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, âWhatâs the matter? What are you looking for?â
âNothing,â she said, and we came on into the house. But a few minutes later she said, âI have a feeling that she will be back.â
âOh?â
âI didnât want to say anything, butââ
âLook, Cassandra, put away the crystal ball. Ask me. I have known sinceâoh, ever since the first day she came hereâthat she will be back. The Bad Penny. Thereâs no escaping it. But she ainât back yet! ⦠Forget it, kid, till she yips at the door.â
âI still have the feelingââ 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, âI tried to reach you an hour ago.â
âWhen can you come?â
âTomorrow morning.â
âMeet you there, pal. What time do you get going?â
âHow about eight oâclock?â
âAs you say. Eight A.M. tomorrow.â
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.
âWeâll burn the brush in the driveway,â George said.
His man arrived and set to work on the marked trees. George and I finished the lower hillside, and I said Iâd 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 ladyâs 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, âWeâve got a dog.â
âWhat? Again?â
âFor 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
âOf course.â
âI said you were down at the lake and we would be over and get her as soon as you got home.â
âAll right, put on a jacket and come on.â
She hesitated. âAre you sure?â
âArenât you?â
âI think so. I know we have to take her now. Somethingâs happened. Sheâs been snapping at the youngsters over there.â
âOhhh. Teasing her, Iâll bet.â
âThatâs all she said, that Penny-Pokey has turned vicious. She snapped at the kids and almost bit a little girl, their next-door neighbor.â
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 didnât move. I stopped the car, got out, and she gave me a âWhat are you doing here?â look. It was almost an âI hate the worldâ look, too. Then I noticed that several children were standing across the yard, watching silently.
Barbara came around the car and said, âPenny!â and Penny looked at her, a kind of âSo what?â look. Then she got to her feet and went back toward the