the hill at the lake place thirty seconds ahead of George. He had his truck with chain saw, hand saw, axes, ropes, gear. His man would be along, he said. We drove down to the boathouse and George and I began ranging the property, George marking trees that needed to be taken out with a squirted X from a spray can of yellow paint.
    â€œWe’ll burn the brush in the driveway,” George said.
    His man arrived and set to work on the marked trees. George and I finished the lower hillside, and I said I’d like a couple of cords of firewood saved. Then I came home, knowing the job would be done right. George would save every good seedling and sapling possible, and he would cherish every clump of ground hemlock, as we call it. He would know the yellow lady’s slipper plants and protect them. He would take as good care of that hillside as I would, maybe even better.
    I came home, and I was barely in the door when Barbara said, “We’ve got a dog.”
    â€œWhat? Again?”
    â€œFor good this time. Carol phoned about an hour ago, said they have to get rid of her and would we please take her. I said yes.”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œI said you were down at the lake and we would be over and get her as soon as you got home.”
    â€œAll right, put on a jacket and come on.”
    She hesitated. “Are you sure?”
    â€œAren’t you?”
    â€œI think so. I know we have to take her now. Something’s happened. She’s been snapping at the youngsters over there.”
    â€œOhhh. Teasing her, I’ll bet.”
    â€œThat’s all she said, that Penny-Pokey has turned vicious. She snapped at the kids and almost bit a little girl, their next-door neighbor.”
    She had her jacket. I went to the garage for the car. Barbara got in, and I went back to the house, found the leash. Then we went to get our dog.

Seven
    She was lying in the driveway, tethered by the long chain and as far from the house and garage as she could get. When we turned into the drive she looked up but didn’t move. I stopped the car, got out, and she gave me a “What are you doing here?” look. It was almost an “I hate the world” look, too. Then I noticed that several children were standing across the yard, watching silently.
    Barbara came around the car and said, “Penny!” and Penny looked at her, a kind of “So what?” look. Then she got to her feet and went back toward the