cared for quite as tenderly as he would have been at his own home. So
several days passed, and Bowser was beginning to feel more like himself.
The more he felt like himself, the more he wanted to go home. It wasn't
that there he would receive any greater kindness than he was now
receiving, but home is home and there is no place like it. So Bowser
began to be uneasy.

"This dog doesn't belong anywhere around here," said the man of the
house. "I know every Hound for miles around, and I never have seen this
one before. He has come a long distance. It will not do to let him go,
for he will try to find his way home and the chances are that he will
again get lost. We must keep him in the house or chained up. Perhaps
some day we may be able to find his owner. If not, we will keep him. I
am sure he will soon become contented here."

Now that man knew dogs. Had Bowser had the chance, he would have done
exactly what that man had said. He would have tried to find his way
home, and he hadn't the least idea in the world in which direction home
lay. But he didn't get the chance to try. When he was allowed to run out
of doors it was always with some one to watch him. He was petted and
babied and made a great deal of, but he knew all the time that he was a
prisoner. He knew that if he was to get away at all he would have to
sneak away, and somehow there never seemed a chance to do this. He was
grateful to these kindly people, but down in his heart was a great
longing for Farmer Brown's boy and _home_. He always felt this longing
just a wee bit stronger when Blacky the Crow passed over and cawed.