Dogtown - Being Some Chapters from the Annals of the Waddles Family

By Author	[ A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z \| Other Symbols ]
By Title	[ A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z \| Other Symbols ]
By Language

Download this book: [ ASCII ]

Look for this book on Amazon

We have new books nearly every day.
If you would like a news letter once a week or once a month fill out this form and we will give you a summary of the books for that week or month by email.

Title: Dogtown - Being Some Chapters from the Annals of the Waddles Family - Set Down in the Language of Housepeople
Author: Wright, Mabel "Barbara" Osgood
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.

*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Dogtown - Being Some Chapters from the Annals of the Waddles Family - Set Down in the Language of Housepeople" ***

by the Library of Congress)

DOGTOWN

[Illustration]

[Illustration: _After the Battle._ See page 99]

DOGTOWN

BEING SOME CHAPTERS FROM THE ANNALS OF
THE WADDLES FAMILY, SET DOWN IN
THE LANGUAGE OF HOUSEPEOPLE

BY
MABEL OSGOOD WRIGHT
AUTHOR OF “TOMMY-ANNE,” “THE FRIENDSHIP OF NATURE”
“BIRDCRAFT,” ETC.

_ILLUSTRATED BY PORTRAITS FROM LIFE
BY THE AUTHOR_

New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD.
1902

_All rights reserved_

Set up and electrotyped October, 1902.

Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith
Norwood Mass. U.S.A.

[Illustration]

“Such soft, warm bodies to cuddle,
Such queer little hearts to beat;
Such swift, round tongues to kiss,
Such sprawling, cushiony feet.
She could feel in her clasping fingers
The touch of the satiny skin,
And a cold, wet nose exploring
The dimples under her chin.”

[Illustration]

This Book
is for
all those
who love
children
and dogs

[Illustration]

[Illustration: CONTENTS]

CHAPTER PAGE

I. Enter Mrs. Waddles 1
II. Miss Letty and Hamlet 28
III. Trouble Begins 60
IV. Exit Lumberlegs 81
V. Jack and Jill Waddles 104
VI. Table Boarders 138
VII. Five O’clock Teas 171
VIII. A Hen Party 201
IX. The Herb Witch 220
X. Told by the Fire 247
XI. “Over the Hills and Far Away!” 274
XII. The Sixlets 300
XIII. Ben Uncas’s Last Hunt 331
XIV. The Barbed Wire Fence 367
XV. The Wedding 399

[Illustration: _Angel Dogs._]

Illustrations

FULL PAGES

AFTER THE BATTLE _Frontispiece_

PAGE
DINAH, LARK, PHŒBE, AND BOBWHITE vii
THE MAYOR OF DOGTOWN 15
HAPPY’S FIRST VIEW OF WADDLES 22
MISS LETTY 37
TOMMY AND LUMBERLEGS 61
“HE STOOD TRANSFIXED” 79
MISS MUFFET, BROTHER, AND LUMBERLEGS 102
TOAD HUNTING 118
ANNE DREW BACK THE CURTAIN AND LOOKED OUT 134
ANNE AND TOMMY 148
WADDLES BAYING THE OWLS 163
“WADDLES DREW BACK AND EYED IT RUEFULLY” 170
“ONE LUMP OR TWO, PLEASE?” 182
THE HERB WITCH 239
MISS LETTY FEEDING THE KENNEL DOGS 272
“PULLING A BRANCH DOWN WITH HER WHIP” 278
“HE STOOD IN THE GATEWAY HOLDING HIS GUN” 285
ANTONIO AND THE YOUNG SPANIELS 292
THE SIXLETS 301
NAMING THE PUPS 317
ON GUARD 326
THE REWARD 347
BEN UNCAS 354
JIM (Seeley photo) 362
“MISS LETTY WAS WAITING WITH A SMILE” 378
TOMMY WALKED ON IN SILENCE 380
TOMMY MEETS THE RABBIT 386

IN TEXT

MRS. WADDLES 1
AUNT PRUE AND THE CAT BASKET 8
WADDLES GREETING AUNT PRUE 12
ANNE AND FOX 30
HAMLET BEGGING (Pach Photo) 43
HAMLET READING (Pach Photo) 46
MR. HUGH’S HORSE 54
“HIS HEAVY CURLS WERE A MAT OF MUD AND BURRS” 58
“THE MAIL BAG SWINGING FROM ITS GALLOWS” 64
LILY 68
THE GAME OF SNATCH BONE 71
WADDLES DETHRONED 74
LUMBERLEGS 81
WADDLES SNIFFING THE MORNING AIR 90
WHEN WADDLES WAS ILL 100
JACK AND JILL WADDLES 104
CURIOSITY 115
WRESTLING 121
“JACK WATCHED HER OUT OF THE CORNER OF ONE EYE” 127
JACK WADDLES 129
THE JAY AT BREAKFAST 154
AN OWL BABY 156
MAMMA OWL 160
THE DAYTIME PERCH 165
“BUTTER’S COME!” 178
“THEY WERE HERALDED BY MUCH CREAKING OF WHEELS” 185
WADDLES FINDS THE CAKE BASKET 199
A HEN PARTY 201
AT THE CROSS-ROADS 220
THE CHICKEN COOP 227
THE HERB WITCH’S HOME 228
“ALSO GEESE THAT MAKE GOOD GUIDE-POSTS” 246
THE KENNEL YARD 256
A BOARDER 258
THE PUPPIES’ BATH-TUB 262
IN THE KENNEL KITCHEN 263
MARTIN BAKING BREAD 266
READY FOR TRAVEL 268
FLO POINTING 281
SILVER-TONGUE 296
HAPPY AT HOME 307
BIG BROTHER 309
IN MISCHIEF 312
LEAP-FROG 322
OUT OF SCHOOL 324
“DRINK, PUPPY, DRINK!” 330
WATCHING OUT 335
QUICK 338
COLIN 344
“A GREAT OWL WITH A SMOOTH ROUND HEAD” 383
THE BRIDE 401
“TOMMY SHOUTED ‘ME!’” 402
“HE SUCCEEDED IN SITTING UPRIGHT” 404
“TIP MOUNTED GUARD UNTIL NIGHT CAME” 405

[Illustration]

DOGTOWN

CHAPTER I

ENTER MRS. WADDLES

Happy sat by the watering-trough, waiting for Baldy to come for the
milking pails and go for the cows.

[Illustration]

Waddles, lying on the sunny side of the lilac hedge, was also waiting
for this important evening happening; and though nothing in his
appearance told that he was on the watch, for his back was toward the
barn, yet he would know when Baldy crossed the yard to wash his hands
at the pump, gauge the time he took to reach the house, and, without
hurrying or looking round, be at his side the moment that the clashing
of tin told that he had really come for the pails.

Seated on the stone wall, Anne and Miss Letty were also waiting, partly
for Baldy, but chiefly to hear the evening music that would soon come
from the wooded field edge and near-by garden, for it was a lovely May
afternoon. In the morning there had been a warm rain that made worm
pulling and bug hunting a pleasure instead of labour for the birds, and
the air was full of scraps of song.

You have not met Happy before, or Miss Letty either. Happy was a beagle
hound, with long, tan-coloured ears, the daintiest bit of a nose, a
plump body marked and ticked with tan and black, and eyes of such
beseeching softness that if she but looked at you when you were eating,
you were impelled to give her the very last morsel, no matter what your
hunger might be.

Her legal name and pedigree was recorded in the Westminster Kennel
Club register as “Cadence out of Melody, by Flute, breeder J. Sanford,
Hilltop Kennels,” and really for two years of her life she had been
merely a kennel dog. Now she was a lady of distinction, a real person
beloved of Anne, Happy, of Happy Hall, mother of twin pups, Jack and
Jill, and wife of no less honourable a person than Waddles, who,
now past middle age, portly and sedate, was Mayor of Dogtown and an
undisputed authority on all matters of dog law and etiquette.

If you should look for Dogtown on the map of the county where Happy
Hall, Anne’s home, is located, you would not find it, for it is really
concealed under the pretty name of Woodlands, and was discovered quite
by accident by Anne’s Aunt Prue.

Now Aunt Prue was one of those ladies who prefer indoors to outdoors,
and cats to dogs. The “Fireside Sphinx” has many virtues, and its
rights should be respected, only it is a very strange thing that people
who love cats cannot seem to fully appreciate dogs, which of course are
the superior animals.

One day, a couple of years before this time, when Lumberlegs, the St.
Bernard, then an awkward pup, was a new arrival, and the Widow Dog
Lily, who had been rescued from starving by Miss Jule, had been adopted
by Tommy and become his guardian, Aunt Prue had come unexpectedly to
pay her brother, Anne’s father, a visit.

She had not intended to arrive unannounced, for she liked to be met
by the best go-to-meeting surrey and pair. But travelling and even
planning for it always flustered her; and when she wrote to tell of
her plans, after spoiling three sheets of paper, she directed the
letter to another brother in Texas. Consequently, when she arrived at
the Woodlands station at noon of a blazing July day,--she always took
midday trains, it’s apt to thunder in the afternoon,--there was no one
there to meet her. “No, marm, no hacks here to-day,” said the station
master in answer to her request for one; “no use in ’phoning the stable
either, all the teams here about have gone to the Sunday-school picnic,
and I reckon the only folks to home is dogs.” So saying he banged down
his office window and drifted across the road to dinner.

Aunt Prue paused and set down a stout wicker basket with an openwork
top that she carried, straightened her bonnet, felt in her glove to
be sure that her trunk check and return ticket were safe. She always
bought a return ticket as a sort of guarantee of safety, but usually
lost it before it could be used.

She looked up the hill road. There was the store and post-office, then
a quarter of a mile of open before the shade began, not a living thing
was in sight; it was too hot for even the chickens to scratch up the
dust.

The basket at her feet began to roll about uncannily, for in it was
Miss Prue’s tortoise-shell tabby cat, which she always took visiting
when she was going to stay more than two nights. In politics Miss Prue
was a stanch monarchist of the old-time, “off-with-his-head” variety.
The cat’s name was Kaiserin Augusta Victoria, and never, even in the
most informal and playful moments, was she called either Gussie or Vic.

A violent scratching in the basket was followed by a long-drawn meow!
Miss Prue took a small tin pan from her satchel and went toward the
pump to give the pet a drink; but as she only pumped a couple of
strokes, the water was tepid and not to her taste. She always gave the
cat iced water, so she put up the tin. Poor K. A. V., smothering in
the basket, would have been grateful for a lap of anything that was
wet--even puddle water or sour milk; but she was not consulted, and
her temper waxed fierce. If people could only realize that the faults
of their pets are chiefly of their own making, they would be more
careful to look at those things that concern an animal from its point
of view instead of their own.

With one more glance at the road, Miss Prue settled the basket firmly
on her arm and trudged off. Augusta Victoria was not happy and,
moreover, she was determined to get out of the basket.

For a few moments she sat in sullen silence making herself heavy,
as only an animal being moved against its will knows how to do. The
post-office was reached, and Miss Prue paused a few moments to rest
on the steps. Happy thought! There was a late morning mail; perhaps
the family had not yet called for it, as they were sure to do, for her
brother being a literary man was very particular about his letters. She
would inquire.

“Nope,” replied the girl who was tending office during the noon hour
and preparing to hie to the picnic later by taking her hair out of curl
papers and combing it into a mossy-looking bank above her freckled
forehead, “your folks live beyond a mile, and the rural delivery
fetches ’em their letters most times.”

Poor Miss Prue! She crossed over to “the leading grocer’s,” where “soft
drinks” were conspicuously advertised, and asked for a bottle of
sarsaparilla.

“Sorry, madam,” said the solitary clerk, popping up in some confusion.
He was finishing his toilet, preparatory to leaving, by shaving himself
at a scrap of mirror resting on the cash register, and he came forward
hurriedly with a billow of lather where his chin should have been.
“I very much regret to say that all our liquid refreshments except
molasses and vinegar are sold out on account of the picnic, but we
still have a few Uneeda biscuits, madam, and a small wedge of superior
extra mild cheese, if it would serve you for a luncheon. Ah, a drink!
You _don’t need_ a biscuit, not juicy enough. Ha! ha! I see,” and the
chinless gentleman retired, laughing at his own wit.

Miss Prue merely gasped and walked on without answering. K. A. V. took
a turn at scratching and lunging and then remained so passive that her
mistress began to have qualms lest she should have fainted, yet did not
dare open the basket. She leaned against the fence and listened, puss
was breathing. The few cottages along the way were closed and silent;
but as she got farther on where the larger places were scattered, her
courage arose, for she remembered that the Burgess model farm barns
were on the way, and that there was a well close by the fence.

Yes, there it was surely, with a bright clean dipper hanging by it.

[Illustration]

She put down the basket carefully, quenched her thirst, and then, after
bathing her forehead with her handkerchief, was feeling in her bag for
pussy’s dish, when a bumping sound made her drop it and turn hastily.
K. A. V. had made a sudden spring, the basket was plunging down the
bank, followed by an inquisitive fox terrier. Just as the basket
stopped rolling the cat gave a terrified yowl, and the terrier started
back, but only for a moment.

Miss Prue seized the basket and looked about, calling in vain for help,
but no one came, only more dogs, so she hurried back to the road,
closing the gate behind her in frantic haste.

But what is a bar gate to dogs? Those that could neither get under or
through, jumped over, for the dogs at the Burgess farm were always
in fine condition. A second fox terrier sprang between the bars, a
black-and-tan dachshund crawled under, while almost at the same time a
collie and a greyhound cleared the top rail.

They were polite, gentlemanly dogs, fortunately, and accustomed to the
best society. They never thought of touching Miss Prue; but in spite
of her gestures turned their attention to the basket, sniffing and
jostling it and saying things in a way to put Augusta Victoria into a
frenzy.

As the strange party went up the hill, the pioneer terrier running
ahead seemed to spread the news, for dogs of all degrees kept joining
the procession: the great woolly St. Bernard, Rex, from the doctor’s
piazza, the farrier’s mongrel black-and-tan, who happened to be coming
across lots, two loping foxhounds who belonged to Squire Burley and had
been taking a run on their own account, the minister’s water spaniel,
the schoolmistress’s pug, a white bull terrier, a comical-looking
sheep dog from the milk farm, and lastly, a fantastically arrayed black
poodle, with his wool trimmed into as many devices as the tattooing on
a Fiji Islander, a silver bangle on one leg, and a crimson satin bow on
his collar, joined the mob, in spite of the frantic calls of a maid on
the steps of the select inn, who was striving to keep him clean while
his owner was at luncheon; for this particular poodle had his teeth
cleaned every day, could not roll in the dirt, and was not as other
dogs, for which the others were doubtless thankful.

In a moment, however, he was in the middle of the fray, having the
time of his life, enveloped in a cloud of dust, uttering the shrieking
bark in which a thoroughbred poodle excels, while the farrier’s cur
promptly pulled the satin bow into a string, and the dachshund, who had
difficulty in keeping up with the rest, nipped the hairless parts of
his hind legs.

Aunt Prue’s last hope lay in the sheriff; he surely would not be at
the picnic. But he was, and his two dogs, Schnapps and Friday, dozing
on a wagon seat before the stable door, suddenly waked and joined the
procession.

Finding that gestures and threats were useless, Aunt Prue kept sturdily
on, shifting the basket from one arm to the other as its weight
increased; for Augusta Victoria, weight fifteen pounds, springing
lightly up a tree, and A. V., dashing about in the basket at the end of
a hot walk, were two wholly different cats. Under such circumstances “a
mile’s weight” should be an allowable term.

Just then she heard the rattle of a wagon coming up hill, and turned
about, hoping for relief. In this wagon was an old man on his way home
from the meadows, seated on an insecure load of salt hay, in which
he was buried almost to the shoulders, while a strip of green cotton
mosquito netting hanging from the edge of his wide hat, somewhat
obscured his view of the scenery.

To beg a ride was, under the circumstances, out of the question; but
Aunt Prue ventured to wave her satchel and to call out and ask him to
drive the dogs away. But he was deaf to her entreaties, for the reason
that he was stone deaf anyway; and as to the rest, he merely thought he
saw a vigorous, stout, middle-aged woman on her return from market with
an unusual lot of dogs, whose dinner she carried in her basket; and he
drove on, trying to reckon how much it must cost to feed thirteen dogs,
and set Aunt Prue down in his mind as “another fool woman.”

At last she saw in the distance the stone wall that surrounded Happy
Hall, and then a glimpse of the house through the trees revived her;
but as she passed in the gateless entrance, two new and strange dogs
greeted her,--Lily and Lumberlegs,--both rather objected to the
visitors, and suddenly Lily fastened her wide jaws upon the basket.

[Illustration]

Then at last poor Aunt Prue screamed loud and long, and Waddles, who
had at first discreetly surveyed the proceedings from the porch, threw
back his head and bayed. It was a very funny scene, though of course
not nice for Aunt Prue; but it often happens that funny things are
disagreeable to somebody.

At the double noise, doors flew open, Baldy ran from the stable, Anne,
her father, mother, and one of the maids from the house, while Waddles
danced about and issued dog orders with such good effect that by the
combined efforts the intruders were dispersed, Aunt Prue was ensconced
in a piazza rocker and was being fanned by her gentle sister-in-law,
Anne brought iced ginger ale, Baldy bore Augusta Victoria, basket and
all, to a retired room in the barn, where she could be fed and calm her
nerves, while the father by degrees unravelled the history of the walk.

At first Aunt Prue had cried, but now she sat bolt upright and severe
in her chair, talking between sips of ginger ale that would get into
her nose and give her a fuzziness of speech.

“Yes--a most unparalleled--experience for a lone woman--in a civilized
land--Woodlands you--call the place--faugh!--I say it’s nothing more
or less than Dogtown, and it’s lucky I bought my return ticket. Poor
Augusta Victoria’s nerves are shattered, not to speak of mine, and home
we go by evening train.”

She didn’t go, but stayed three weeks to a day, and had a very good
time; when she felt in her moist gloves for the ticket, it was gone as
usual. But her story and name of Dogtown stayed with the region, and
it tickled Miss Jule so, that the very next Christmas she gave Anne
a large wooden box shaped like a doghouse, full of note-paper with
a group of dogs’ heads and the words _Happy Hall, Dogtown_, stamped
across the top in blue and gold, which Anne always used when writing
invitations to picnics and other excursions of which she was so fond.

So in time it had come to be that Waddles was the acknowledged head of
Dogtown and its people, these same being three times the number that
had been the escort of Miss Prue and Augusta Victoria. For when people
heard of the doings of the dogs at Happy Hall, and saw the beautiful
setters, foxhounds, and field spaniels that Miss Jule raised in the
Hilltop Kennels at the horse farm, every one wanted a dog of his or her
own; and though Lily remained the only real bulldog in the community,
there were several clever bull terriers, and Miss Letty brought back
from her schooling abroad a wonderful black poodle, who understood
three languages.

[Illustration: _The Mayor of Dogtown._]

Miss Jule’s dogs did not quite belong to Dogtown as citizens, because,
being kennel dogs, they were not free to come and go and to express
their opinions like the others. They were as boarding-school
children, having fixed times for exercise and play, in comparison to
those who, after school, run free.

There are some children who, though they may have good dispositions,
can never be happy when cooped up and restrained. Tommy-Anne had
been one of these, and so when, a year before, she had seen Cadence
the beagle sitting looking mournfully through the slat door of her
kennel, where she had been shut by her trainer for being heedless and
unmanageable and not obeying his directions, her heart smote her and
she felt so intimate a kinship with the little animal with the hopeless
eyes, that she went to Miss Jule to ask the price of Cadence and if she
might pay for her by instalments.

Miss Jule loved animals dearly, was tender-hearted, and had several pet
dogs that were almost human; but the kennel dogs were raised for sale,
and must be taught the various trades that, together with their pure
breeding, made them valuable and able to earn their living.

No cruelty was allowed in the training-and-breaking-to-hunt process,
but they simply must learn. Martin, Baldy’s brother, who not only broke
colts under Miss Jule’s supervision, but trained both fox and beagle
hounds, had said of gentle Cadence: “She’s no mortal use for hunting
rabbits, she won’t mind if you chide her, unless your very eyes are
upon her, she bolts at sight of a gun, won’t heel or gather with the
others. We don’t need her for breeding, and I think she’d be better out
of the way.”

While Miss Jule was thinking over the matter, Anne had hurried home
and counted the contents of her money box replete with the results of
Christmas, a birthday, copying manuscript for her father, and various
dealings in rags, bottles, and old iron. She had been saving seriously
to buy a camera holding glass plates that she could develop herself,
and so be able to take pictures of her dear woods and flowers, the
dogs, and, best of all, of her father and mother as they walked out in
the garden together in their everyday clothes.

Thirty-seven dollars the money had footed up. The camera that she had
chosen, together with the trays, drying rack, red lantern, some plates,
etc., would be thirty dollars. Was it possible that Miss Jule would
sell a thoroughbred rabbit hound for seven dollars?

Anne knew that she had often received a hundred dollars for a
well-broken young hound; but poor Cadence did not seem to be broken at
all, except in spirit, so that might make a difference; anyway, the
camera could wait, for she kept seeing those appealing eyes, and had an
instinctive feeling that Cadence’s fate was in her hands.

“Sell Cadence to you, so she needn’t be shut up so much? What will they
say at home to another dog about? You know it was only last week that
Tommy told me that Lumberlegs and Lily grinned at each other ‘awfully,’
and that Waddles would not let either of them go to walk with him. What
will your mother say?”

Anne had not thought of this, to be sure; but no one at home had ever
objected to any animals excepting white mice, and her mother had
rebelled at having them kept in a bureau drawer, and finally put them
under ban.

As Anne grew older she was more drawn toward those of her own race
than when as Tommy-Anne she had played alone; but the birds and little
beasts were still her friends and brothers, and ever would be. She
would, if possible, get Cadence from behind the bars and risk the
consequences.

“What do you want her for? She is either stupid or sullen, and will not
even charge or come to heel; she will never learn anything.”

“Please, Miss Jule, I don’t think she is stupid or ugly, only somehow
she doesn’t understand; maybe she can’t think when she is shut up so
much. You know that when I was little I could never learn lessons in
school, but if I sat by father I couldn’t have helped learning if I had
tried.”

Miss Jule did not smile at the simple earnestness of the tall slip of
a girl with the great dark eyes that looked so pleadingly at her, for
Anne at fifteen believed as thoroughly in the brotherhood and rights of
all living things as had Tommy-Anne at five.

“Well, I’ll make a bargain with you,” she said at last; “you may
have her on a week’s trial: if you like her, you shall have her at a
reasonable price” (for Miss Jule knew that with Anne’s ideas it would
never do to offer her as a gift something she had offered to purchase);
“if you can’t manage her, you can bring her back. Perhaps Waddles may
like her for a mate.”

“Here, take a leader,” called Miss Jule, as Anne darted off full of the
new idea, “she’s as likely to bolt off to the next county as to go home
with you.”

Anne took the leather leash and hurried to open the door of the
compartment in the kennel yard where Cadence sat looking wistfully
out. After fastening the snap in the collar she tried to lead her out;
but Cadence flattened herself to the floor in an agony of fear, no
coaxing, no gentle calling of her name produced the least effect, she
squatted there motionless as a stone.

[Illustration: _Happy’s First View of Waddles._]

Anne crouched upon the door-sill quite in despair, then she saw that
Cadence’s eyes were fastened upon her face, so she smiled, chirruped to
her, and tried what patting her back and smoothing her long ears would
do.

The effect was magical; the little hound stopped cowering, looked up,
gave a spring, touching Anne’s finger-tips with her tongue, and walked
off after her new mistress without further objection.

In fact, as they took the downhill path toward home, Cadence led as
if she was quite well aware where she was going, and she tugged and
strained so on the leash when she came in sight of the house as to make
Anne fairly trot.

Then for the first time Anne thought of the objections that Waddles
might make; for though he had chummed with Lumberlegs until recently,
their relations were not wholly satisfactory, and as for Lily--well,
he never interfered with her, but then also he never asked her to walk
with him.

As it chanced Waddles was standing in the middle of the walk sniffing
the air, with a very sentimental expression on his mobile face.

Anne slipped the leash, as it does not lead to friendliness when
strange dogs meet to have one run free and the other chained. Before
Waddles fully realized what had happened, before he could give a sniff
or a growl, Cadence evidently captivated by his looks had bounded up,
given him the coyest lick on the nose and sprung back again, her tail
wagging in a complete circle and an unmistakable smile on her face.

Thus taken by surprise Waddles surrendered, and by way of making the
newcomer feel at home he raised his head, gave a bay, and then putting
his nose to the ground found the trail he had been trying to locate,
gave a short bark and started off in full cry, Cadence following and
yelping madly.

“She knows how to pick up a trail if she is stupid,” said Anne to
herself; “but I wonder if she will come back here or go up to the
Kennels. I think I will just go in and explain about her to mother
while she has her run.”

The explanation was fortunately satisfactory; but then Anne’s father
and mother seldom objected to anything unless it was unkind, dangerous,
or too expensive.

In a quarter of an hour or so back came the pair, evidently the best
of friends, Waddles allowing Cadence not only to drink from his dish,
but to take a nicely ripened beef bone that he had partly buried under
the big apple tree. This was a wonderful bit of condescension, as it is
against the rules of Dogtown to dig up another’s bone, at least when
the other is looking, and the offence is punishable with a ki-yi-ing
and a real bite.

“Mistress,” said Waddles, behind his paw as it were, “that is a very
beautiful young lady; I will gladly share my bones with her, and that
is something that I have never done before,” which was perfectly true;
for Waddles, besides being very strict about food etiquette, thought a
good deal about what he ate.

The next morning when Anne came downstairs Cadence was lying on the
steps with her back to the house. Anne called her and clapped her hands
together, but she did not stir, yet the moment Anne’s footsteps jarred
the boards Cadence turned and came to her side.

Then the truth flashed upon Anne, the little hound was neither stupid
nor disobedient, but almost stone deaf. She could not hear the voice,
but felt the sound as it were from the footstep.

“There, I told Miss Jule that you weren’t wicked, but that you couldn’t
understand all that shouting and to-heeling, you dear little abused
thing. Now I’ll know exactly how to treat you and what to expect.” And
Anne held the pretty, soft paws in one hand while she lifted the dog’s
face so that it might _see_ what she said.

Truly, then, Cadence understood once and for all, and when puzzled
always looked in her mistress’s face.

When Miss Jule heard the story, she questioned all at the Horse Farm
and about the Kennels closely, and found that once, when Cadence was a
pup of less than a year, a gun had burst quite close to her head.

“Now,” said Anne, triumphantly, “you see why she was gun shy, and deaf,
and everything. You know, Miss Jule, animals are hardly ever bad; it’s
mostly something what we’ve done ourselves, and it’s being a kennel
dog, too. You see you can never be really intimate with them, and know
their troubles as I do Waddles.”

Miss Jule sighed, for she knew it was true.

* * * * *

From that day onward Cadence was a new dog, no longer sad eyed, though
she knew mighty well how to plead for what she wanted with those golden
brown eyes, but the most joyous thing alive.

She was pleased if she had a bone, or equally pleased with a dog
biscuit, happy to go to walk, happy to stay at home; her face wore a
perpetual smile, and her tail a ceaseless wag.

“Let us call her something different from that old kennel name, even if
she can’t hear it,” said Anne, one day six months later, as they stood
watching Cadence tending her first children, the fascinating twins,
Jack and Jill, and teaching them to lap milk.

“Yes,” assented Tommy, who stood by, pondering as to how soon the pups
might be harnessed to a toy cart; “let’s call her _Happy_, she is
always _so_ glad.” And Happy it is--Mrs. Happy Waddles of Happy Hall.

“Now there’s something else between us besides not understanding things
when we are shut up,” said Anne, making the hound stand up and put both
paws in her lap. “We are both named one thing and called another; for
you probably don’t know, my dear, unless Waddles has told you, that my
true name is Diana, after the hunting lady, and really I think some
night this fall I’ll live up to it and go out with you and Waddles to
hunt rabbits.”

So this is the annal of the coming of Happy, wife of Waddles, Mayor of
Dogtown.

CHAPTER II

MISS LETTY AND HAMLET

Spring always brought many arrivals at Miss Jule’s farm, so that Anne
and Tommy found some new animal at every visit: either an awkward,
frolicsome colt, a fawn-eyed Jersey calf, or a litter of pups; for Miss
Jule was so successful in rearing healthy animals that those she could
not keep met with a ready sale everywhere.

The children went up nearly every afternoon in fine weather, riding
their bicycles all but the steepest part of the way, and having a safe
and easy coast back, for the road was broad, smooth as a floor, and
there were no cross-roads the entire length of the slope, cross-roads
being very bad things for coasters either on wheels or sleds.

Anne, however, did not care about wheeling as much as for riding
horseback. During the past two years Miss Jule’s old brown horse Fox,
though well on in his twenties, had been a safe mount for her, as well
as an intelligent companion. Of course she never rode very fast, and
was always careful to walk him down hills; as old horses, no matter
if they are thoroughbreds, sometimes kneel at the wrong time. But he
was very clever at taking narrow paths through the woods, and keeping
clear of the trees, walking up the little brook which was one of Anne’s
favourite pastimes, without pawing the water and soaking her skirt.

Anne’s father had a beautiful young horse Tom, which he both rode and
drove, but who did not like side-saddles, and did not intend wearing
one. So one day when Anne had ridden him up through the orchard pasture
to look for the cows that had gone astray, he first tried to scrape her
off by squeezing against the tree trunk, and then, when she dismounted
to see if the saddle or girths could possibly gall him, he took a roll
in the spring, saddle and all, and galloped home, leaving Anne to walk.

So Fox remained her pet, and all she had to do to make him come when
she wanted a ride was to go to the pasture, where he spent his days
luxuriously shod with rubber tips, or to the barnyard, where he was
watered, and say “Fox!” ever so softly, and he would come trotting up,
to be either petted or saddled, eager to nibble the bit of sugar,
carrot, or bunch of clover that she always brought him, putting back
his ears meanwhile in pure mischief, and pretending to bite her
fingers, while his nostrils seemed to quiver with laughter at the joke.

[Illustration]

In the middle days of this particular spring, the one that came before
the summer when Waddles and Lumberlegs had their great fight, it was
neither Fox nor the new calves that drew Anne so often to the Hilltop
Farm, but Miss Letty and Hamlet: Miss Letty being neither calf, colt,
nor puppy, but a very pretty girl, and Hamlet a worldly-wise French
poodle.

Miss Letty was the orphan niece of Miss Jule, the child of her only
brother who had lived abroad for many years, married a French lady,
and died there. Miss Letty had been sent to an English and then a
French school by another aunt, her mother’s sister; now as her father
had willed it, she had come on a visit to America, so that she might
see his country and choose with which aunt she preferred to make her
home.

When Anne heard that Miss Jule’s niece was coming to make a visit half
a year long, and that she had a pet dog, she was very much excited, for
Anne was beginning to long for a companion of her own age. She only
hoped that Waddles would like the dog visitor, and then they four could
take lovely excursions together afoot and on horseback, that is, if a
girl from a French boarding-school knew how to manage horses; if she
didn’t, of course she could ride Fox until she learned.

Anne did not know exactly how old Letty was, though of course Miss Jule
did; but she always thought and spoke of her as a schoolgirl, and told
Anne that it would be a fine chance to improve her French, and that
in return she could teach Letty about wood things, for Letty had been
brought up almost altogether in the city. So Anne wondered whether she
knew enough French to make Letty understand, and went about talking
to herself and all the animals on the place in such words as she knew,
much to the confusion and disgust of Waddles, who recognized something
familiar in the invitation to _aller à la poste_, yet did not quite
understand it as the usual invitation to “go to the post-office.”

At first Tommy had not been interested. “If it was a rather big boy
with a real gun that was coming, we could go hunting together and have
some fun next cold weather when the bunnies come out. Girls aren’t much
good excepting Anne, and even she don’t seem to care for guns either,”
he said.

Tommy’s latest treasure was a spring shot-gun that went off with
an alarming pop, but for which he had no ammunition, so as yet he
went about, cocking, aiming, and firing at imaginary big game,--real
squirrels and crows,--quite content to see them scurry away in alarm;
at the same time being careful, as his father had charged him, never to
point it at people, for this is a “mustn’t be” of a real gun, which a
boy must learn by heart before he can even dream of owning one.

When one Saturday morning Martin, who lived at the Hilltop Farm, came
with a note saying that Miss Letty and Hamlet had arrived, and that
Miss Jule would be happy to have Anne and Tommy come up to dinner,
Tommy forgot his poor opinion of girls in general and was as eager as
Anne herself.

Miss Jule kept to the country habit of a one o’clock dinner, and had a
hearty but movable tea at the end of day, when for six months of the
year one begrudges spending much time indoors. As the note came before
nine o’clock, it was too much to expect that the children should wait
until nearly dinner time before accepting the invitation.

“Of course,” said Anne, in explanation of starting at ten o’clock,
“at most places it doesn’t do to go until a few minutes before you
are asked, because the people may be busy, or making the dessert, or
not dressed; but Miss Jule is always busy, has fruit for dessert, and
is never dressed, so she’s quite as ready one time as another,” which
somewhat startling statement of Anne’s did not mean that Miss Jule was
a clothesless savage, but simply that, without the useless state of
fuss and feathers known as “being dressed,” she was always ready to
have her friends come and take her as they found her, which was usually
doing something interesting.

Waddles had an extra brushing in honour of going out to dine, for
he also had several friends at the Hilltop Kennels with whom he
exchanged very pleasant calls. In fact, they belonged to his particular
hunting-club, that admitted only the most discreet citizens of Dogtown,
and had a limited membership.

With the regular kennel dogs Waddles had only a sniffing acquaintance,
which is the same as a mere bowing acquaintance among house people. But
besides these dogs that were bought and sold, trained for hunting and
sent travelling about to shows and held trials, Miss Jule had four who
were pets and house fourfoots, even though two were rather large for
this purpose.

These were Mr. Wolf, whose registered name was Ben Uncas, a long-coated
St. Bernard, with beautiful silky hair, and a very gentle face that
belied the fact that he was a mighty hunter, who seemed to have a
little wolf blood in his veins; Quick, the most agile and impertinent
of fox terriers; Tip, a retrieving spaniel, in size between a field and
a cocker, who wore a coat of wavy golden red hair, and rivalled even
Waddles in wisdom; and Colin, an Irish setter, big for his breed, and
as clumsy and affectionate as a well-bred dog could be.

Colin could boast a Dogtown record almost as free from fighting as
Waddles, but for a different reason. He was handsome, but not over
valiant, and when some indiscretion of his aroused the ire of another
dog, Colin would immediately roll over on his back and kick his four
legs so fast that his confused opponent could get no grip whatever,
and usually found that he had urgent business on the other side of the
street.

Anne and Tommy rode up the long hill very slowly, partly because it
was rather early, and partly because they had on fresh wash suits for
the first time that season, and wash suits look best before they are
withered. At least Anne thought of this, for she had heard that Miss
Letty had money enough to buy all the pretty clothes she wished, and
likely as not she might wear muslin shirt waists and lots of pretty
ribbons. Though Anne did not bother much about her dresses, and had
not worn her best frock, lest she might wish to play, she felt more
comfortable to know that her cambric gown with its plain, turnover
collar was clean, and that her cherry-coloured hair ribbons were new
and had not been “retrieved” by the whole Waddles family in turn.

“I know it’s rather early,” said Anne, after greeting Miss Jule, who
for a wonder was sitting in idleness amid an unusual number of vases
that waited for flowers on the side porch that overlooked the prim,
old-fashioned garden; “but I thought we could see the new setter pups
if Miss Letty was busy or tired or anything; and if she wasn’t, we
could play hide-and-seek with her and Mr. Wolf and Waddles up in the
corn-field. Some of the last year’s stacks are there yet, and we can
creep into them finely. Her dog may not know how to play, and we can
teach him.”

Miss Jule gave a queer little short laugh, started to say something,
stopped with a very funny expression on her plain, jolly face, and
said: “It’s not at all too early. Letty is over there in the garden
beyond the hedge, getting me some flowers for these big jars. You can
introduce yourselves, and ask her to play hide-and-seek, only I’m
afraid that Waddles will not like Hamlet. Tip was so rude that I’ve had
to tie him up.”

Anne called Waddles, who was talking to Mr. Wolf in his day retreat
under the steps, and went down the path with Tommy, not noticing that
Mr. Wolf, Quick, and Colin were following, or that Tip joined the trio
as soon as they were past the lilac hedge, showing by his collarless
condition that he had broken jail.

[Illustration: _Miss Letty._]

As the children looked about they did not see any little girl. Ah,
yes, there was a flutter of white the other side of the bulb beds, so
they turned in that direction to find a young lady standing among
the borders, dressed in such dainty, lovely, flower-coloured clothes as
they had never seen before, at least, never in a garden. One slender
white hand hung by her side, while the other grasped the iris stalks.
They could not see her face because of the lace that drooped from her
hat, but her hair was light brown, and as fluffy as thistle-down.

Could this be the little girl companion that Anne had longed for? Her
heart fell in disappointment. Yes, it must be, for there was no one
else in the garden.

“She is a grown-up young lady, with gowns that wiggle on the ground,
and all our fun is spoilt,” said Anne, softly, checking Tommy who was
about to call out.

Tommy, however, was not so sure that he was disappointed; the pretty
girl attracted him, and he walked directly toward her. At that moment
Waddles, catching sight of a strange-looking dog, partly hidden in the
grass, gave a bark, and the face under the broad hat turned toward
them, opened its mouth and spoke, setting their doubts as to its being
Miss Letty at rest.

“This is Anne I know,” said a delightful, laughing voice, that spoke
every word distinctly, with hardly a bit of accent, and yet had an
intimate sound, “and Tommy, too. Ah, yes, I know you very well, and if
you’d not come to see me this morning, I should have called upon you
this afternoon. I suppose that dear dog with the long ears is Waddles,
come to be introduced to Hamlet,” and she raised an odd silver whistle
that hung from her belt by a chain and gave two short calls.

“Yes, we came as soon after Miss Jule sent the note as we could,” said
Tommy, collecting himself more quickly than Anne, “though mother said
dinner at one meant not to start before half-past twelve. But we didn’t
know that you were so old or could talk our way, and Anne thought she
must speak French, and she’s been muttering all the way up, though
Waddles and I didn’t like it, for we think American is good enough for
anybody. Besides, Anne said perhaps you’d like to play hide-and-seek up
in the corn-field. You see, we didn’t know you were a kind of flower
fairy.”

Then Miss Letty’s eyes met Anne’s, and they both burst into a merry
laugh that made them fast friends, while she shook hands heartily with
Tommy instead of kissing his little pug nose as she wished, which would
have offended him as being babyish.

“Certainly, I will play hide-and-seek if you will tell me precisely
what you expected to find me, Miss Anne. I think that you look
disappointed.”

“I’m not Miss, I’m only plain Anne, who used to be Tommy-Anne until six
years ago, when Tommy came; at least I’m called Anne, because I don’t
like my real name, Diana. You know so few people say it nicely, and Obi
calls it Dinah, the same as the fat coloured woman’s name who lives up
the road and launders our very best things.”

“Is your name really Diana?” cried Miss Letty, clapping her hands in
delight. “It is the name of one of my dearest friends at school, whom
I miss dreadfully, and who had dark hair and eyes like yours. I will
call your name smoothly like this, _Diane_, the French way, for it is a
pleasure to me, and then perhaps you will grow to like it; for a girl
who loves horses and dogs could not be named better.”

“Yes, Miss Letty, I think I do like it already, and I might as well
tell you that I thought you would be a girl like me, so that we could
tramp about and do things together, and take pictures when I get my
new camera, and I did think you might like to play hide-and-seek this
morning with our dogs, and teach yours how, but of course--”

“Of course I shall be charmed to play hide-and-seek, and be your
companion, even if I am very old,--quite eighteen. Come, we will begin
now as soon as I take these flowers to my aunt,” and she gathered the
iris into the skirt of her dainty gown upon which tiny violets formed
stripes that matched the iris in colour.

“_I_ shall call you ‘flower lady,’” said Tommy, decidedly, with a
sturdy expression of face that quite settled the matter as far as he
was concerned.

“Now I’m ready, but where is Hamlet?” said Letty, after she had given
Miss Jule the flowers. “Ah, here he comes, and a chance also to try
your French, Diane, for the only English word he knows is his name. Now
for hide-and-seek.”

“But surely you aren’t going to wear your best gown and slippers to
play hide-and-seek in the corn-field and woods for there are lots of
old briers and prickly things,” expostulated Anne, glancing at Miss
Jule; but as the latter went on arranging her flowers and said nothing,
Anne feared she had been rude.

“This isn’t a best gown, only a muslin--see, I can hold it up so,” and
Miss Letty threw the trailing skirt over her arm, showing an underskirt
so frail that plainly clad Anne nearly gasped in spite of herself. “And
I never wear thick shoes; in fact, I haven’t any, though they might be
useful here.”

[Illustration]

Then she turned and began chatting gayly in French to Hamlet who came
down the path, looking somewhat anxiously behind him. As a dog of his
breed Hamlet was doubtless quite perfect; but to Anne, accustomed to
the rough-and-ready citizens of Dogtown, to whom a bath and a brushing
was full dress, his costume was rather startling. His long hair, which
on his crown and shoulders hung in stringy curls like a mop, was shaved
close on the lower part of his body, with the exception of a tuft
on each hip and bands around his ankles. His clean-shaven face was
decorated by a long mustache, he wore a silver bangle collar run with
blue ribbon that hardly showed amid his curls, and a bracelet on one
ankle. At a signal from his mistress he sprang upon a low wicker stand
that served as a porch tea table, sat erect, and saluted.

Tommy was delighted, of course, and Miss Letty made him do all his
tricks, of which he knew as many as a circus dog. He waltzed, he said
his prayers, he fetched a handkerchief from Miss Letty’s room, although
he had only been in the house two days, and so on, ending by turning
three somersaults and barking like mad when Miss Letty waved her
handkerchief and cried, “Vive la Republique!”

“What do you think of Hamlet?” asked Miss Letty, throwing herself into
a hammock to get her breath. “Can Waddles do as many tricks?” she
added, rather piqued that Anne was not more enthusiastic, “and does he
always mind when you speak to him?”

“I think Hamlet is very clever. No, Waddles does not do tricks; but
he knows a great deal, and a great many things that take a great deal
of thinking out. For one thing, he knows how to take care of himself,
though I can’t say that he always minds so very well; but I am sure
that he is a more durable country dog than Hamlet.”

“Minding is everything,” said Miss Letty, decidedly; “Hamlet obeys
every word I say, and so he never really has to think for himself. Sh!
_Tais-toi!_” she cried, clapping her hands, for Hamlet having once
started to bark in honour of the French Republic had no mind to stop;
and as every one knows, who has either owned or lived next door to one,
a poodle has a voice of such piercing and incessant shrillness that
even a fence cat on a moonlight night cannot compete with it.

Hamlet would not listen, and kept on tearing round the house and
barking, until not only all the dogs in the kennels were set agog, but
the signal travelled over Dogtown and answering barks could be heard
for a mile away, while Miss Jule put her fingers in her ears and Anne
burst out laughing in spite of herself.

“He’s a little upset,” said his mistress when he was finally quiet; “he
is not used to so much space, and it’s gone to his head.”--“Come,” she
called, speaking French rapidly, “sit up and smoke your pipe to calm
yourself, and read the paper.”

Hamlet meekly mounted the stand again, while his mistress produced a
short clay pipe from her work-bag that hung by the hammock and stuck it
in his mouth, perched Miss Jule’s eyeglasses upon his nose, and held
the morning paper before him.

“No, do not look at me--read!” she said, as his eyes rolled about in a
helpless sort of fashion, “read until I stop counting.”

[Illustration]

“Now,” she said, when the lesson was over, “we will all go and play
hide-and-seek. Do you know the French for that, Anne? No? Well, it is
_câche-câche_. Come, Tommy, I will race you to the wall;” tossing her
skirt once more over her arm, Miss Letty whirled away,--muslin, lace,
openwork stockings, high-heeled slippers, and all,--Anne and Tommy
padding along after in their broad-soled shoes.

Miss Jule stopped laughing and sighed, saying to herself: “She is sunny
tempered and bright, but she has more need to learn American of Anne
than Anne has to learn French. I was afraid this morning that the farm
was too dull a place for such a dainty lady, but I believe this visit
will be the making of her. If only _something_ would happen to the
poodle. He gets on my nerves, though I can’t tell why, and I’d quite
forgotten that I had any.” This was a strange opinion to come from
Miss Jule, who was the friend of every little cur in Dogtown, and had
been known to pay the license for more than one poor body in danger of
losing a seemingly worthless pet.

* * * * *

Once in the corn-field the difference in age between Anne and Miss
Letty melted as if by magic, and they chatted away as merrily as if
they had been life-long friends. Anne, looking up to the older girl as
a beautiful and superior being, was further enthralled by finding that
she knew a great deal about the pictures that she herself loved, and
had actually once seen Rosa Bonheur, who painted the wonderful “Horse
Fair,” a coloured print of which was Anne’s chief treasure, and had
really stood beside her once when she was painting a great white bull.

To Miss Letty, on the other hand, who had never before thought that the
country was anything more than a place full of trees and grass that
was very dull to stay in for more than a week, and a dreadful place to
spoil one’s complexion, Anne’s friendship with wild things seemed like
a living fairy tale, and Anne herself a veritable brownie.

* * * * *

Waddles, Mr. Wolf, Quick, Colin, and Tip played hide-and-seek
beautifully; but Miss Letty would not let Hamlet join in the game,
because she said that his hair was too long and needed clipping, and
might get full of straws; then his feet were delicate, and the stubble
might cut them, or the briers tear his ears or pull off his bracelet.
Then, too, his hair had been freshly oiled to keep it black, after the
manner of poodles, and it would be fatal to its lustre if dirt got upon
it.

So poor Hamlet had to suffer the shame of being tied to a small tree,
in full sight of the other dogs, by one of his mistress’s violet
ribbons. He was at heart a manly, brave dog, and in no way responsible
for the caprice that makes so many of his tribe play the fool. Also
the other dogs seemed to have a contempt for his forlorn and ladylike
state, and Anne distinctly saw Tip kick dirt at him in passing, and
dignified Waddles nipped his hind leg.

As it drew near noon the trio wandered toward the wooded edge of the
field, where Anne said they would be sure to find yellow violets,
wind flowers, and spring beauties, and Miss Letty filled her hat with
them to take home to paint, and then sat down to rest with Tommy at
her feet, while Anne went farther into the wood to look for wild
sarsaparilla.

“I’m going to have you for my sweetheart,” said Tommy, suddenly, as
he stepped back with his hands behind him, contentedly surveying a
rickety-looking wreath of dogwood blossoms that he had put upon Miss
Letty’s golden hair, but which would slip down over her eyes. “I think
that you are much nicer than Pinkie Scott and Bess and Grace.”

“And who are they, pray?” said Miss Letty, peering through the wreath.

“Oh, they are the others I play with, little girls--all alike, but you
are several kinds.”

“You mustn’t say, ‘I’m going to have you,’ in such a way,” said Miss
Letty, struggling to be serious; “you must go down on your knees in the
dirt and ask me very politely.”

“No,” said Tommy, sturdily, “I won’t. I don’t mind the dirt; but if you
ask, people mostly say you mustn’t; but if you say you’re going to, you
oftener get it.”

Miss Letty looked up quite surprised at his reasoning and said: “Very
well, play I’m your sweetheart. What next?”

“Why, then I must bring you up a present every Sunday just like Baldy
does to Miss Jule’s Anna Maria. But, Miss Letty, how long will you be
my sweetheart? For ever and ever?”

“That’s _too_ long to promise, Tommy. How will until you want to give
me to some one else do?”

“First rate; just listen! those dogs must have struck a good trail down
below there; hear them yell. I guess I’ll go and see,” and he quickly
disappeared around the hill.

“I can now untie Hamlet,” called Miss Letty to Anne, going to the tree
where she had left him; but Hamlet was not there, neither was the sash
ribbon.

Miss Letty whistled and called in vain, for the barking and yelping
sounded farther and farther away on the other side of the wood, and
when she tried to follow its direction, sharp twigs and briers tore her
lacy frills, and her high heels caught in the tangled roots, until Anne
coming up grasped her arm just in time to prevent her from falling into
an old spring hole.

“There is no use in trying to follow the dogs,” said Anne, taking in
the situation at a glance; “they are across the river halfway over to
Pine Ridge by this time. I think we had better go back to Miss Jule’s,
for you look ever so warm, and you are all scratched and tattered.”

“But Hamlet, I must find him; he will be lost and never find his way
back, for he does not know the place at all. Besides, it does not agree
with him to run, and he may get himself muddy.”

“Of course he will be muddy and very likely tired, but he will be sure
to come back with the others. I think they have taken him to show him
the way about and introduce him to their friends. They are way up at
Squire Burley’s now. I hear his foxhounds baying,” she added, after
listening intently for a moment; for her keen ears knew the tones and
distinguished between the various Dogtown voices as readily as if they
belonged to human friends.

* * * * *

Miss Letty looked ruefully at the shreds hanging from her pretty frock
and then gave a little scream as she stretched out one foot and saw her
stocking. “Look, Anne! there are bugs all going through the openwork
and biting me.”

“They are not bugs” laughed Anne, kneeling to pick them off; “but about
half a dozen kinds of last year’s ‘stick tights’ and hook-on seeds;
they want your stocking to carry them off and plant them somewhere
else. Please, Miss Letty, do girls in French schools wear dancing
slippers and party gowns in the woods?”

“Schoolgirls never do. We always wore black frocks, white collars and
cuffs, and pinafores, quite like housemaids, and very seldom went
out of the big brick-walled garden except at vacation time. Then I
travelled about with tante Marie and my uncle, who always wished me to
have pretty clothes, and her maid repaired them. And when I was coming
here tante Marie said all girls in America dressed like princesses,
yes, even the children, and she bought me almost the trousseau of a
bride, for I love frou-frous; the heavy English clothes my father used
to buy quite choked me. I fear me I can never wear shoes even like
yours, Diane, and my Aunt Julie’s--positively, the soles are like a
ship’s deck.”

“It is of no use telling her, she will have to find out for herself,”
thought Anne; then looking across the field toward the house, she
exclaimed, “Why, there is Mr. Hugh, and he has a new horse.”

“Who, pray, is Mr. Hugh?” said Miss Letty, struggling over or rather
through her last fence, and leaving several yards of petticoat frill
behind. “Whoever he may be he rides well.”

“Mr. Hugh?” hesitated Anne, scarcely realizing that he should be
unknown to any one. “Why, Mr. Hugh is a very nice man, but quite old,
almost thirty. He owns all the land between Miss Jule’s and Squire
Burley’s; he’s big and dark brown, that is, his hair and eyes and
mustache are, and mostly his clothes and gaiters; and he grows dogs
and horses too, and writes books about the things that smell queer and
poison you--chemistry, you know. He has a stone house that’s as strong
as a castle, and all the furniture is plain and the chairs are leather,
for he hates all kinds of rags hanging to chairs and things like that.
He likes pictures and flowers, though, and he gave me my ‘Horse Fair’
print last birthday. He has strawberries in his cold-frame that are
nearly ripe, I saw them last week. I do believe he is bringing some
to Miss Jule now, for he has a basket. Mr. Hugh doesn’t like young
ladies, but only children and people like mother and Miss Jule. But he
will be very polite, so you needn’t be afraid of him,” she added, as
she saw Miss Letty hesitate and look as if she was going to run away.

[Illustration]

As Anne said, Mr. Hugh had brought a basket of delicious strawberries,
which Miss Jule handed over to Letty and Anne to arrange for the table,
saying, “They are so big you must leave the hulls on and lay them on
fresh leaves.”

“I will do it,” said Miss Letty, giving Anne a little push toward the
door. “I know that you are longing to see the new horse.”

This was true, and Anne finally, after some difficulty, persuaded Mr.
Hugh to accept Miss Jule’s invitation to luncheon, pleading to try the
new horse over the little hedge afterward, as Mr. Hugh said he was
broken to side-saddle, and a fine jumper.

The luncheon table looked very pretty with Letty’s flower decorations
and little vines laid on the cloth, and all went well, Mr. Hugh being
less shy than usual. When the strawberries came, they certainly looked
very tempting, lying on a bed of leaves, on green glass plates, with a
mound of sugar on the side of each to dip them in.

Miss Jule, who was near-sighted, began eating hers, and Mr. Hugh
followed in an absent-minded sort of way, for he was talking pasture
and other interesting things to his hostess.

Suddenly Anne gave a loud exclamation and then stopped, flushing
scarlet in embarrassment.

“What is it?” asked Mr. Hugh, “a bee in the berries?”

“No; but--but--the green leaves under the berries are poison ivy, and
you know you poison dreadfully and so does Miss Jule. Oh, and the vines
around the table edge are poison too. I didn’t notice at first, the
leaves are so small and young.”

“Bless me!” cried Miss Jule, rubbing her lips and finger-tips with her
handkerchief. “Run up to my medicine closet, Anne, and bring the bottle
labelled ‘Lead water and alcohol,’ and a wad of cotton. Letty, child,
you will be sure to be poisoned with all those brier scratches on your
wrists.”

“I saw the pretty, shining vine growing up those trees and over
the stone fence by the stables and I thought it was American ivy,”
stammered Miss Letty, looking ready to cry. “How can it poison us, Aunt
Julie? we haven’t eaten any.”

“It’s the juice bites your skin,” interrupted Tommy, promptly, “and
then it all blubbers up and gets wet and sticky, and you scratch and
scratch, but it doesn’t do any good.”

After Anne, whom poison ivy never harmed, had brought the antidote,
and fingers and lips were bathed, they went out under the trees, for
no one cared for the berries except Tommy, who crept into the kitchen
and washed his vigorously with soap and water, and devoured them with
relish.

“Miss Letty is my pretty sweetheart; don’t you wish she was yours?”
said Tommy to Mr. Hugh very abruptly, as he was being swung into the
wonderful Mexican saddle to try the new horse around the lawn.

“No, I don’t, Tommy; pretty people are all very well, but useful ones
with common sense are better,” was the answer.

Miss Letty, coming down the steps as the pair passed by, heard and said
to Anne, who was behind her: “I hate your Mr. Hugh. I think he is a
bear,” which remark coming out of a seeming clear sky, Anne could not
understand.

A diversion, however, was caused by the return of the dogs with much
barking and orders of “down” and “to heel,” for they were wet, muddy,
and did not smell like roses.

Mr. Wolf bore a muskrat, and Colin brought up the rear with something
that had once been a shoe, which he laid at Miss Jule’s feet, with much
tail-wagging, as if to say, “It’s merely a trifle, but better than
nothing.”

“Hamlet--is--not--with--them,” said Miss Letty, slowly, with almost a
sob in her voice.

“We will all walk up the river bank and look for him,” said Miss Jule,
cheerfully; “the dogs came back that way.”

They had only gone a couple of hundred feet up the stream when Anne,
who was ahead, called, “There he is, sitting on that rock; he must be
tired and afraid to swim over alone.”

Then, as they drew nearer, the reason for his sitting still was plain.
His heavy curls were a mat of mud, burrs, and briers that must have
made either walking or swimming nearly impossible, while the tangle
over his eyes was so dense that he could see nothing. His collar was
gone, also his bracelet, and his fluffy wristlets hung limp.

[Illustration]

At a call from his mistress, however, he half stumbled, half plunged
into the shallow stream and threw himself into her lap, and she hugged
him, thus completing the wreck of her gown, saying, “You poor, poor
boy! we are a pair, you and I, because of our clothes, and not knowing
the country.”

* * * * *

It was impossible to comb or pick the straws and burrs from Hamlet’s
coat, so next day one of the grooms clipped him close all over and
gave him a bath. When he went, meek and shivering with mortification,
to his mistress’s room, where she was sitting alone, as the poisoning
was doing its work on the scratched wrists and shell-pink ears, she
hardly recognized her pet in the lanky black dog with only a tail-tuft
left of his curls. As she did not speak, he went over to a low stool,
and putting his nose between his paws, “said his prayers,” as she had
often made him do for punishment when he had disobeyed.

Then, in spite of her misery, she burst into a hearty laugh, and bade
him go out and play with the other dogs, which he very readily did,
feeling, if antics tell anything, like a little boy who has just put
off petticoats. After his clipping Hamlet was cordially received in
Dogtown, and considered one of the boys, and whether or not his hair
was allowed to grow or if he ever again wore a scented mustache,
remains to be seen.

CHAPTER III

TROUBLE BEGINS

During all these days Lumberlegs, the St. Bernard, grew mightily. When
he was a year old, he looked like an awkward young calf; but when his
second year was ended, he had the tawny head of a lioness, and his
body, well rounded yet muscular, was in keeping with his huge paws.

When he sat and Tommy stood, their heads were on a level, and when they
walked abroad together, Tommy tugging sturdily at his collar to keep
pace, they usually had the roadway to themselves, for Lumberlegs was
not only the largest inhabitant of Dogtown, but of the whole county,
and people made so many remarks about his size that Tommy dubbed him
Bigness.

[Illustration: _Lumberlegs and Tommy._]

These same people predicted that some day there would be a dog fight
at Happy Hall when Lumberlegs came to realize his strength, and the
feeling of jealousy that comes to a dog with full growth. Surely there
was material for both jealousy and a fight. Waddles loved Anne
with the sort of love that thinks it owns the object of its devotion;
Lumberlegs loved both Tommy and Anne in the same way; while Lily, the
bulldog, was devoted to Tommy alone, and deeply resented the coming of
Happy, who loved every one, as an infringement of her rights; so that
at the time Happy became the mother of Jack and Jill, and consequently
an object of much attention, there was a considerable strain upon dog
tempers.

At this point fate wisely stepped in as she often does, though tears
came with her. Lily broke one of the most rigid of dog laws, the
penalty for which is death--she defied an express train! In going with
Tommy and Anne to the town she did not follow the road and cross the
railway bridge with high safe sides, but lingered by the way, sniffing
here and then there until she lost sight of her friends, and took a
short cut across the fields that bordered the tracks, running between
the rails until she should reach a gap in the guard fence that opened
on the road the other side.

It was time for the morning express, the particular train that always
whistles as it turns the curve, and thrusts out an iron arm to grab the
mail bag, swinging from its gallows, while it drops another bag into a
rack beneath.

[Illustration]

It was always a puzzle to Tommy as to how the bag was seized without
missing, and he often coaxed Anne to wait on the bridge until the
train came, as there were little star-shaped openings in the iron work
through which he could see.

This morning they had crossed, and then hearing the train turned back.
Anne missing Lily looked up the hill for her, while Waddles, who, as a
matter of course, was one of the party, trotted soberly along toward
the village, where he would wait for his mistress upon the steps of
either the market or grocery store, according as he understood her
destination.

As the train reached the curve Tommy, whose eye was at the chink, gave
a shriek and dashed himself at the barrier, wailing: “Lily, Lily, my
Lily! She’ll be killed! O Anne, come quick!”

In reality, by this time Lily had crossed the rails and was quite safe,
but her master’s cry made her turn to locate him. Whether she thought
he was in pain or danger no one knows, but at that moment the train
rounded the curve, whistling furiously. To the bewildered dog it must
have been associated with her master’s scream or else sounded like
a challenge, for like a flash she turned and charged the monstrous
engine face to face. Tommy cast himself face downward on the roadway,
his tears making mud of the dust. Anne caught hold of the railing and
closed her eyes while the train thundered by underneath. Lily lay quite
still high up on the bank; the engine had been quickly merciful.

That afternoon Baldy buried Lily in the corner of the orchard pasture
where there was quite a company of pet animals, ranging from canaries,
with school slates for headstones, to Brownie, the dear old pony that
had belonged to Anne’s mother when a girl, and lived out a happy old
age in that very pasture. One thing about pet animals is that their
lives at best are so short, that we should treat them very kindly to
make up for it.

Some of the neighbours laughed at what they called Unhappy Hall
Cemetery, but Anne resented this with a good deal of spirit, saying, “I
think that it is very mean to love an animal one day, when it is alive
and can amuse you, and then throw it on the ash heap the next, just
because it’s dead and can’t help itself.”

Tommy still crying, and remorseful at perhaps having caused Lily’s
death by calling her at the wrong moment, insisted upon Miss Jule,
and his father, and mother attending her funeral. Anne made a wreath
of her best flowers, sacrificing four tea rosebuds and all of her
mignonette and heliotrope, but Tommy would have none of it. Instead, he
begged two beef bones from the cook, and tying them together crosswise
with Anne’s best pink hair ribbon, which she had not the heart to
deny him, put them on the middle of the mound, saying between sobs,
“She--loved--bones--but--she didn’t like flowers--except to sleep on,”
which was perfectly true, her favourite places for a siesta having been
alternately the verbena, nasturtium, or lettuce bed.

Tommy’s father and mother were resigned, though they did not say much
about it before the children. Complaints had begun to reach their
ears that Lily not only felt it her duty to prevent strange people
from coming near Tommy, but declined to let them pass by on the road
unchallenged; and though they cherished all animals, they never allowed
them to become a nuisance or bore those who cared less for them.

Baldy was also resigned and spoke his mind freely, much to Tommy’s
chagrin.

As for Dogtown, it was jubilant to the barking point, especially among
the lower classes, consisting of those dogs who, being in reduced
circumstances, had been used to come shrinking and timid between dusk
and dawn for castaway bones or swill-pail dainties.

Waddles was liberal minded upon such matters--as liberal as the law
allows. Dog law says that no dog shall dig up a bone that another has
buried; but all bones that lie abandoned and uncovered are public
property and fair eating.

Waddles, being affluent, never ate swill, and only buried special bones
to ripen, casting others about at random, often with scraps of flesh
ungnawed; for this he was regarded in Dogtown as the people’s friend.

Lily, in coming, stopped this patronage. She had known want herself,
in the days when she tramped with gypsies, so she ranged about,
industriously burying everything she found for possible future use,
and kept such a strict watch on all the outbuildings that the most
ravenous cur dared not steal a lap of sour milk from the pig’s trough
for fear of seeing those wide jaws gnashing in front of him; for Lily
had the one bad trait of her race: she laid hold without warning.

So after all it was only Tommy who grieved for Lily. To him she stood
for property rights, strength, and friendship, and for a time he was
inconsolable.

[Illustration]

“Let’s come home and see the twins have their supper; it won’t do any
good for you to stay here and cry. Your eyes are swelled up like a
frog’s, now,” said Anne, trying to lead Tommy away after Baldy and his
shovel had disappeared.

“Supposin’ it was Waddles was dead, would you stop cryin’--the very
same day--even if you were frogs?”

“Waddles! why that is entirely different; he is a _person_. There
is _no_ other dog like him,” and then Anne sat down suddenly on the
tumble-down stone fence in sheer amazement at the possibility of
mischance overtaking her little friend.

A friend he was, and she was entirely right--there was no other quite
like him among sturdy, self-reliant, gentlemen dogs. He had been so
long the companion of the House People that, without being of the
objectionable, pampered, perfumed, spoon-fed type of lap dog who
demands the care that a child alone should have, he really seemed to
be, as Anne said, a person.

Waddles did not know a single taught trick; he could not hold sugar on
his nose, like Miss Letty’s poodle, Hamlet; he could not sit up and
beg, though he had a language of his own, part gesture, part speech, by
which he could ask for anything that he could not get without aid.

In his frisky youth even he scorned the mere idea of jumping through a
hoop, or the poodle trick of “saying his prayers.”

Yet there were few walls that he could not manage to get over or
through, and he would put his paws upon his mistress’s knees and gaze
into her face in unmistakable supplication.

“It’s a great responsibility having a dog like Waddles,” Anne had said
one day, shortly after her brother was born, when she had given him
half of her name, and stopped being Tommy-Anne, and there had been much
talk about her new responsibility. “Do you know, mother, I believe
Waddles thinks that I’m God, and it will be dreadful if I’m unkind and
disappoint him.”

No, Waddles was untrained and untutored in the common sense of the
words, but he “knew,” which was better; his method of treeing cats or
coons in company with Miss Jule’s big Ben Uncas, and the fox terrier,
Quick, though somewhat reprehensible, was a marvel of military tactics,
and it was knowledge of this sort that made and kept him Mayor of
Dogtown; for he was the one dog that no other had ever attacked or
fought, so it was no wonder that Anne grew grave at the mere suggestion
of losing him, though never dreaming that there was really trouble
hovering about, and that, too, from a dog of the Happy Hall household
and herself.

For a time after Lily’s departure everything was peaceful. Jack and
Jill were fast growing able to play and indulge in the wrestling
matches that make puppies quick-witted and strengthen their muscles.

Happy often superintended these bouts herself, stirring up first one
pup and then the other, often aiding and protecting the under dog if
too roughly vanquished. Anne soon discovered that these affairs were
not merely aimless play upon Happy’s part, but a way she took for
teaching the twins how to protect themselves.

[Illustration]

The next step was to teach them to protect their food, and when one day
Happy dragged a ripe and well-cleaned beef bone from its hiding-place,
and deliberately threw it down between Jack and Jill, and they began a
struggle for its possession, Anne in amazement rushed into the house to
call the family, crying: “Do come out and see the queerest thing--Happy
is teaching the pups to play ‘snatch bone’ exactly the same way as
Waddles played it with Lumberlegs when he was a puppy. You’ll really
have to see it to believe what I say.” It was more than true, for not
only did they wrestle and snatch the bone from one another, seeking in
turn to hide it in the grass under a few leaves, but when the frolic
was fast turning to a pitched battle, and ludicrous baby growls mingled
with flashing teeth from between drawn-up lips, then Happy gave a
sharp “yap” that must have meant something very dreadful, for the pups
instantly let go and drew apart with a most abject droop of the tail,
while she seized the bone, and trotting off reburied it.

Though Waddles seldom forgot his dignity sufficiently to play with the
twins, he allowed them to take morsels from his dish, and was always
close at hand if their shrill cries told that they were in trouble, and
the slightest look from Happy brought him to her aid.

Lumberlegs, on the contrary, delighted to gambol with them, and his
clumsy bounds and imitations of their gestures usually ended in his
overthrow, when he would lie on his back with a most idiotic grin upon
his face, fanning the air with his paws, while the twins gnawed at his
great tail with mock fierceness.

Now the race law for puppies and grown dogs is quite different, even as
are those laws that govern childhood and manhood among House People.
Actions that are tolerated and even encouraged in puppyhood are read as
insults when done by a dog of two years, and bear a penalty.

In spite of Waddles’s instructions and warnings, Lumberlegs was either
heedless of the law, often deliberately breaking it, or else from his
size and strength felt himself superior to it; which it was Anne could
never tell. Perhaps it was because he was unevenly developed, for he
had all a man dog’s jealousy and craving for the exclusive attention
of his owners, while he kept his baby playfulness and total disregard
of food rights. So trouble befell one fine day, like rain from sudden
clouds that no one has noticed gathering.

After it had happened Anne was continually remembering little things
that might have given her warning.

Waddles had a favourite afternoon station on the end of the porch that
commanded the front and barn roads, the front door, and the garden also
if he turned his head. Suddenly Lumberlegs regularly appropriated this
watch-tower, and his length being so great that there was no view from
a back seat Waddles, after unavailing verbal remonstrance, was forced
to lie upon the grass.

[Illustration]

Waddles was the only dog that had been allowed in the dining room at
meal times, when he sat quietly under the table at Anne’s feet. Soon
Lumberlegs discovered a way of opening the door and he would hide
under the table, lying at Tommy’s feet. As he was quiet, and Tommy
declared that he made “a fine feet bench,” he was allowed to remain.
Consequently Waddles was squeezed against the table’s claw legs and
presently left his old place and lay disconsolately upon the door-mat.

When Lumberlegs came, a gift from Miss Jule, he was regarded as Tommy’s
property; but when the novelty wore off, and Jack and Jill became
counter attractions, he turned wholly to Anne to supply his needs both
of food and affection, and became devotedly attached to her as big dogs
usually are to only one person; while Anne, though faithful to Waddles,
returned his devotion, for he was in many ways a noble dog.

Anne had insisted almost from her babyhood that one of her ancestors
must have been an Indian, so fond she was of wild ways and things, and
this liking did not decrease as she grew of an age to crave friends of
her own race.

She still tramped about the near-by woods, but Miss Letty was often her
companion. Also Miss Letty was timorous and made a point of insisting
that Lumberlegs go with them. This he often did, and would either
follow close or sit quite still on guard for any length of time; while
Waddles and Happy would perhaps strike a trail and dash off in full
cry, thereby disturbing the very things that Anne had come to watch.
One day, after they had in this way scattered a quail brood that Anne
had hunted from the time that Bobwhite announced his arrival, until
she found the dear little chicks huddled in a leafy hollow among wild
blackberry canes on the orchard edge, she felt provoked, and did not
allow Waddles to go to walk with her for almost a week. “Mistress,”
said he, his eyes growing deep and luminous with reproach, “I’ve always
been with you until now; have you forgotten all those fine days before
Tommy came, and there was only you and I? Don’t you remember I was with
you when we met the miller’s bull, and he was so angry because, though
he tolled the bell at Cock Robin’s funeral, they didn’t ask him to the
feast, and how I followed you and Obi when you went for the wood-duck’s
nest, though I was very sick, and that day when Ko-ko-ko-ho showed us
the way to where the last rattlesnake was, and the night that we went
up on the hill and I barked you awake just when you thought you were at
the Forest Circus? What has happened, mistress? Are you tired of me, or
can that Lumberlegs show you better paths than I do? Though you gave
my tail and back legs half to Tommy when he was born, I’ve always used
them to follow you and tell you I was glad just the same as ever, but
now you love Lumberlegs best.”

“You dear, jealous old Waddlekins,” cried Anne, lifting his paws to
her knee as of old so that he stood up and she could look in his face,
“it’s nothing of the kind, only Miss Letty often comes with me, and
she is used to the city, and she doesn’t care for those long ‘go over
everything’ walks that we take, and she has read in the papers about
tramps, and thinks Lumberlegs makes a splendid policeman. Besides, you
know that you chased all those lovely little quails off our land just
when they were getting big enough to have their pictures taken, and
father had spent a lot of money for rubber tubing so he could work his
camera from behind the old green apple tree. Now they are as shy as
loons, and pop down in those wild roses when we are a whole field away
and there isn’t even a big bush to hide behind.

“But never mind; I’m sorry, anyway, so touch noses and be friends, and
to-morrow we will do the brook walk all by ourselves; for even if I do
love Lumberlegs, it’s quite different.”

Instead of the usual dainty lick Waddles gave a half-suppressed growl.
Anne dropped his paws, exclaiming in surprise: “To think of it, you
growled at me when I was apologizing, the very first time in your life,
too. I think you had better go over and rest in your kennel and think
it over.”

Then she led him to his little house, snapped the chain in his collar,
and walked away without once looking back, Lumberlegs leaving his
stolen seat on the porch to follow her.

The truth about the growl was this: Waddles, dislodged by Lumberlegs
from many of his nap nooks, had lately taken to lying in the grass
or under bushes, which as he was elderly and the season very wet had
given him rheumatism in his hind quarters. As Anne held up his paws the
strain soon gave his back a miserable wrench. This caused the growl,
and for thus being misunderstood to threaten his idol, Waddles was not
only left behind, but dethroned and chained up in his rival’s presence,
where he stood as if transfixed with a strange, drawn expression on his
face, which when House People wear we know they are struggling to keep
back tears.

If only Anne had then remembered what she had once said about
disappointing him!

[Illustration: “_He stood transfixed._”--p. 79.]

CHAPTER IV

EXIT LUMBERLEGS

[Illustration]

One morning the skirmishing that had been going on for several weeks
between Waddles and Lumberlegs broke into open warfare, and it was
the misguided interference of a would-be peacemaker that quickened the
crisis.

This was Mrs. Happy Waddles who, from poking her pretty little nose
where it did not belong, and relying too much upon the indulgence
accorded her sex, not only very nearly made herself a widow, but caused
a household commotion as well.

As we have noticed before, Lumberlegs was very poorly instructed in dog
law, in spite of having grown up side by side with Waddles, who was
letter perfect in it. Not only did Lumberlegs ignore the “rights of
age” and “buried bones law,” but he began breaking the “fresh food law”
as well.

House People should make it as easy as possible for their fourfoots
to keep this law by giving each one its rations separately, for it is
only in early puppy days that dogs may be trusted to feed from the same
dish, and even then the timid and weak fare poorly.

Waddles had the appetite of a dog who had been reared alone, and could
therefore pick and choose. He ate deliberately and never ravenously,
sniffing cautiously at each morsel; for once, when he was ill, Anne had
made the mistake of giving him pills concealed in his food. Of course
he discovered them, spat them out with much sputtering, and never
forgot the occurrence.

On the other hand, Lumberlegs and Happy were both gluttons; the first
because he was so big that it seemed impossible to give him enough,
while the little beagle was perhaps prompted to overeat by a haunting
memory of the single daily meal of her kennel life.

In this particular case the bone of contention belonged to a ham, a
dainty especially kept for Waddles. He had taken a few gnaws from it
and hidden it under the flap of the cellar door, his favourite cache,
while he went for his daily walk to the village with Anne; for whatever
his faults he had always preferred her companionship to food, never
swerving even for liver and bacon.

Along sauntered Lumberlegs, searching for something to add relish to
his ample breakfast of dog bread. He tried to investigate the swill
pail, but it not only had a tight zinc cover, after the fashion of all
well-bred scrap pails, but for double protection there was a stone on
top which he playfully knocked off with one sweep of his paw.

Straws show which way the wind blows, and this stone showed where the
ham bone was by rolling directly against it.

Lumberlegs seized upon the bone with delight and tossed it into the
air gaily, preparing to have a good play before making a meal.

Happy, whose deafness seemed to sharpen her sense of smell, came from
under a bush where she had been taking a nap in company with Jack and
Jill, and sat where she could keep her eyes upon the bone, giving a
little whine now and then, moistening her lips with the edge of her
pink tongue, and casting appealing glances at Lumberlegs that only
seemed to stimulate him to further antics.

It is almost always the soft-haired, mild-eyed, helpless looking sort
of people like Happy that sit still and brew trouble, even in bigger
places than Dogtown.

Waddles, coming home from market half an hour later, took in the
situation at a glance. He had borne a great deal in silence, but this
was too much. It was high time for his position as house fourfoot at
Happy Hall to be upheld. He would try his authority as “oldest dog”
first. So, going forward slowly with a contracted tiptoe gait and tail
held erect, he made a series of noises that seemed graded between
growls and real speech. Lumberlegs understood this language perfectly,
and rolling on his back, he gave the bone a final, careless toss, as
much as to say, “I was only playing, take your old bone.”

Waddles advanced to seize his property, and all would have been well,
at least for that time, if Happy had not interfered.

It had happened several times that when the two dogs had been playing
with or contending for a bone, Happy had ended the matter by running
between them, giving each a caressing lick on the nose, and making off
with the bone herself, leaving them looking sheepish, but too polite
to remonstrate. She now tried the same tactics, but in reaching up to
Lumberlegs, who was rolling in the grass, she received an entirely
unintentional blow from one of his paws, and ran away squealing in
terror out of all proportion to her hurt.

Waddles, with a deep, short growl that must have been a wicked word
in dog talk, sprang upon Lumberlegs; but before he could do more, the
great jaws closed on his neck, and he was shaken as a cat shakes a rat.

Fortunately, Waddles wore a stout collar which broke the force of the
grip, otherwise his neck might have been broken before Baldy, who heard
Anne’s cry, came to stop the fray. But as it was, the sleek white neck
was streaked with red, there was a rent in one of the beautiful ears,
and for the first time in his life Waddles, the Mayor of Dogtown,
had been mauled and shaken like a common cur. And this, too, when he
was growing old, and by a dog of the same household. True, in the
old days, he often had differences with Tiger, the miller’s cat; but
cat scratches on one’s nose are considered wounds of honour in dog
etiquette, and are no disgrace.

Lumberlegs was shut in the yard beside his kennel, and Waddles
retreated to the remotest corner of the cellar, from which he refused
to come forth even when Anne, bringing warm water, a bit of sponge, and
sticking plaster, called him in her most persuasive voice.

“He feels sulky,” said Baldy, “leave him alone a spell and he’ll come
out all right. I reckon his feelings is hurt more’n his neck.”

“That is just it,” said Anne, sorrowfully, “and to a dog like Waddles
hurt feelings are much worse to bear than a bitten neck.”

But when he failed to appear at dinner time, and Anne took a lantern to
hunt for him among the coal-bin caverns, the poor neck was so swollen
that the collar was sunken in the flesh like a ring on a fat finger.
Even when the collar was taken off, the bite bathed and cooled with
a soothing wash, and the rent in the ear drawn together with narrow
strips of rubber plaster, he refused either to respond to Anne’s
petting, come upstairs, or in fact move at all, though after she
reluctantly left, she heard him lapping water from the refrigerator pan
after his usual hot weather habit.

“I wouldn’t trouble if I was you,” said Baldy, cheerfully; “they all
hev their little scrapes. It’s accordin’ to natur’ for dogs to delight
to bark and bite, like it says in the Sunday-school poetry, that
everybody knows.”

“That’s one of the things that ‘everybody knows’ that isn’t true,”
answered Anne, emphatically; “dogs’ real delight is to live with people
and be understood and have their feelings respected. That’s why I’m
afraid that Waddles will never forget to-day; he has been feeling hurt
about Lumberlegs for a long while, and now he thinks he is in disgrace
besides.”

“Feed the dogs separately, keep them apart for a time and the stray
bones raked up, and I think the feud will blow over,” said Anne’s
father. Her mother thought differently, for Lumberlegs, the boisterous
puppy, and Bigness, the full-grown man dog, standing thirty-five inches
at the shoulder, were entirely different beings. She had watched him at
play with Tommy and noticed the way he eyed with resentment everything
that came near. She knew that when he followed Anne to the woods
she had more than police protection. He was of the faithful, jealous
disposition, that must be the only one of his kind in a home that gave
wide range for wandering, not one of several house fourfoots that
recognized a smaller dog as master, and lived literally in a town of
numerous dogs.

The feeding separately matter was easily done, for Waddles persistently
refused to leave the cellar except on stealthy trips toward evening, or
when he was sure that his foe was out of range. How he knew this was a
puzzle to Anne, for he could neither see nor hear from the depths of
the coal-bin, into which fastness he crawled through the small, square
door at the bottom made for the shovel. She soon realized, however,
that his keen scent told him.

Lumberlegs also knew quite well when Waddles was in his retreat, for
though he did not care to venture down the steep stone steps because
his back legs were rather sprawly, he would walk past the door growling
softly, with bristling hair, and then give a broken bark and, turning,
kick grass into the air in the direction of the cellar with a gesture
of contempt.

The two weeks that followed were ones of trial for Anne. She was in
perpetual fear that the dogs would meet, for she grew more sure every
day that “making-up” was out of the question.

Even though Lumberlegs was in his yard, Waddles would not follow her to
the village. He forsook his friends along the route upon whom he had
never before failed to call daily, sturdily going the rounds alone if
Anne omitted her walk.

It was not until he ceased to follow her that Anne fully realized what
a friend she had lost, one who was self-reliant, faithful, and wise,
giving no trouble, asking nothing beyond the trifling care his rare
ailments needed, and the affection his intelligence won. For Waddles
knew the speech of House People as well as Anne interpreted Heart
of Nature’s language, and he and his mistress had a perfect, mutual
understanding.

If Anne, wearing her common hat, said, “Do you want to go to the
post-office?” he would give a cheer and start off down the hill before
her, waiting on the office steps; while if she said store or market
instead of post-office, he would wait by the respective doors.

If, on the contrary, she wore a different hat or said, “Not to-day,
Waddlekins, I’m going to town,” he might sometimes go with her to the
gate but never farther.

His own voice, too, had different shades of meaning, even beyond the
others of his vocal race, for if any dog has speech it is the beagle
hound.

While he was on guard no one could enter the gate, two hundred yards
from the house, unsignalled, either from his post on the porch corner
or his summer night quarters in the wide window of the upper hall.

[Illustration]

For a twofoot whom he did not at once recognize he had a bark of
inquiry; for a total stranger a querulous gruff note of warning; for a
friend the inquiring tone quickly broke into rapid barks, like voluble
talk; while for animals his voice had a wholly different key, starting
in a series of monotonous yaps, until, if at liberty, he would sniff
the air, catch the trail, and follow it in full cry.

At night when he harked every member of the household knew whether the
intruder was man or beast. Oftentimes at dawn he would push open Anne’s
door and lick her hand that was lying on the counterpane, to signify
that he wanted the front door opened. Then when she, in dressing gown
and slippers, or sometimes, I must confess, with bare toes and an airy
nighty, would creep down the stairs and undo the bolts, cautioning
silence, she was often lured out on to the porch by the expression of
his face as he tiptoed about, unravelling the different trails that
told him the story of the night.

Sometimes he would give a growl and his back bristled--that meant an
intruder from Dogtown had left an unwelcome message or disagreeable
news. Then his eyes would grow deep and luminous, and when Anne asked,
“Squirrel?” he would give a short yap as if to say, “No good,” and gaze
up in the trees. But when he began by wildly zig-zagging to and fro
with head down, uttering discordant cries, then dashing off without
waiting to answer questions, his mistress knew that he was following
either a cat or rabbit, and that he would return late for breakfast and
very tired.

To think that the little animal that knew all this should be moping
unkempt and forlorn in the coal-bin, gave affectionate Anne the
heartache. Next she tried the experiment of having Baldy carry him
upstairs and give him a good bath, for his wounds were now healed, and
then invited him to “go to the post-office” in the old-time gay tone.

For a moment he rallied and gave an answering cry which was echoed by
Bigness, who, as chance would have it, was lying in the shadow of the
house front, Tommy having taken him from his yard and strolled away,
forgetting to put him up again.

At the sound Waddles bristled and then shrank away, and Anne realized
for the first time how thin and altered and spiritless he was. But the
next day a change came over him: he forsook the cellar and boldly took
his old seat under the apple tree in full sight of Bigness’s house, as
if tempting fate; but as he did not come out Waddles returned again to
the cellar.

Tommy sided with the St. Bernard, wailing that the fault was all
Waddles’s, and passionately refused to part with his pet and have Jack
and Jill for his very own, even though Bigness should go to a beautiful
home to be the pet of his dear friend, little Miss Muffet, who lived
at a big farm far away and had no dog friend at all.

“The train killed Lily, and now you want to steal Bigness from me just
because your silly Waddles is selfish and wants to fight and have
everybody for himself. I don’t care if he was here first; he’s old and
he’ll soon be dead, anyway--and I’m glad and--” but he didn’t finish,
for Anne, sweet tempered and fifteen though she was, shook her little
brother hard and then flew up the hill to her tree perch in tears.
It was the first time that Tommy had ever been shaken, and he was as
surprised and heartbroken as Waddles had been at his overthrow.

However, he did not cry but stood quite still, with a very red face and
quivering lips, muttering to himself, “Anne’s as cross as Bigness--and
she hardly never cries--and--it’s horrid to be shaken, and I guess I am
sorry for Waddles--a--little bit.” And more days passed.

* * * * *

In the coal-bin crouched Waddles in dismal plight, his brain full of
dark thoughts; for dogs do a deal of thinking when they seem to be only
dozing in the sun or before the fire, and Waddles in hiding neither ate
nor slept and did nothing but think, for it was two days now since he
had taken more than a drink of water. Anne did not know this, for the
food she took him disappeared into the capacious stomachs of Jack and
Jill, who amused themselves half the day by rolling and scrambling up
and down the cellar steps.

Waddles, usually so spotless and neat, who often washed his face twice
a day with a queer motion of his hind feet peculiar to himself, was now
wholly unkempt, his hair rough and dry, and his nose smutty.

The truth was that he did not care for anything now that he thought his
mistress misunderstood him, neither would he go among his friends,--he,
the only resident of Dogtown who had never been taunted or fought by
another dog, to be whipped and driven to cover in a cellar by a dog of
his own house who had disobeyed all law and could not be reasoned with!
This was a state of things not to be endured. No, he would try once
more and give Bigness the punishment he deserved, or die in the attempt.

Then he set himself to wait a chance and time for meeting his enemy,
for both dogs were closely watched to prevent the very battle that he
was planning.

Bigness was now given a run morning and evening, but was kept in his
yard the rest of the day when Waddles was at liberty; but the time
soon came when somebody forgot, and Bigness, hurrying home to early
breakfast, met Waddles standing rigid and motionless by the corner of
the house.

* * * * *

Anne, awakened suddenly from a late sleep, stood in the middle of her
room half dazed, not knowing whether the sounds she heard belonged to a
dream or to reality.

Then the sound came again, the awful choking, snarling struggle of
fighting dogs, always a horrible sound, but doubly so when you know the
dogs.

Anne ran to call her father, her heart pounding as if it would jump out
of her mouth. Fortunately, he was already dressed and out, and as she
almost fell downstairs, hardly touching the steps, the noise ceased
and she heard her father’s voice say to Baldy: “Put him in the old hay
barn until I decide what to do. I will attend to Waddles.” Then the
door opened and her father entered with a distressed face, carrying the
beagle in his arms.

“Is he killed?” she gasped.

“No, neither very badly hurt I hope; but quite exhausted. I never
shall forget the expression of his face as he clung to that great jaw
that was dragging him to his death; it was like that of a man who was
hopelessly fighting for his honour and home.

“This is no common dog-fight, little daughter, where both dogs should
be punished and tied up until they come to their senses. Waddles has
been with us so long that he has almost human feelings and reason; to
thrust him out to be a mere dog again would be wicked. Lumberlegs must
go!”

At these words Waddles, who was lying quite still on the door-mat where
his master had laid him, opened his eyes and wagged his tail, with very
significant if rather feeble thumps.

* * * * *

Though Waddles rallied very quickly, the bites on his neck, which had
been this time collarless, had sunk in very deep, and though he was
gradually growing less moody, he did not go far from the house or take
up his old ways, and seemed quite conscious that Lumberlegs, though
invisible, had not yet left the premises.

One warm night about a week after the fight, when doors and windows
were left open, and the dogs roved about at will, Anne waked to find
that Waddles was sitting beside her bed in such a position that her
hand that hung off the edge rested on his neck.

“What is the matter, old fellow, do you want a drink?” she asked,
patting him; but as she did so she felt that one side of his neck was
burning hot and swelled into a hard lump.

Next day the veterinary came and pronounced Waddles a very sick dog,
said that he had been poisoned by the deepest bite, and must have his
neck lanced and be carefully treated, or he would die.

“I’ll take him right along with me to my hospital now if your man will
put him in my buggy. He’ll have the best of treatment, and it will be
cheaper than keeping him here and having me running over. Besides, you
couldn’t take care of him; it’s too much bother for you to dirty your
fingers with,” said the doctor, kindly, for he saw the distress in
Anne’s face.

“My fingers are quite used to dirt,” said Anne, quietly, “and I’ve
got a ‘First Aid to the Injured’ box full of cotton and plaster and
bandages, and such like, for I fix all the cut fingers and baseball
noses hereabout; there are five boys between here and the cross-roads
that play, besides a fat girl and a medium-old lady who are having
trouble in learning to ride wheels, so you see I’ve had experience.

“If you will lance Waddles’s neck here, I’m sure I can take care of
him, and father will pay for the visits. Or, if he doesn’t want to,
there is my camera money,” she added half to herself.

This same camera money was a family joke and seemed to be composed of
magic coin, which, no matter how often it was spent, never seemed to
grow less, but rather to increase.

“You’d best let me take him to the hospital. You see, I’ve nothing to
fasten him with, and he’ll have to be well bound, or he may upset the
whole business and perhaps bite me to boot.”

“I’m sure he will sit quite still, for he always has before; once
the doctor took two stitches in his back because the milkman put
barbed wire on his fence rails without Waddles’s knowing it. And then
last spring when we were watching a man who didn’t know how to cast,
splashing around the stream with a trout rod, he hooked poor Waddles,
who was quite far up the bank behind him, and the hook had to be cut
out, but Waddles never bit or squealed. He knows when he is ill,
and that we want to help him; but if he went away from home to the
hospital, he would be too sad to get well, even if you were good to
him.”

“She’s right,” said Baldy, taking a hand in the discussion. “You jes’
do the business. I’ll see you ain’t bit, and I’ll help Anne fix the
little critter up as often as needs be ’til he’s cured. Ah, yes, he’ll
pull through all right if he stays to home ’cause he’ll want ter; but
if he’s fetched away, he jes’ won’t care.”

So the deed was done, Waddles neither struggling nor crying, and great
relief followed the point of the shining lance.

“It’s different with medicines,” said Anne, as the sensitive nose
quivered and sneezed when the doctor uncorked a bottle of pungent
creolin to make a wash. “Waddles doesn’t understand about them, and he
may not like the bandages, because it seems like being tied up; but if
you’ll show me once, I know that Baldy and I can manage.”

So every morning for a week, precisely at eight, when Baldy’s chores
were finished, you might have seen Anne bring her “First Aid” box to
the back stoop, and change Waddles’s bandages, dressing his hurt as
carefully as the doctor himself could have done. Baldy had to help by
holding the patient when the creolin wash was used; for Waddles, the
house fourfoot, could bear pain, but Waddles, the rabbit hound, could
not endure a strong odour without choking and rolling in the grass.

In another week the bandages came off for good, and he had a bath,
though he did not yet take any of his old interest in making his toilet.

[Illustration]

One day, however, a change came. He was lying on the decrepit old sofa
in the upper hall, where Anne was used to curl up and read on rainy
days. She had lent him her soft poppy chintz sofa pillow that she had
made with great pains to match her bureau set, and Waddles, lying there
luxuriously, his head on the pillow and his paws held in front of him
like hands, gazed at Anne with a glance in which affection, comfort,
and sleepiness were mingled.

Wheels crushed the gravel and Anne going to the window saw the runabout
wagon with Baldy and a strange man in it driving out of the stable
yard. Between them on the bottom sat Bigness, his head almost on
a level with theirs, while he strained at his collar and looked back
longingly as he passed the house.

[Illustration: _Miss Muffet, Brother, and Bigness._]

Anne knew that he was to go to his new home that day. She had gone all
alone to give him a parting hug that morning, and she choked as she
looked at him. Tommy, meantime, was up in the hayloft having his cry
out, with no other company than a white brahma hen who had stolen her
nest.

Waddles sniffed, and getting stiffly down from the sofa raised himself,
paws on window sill, and looked out. He saw the wagon, the men, and the
dog, and he understood. He had the courtesy not to bark, but his tail
wagged furiously. Then he dropped to the floor and began washing his
face vigorously with his hind leg. Waddles was himself again.

* * * * *

Bigness went to live with little Miss Muffet and her brother at the
hill farm half a day’s drive away, where he had his liberty, good
eating, was their “owniest,” and was hugged to his heart’s content; but
he never forgot Anne, and when she visited him he had eyes only for
her, and awoke the echoes baying long after she left.

Anne was his first love, and to be the first love of a big dog is a
rather serious thing and not to be lightly undertaken.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER V

JACK AND JILL WADDLES

This is a chronicle of the doings of Jack and Jill the twins, pups of
Waddles and Happy of Happy Hall, who, from the age of twelve days when
they completely opened their eyes on the world, thought for a time,
until they met experience, that it was made exclusively for themselves,
according to the thinking of many two-footed children.

After the going away of Lumberlegs, Waddles’s youth came back to him.
He went off on long excursions with his neighbours, bayed a juicy tenor
in the quartet that led the Dogtown chorus in its practise on moonlight
nights, and actually threw bones into the air and played with them as
of old.

Not that he could turn as quickly, and his portliness got rather in the
way as he tried to double on himself; but the spirit was there, which
is the thing that counts.

Waddles, Mayor of Dogtown, had always been an important person, but
Waddles, the married man, father of a family and master of a home
consisting of three houses surrounded by a fine yard and equipped with
porcelain-lined food dishes, hay pillows, and other luxuries, was of
double dignity.

With the extra food supply necessary for more dogs, he was able to
be a greater patron of the poor in the line of bones and left-over
dog biscuit. Also it was not an unusual thing to see him piloting a
tired and thirsty dog, who had been following a team bound for the
market town, to the trough that caught the well drippings, and then
to a particularly cool resting spot under the quince bushes; for this
particular highway was a trying place for thirsty animals, as there was
not a single spring or drinking-trough between the Hilltop Kennels and
Happy Hall. Yet, in spite of all this outside notoriety, as far as his
own particular family was concerned, he was tolerated, but that was
about all.

Anne expected that he would be sad or resentful, as when Lumberlegs
claimed affection that Waddles considered his own exclusive property.
He was neither the one nor the other. The proverb, “Every dog has its
day,” is evidently one of the recognized family dog laws. It was Mrs.
Happy Waddles’s day just then, for was she not the mother of the twins?

It was to her apartments in the big kennel once owned by Lumberlegs
that visitors went and gave ohs and ahs of admiration. Her ladyship had
new milk and all the tidbits, and did not have to submit to a bath for
several weeks lest she should be chilled.

Waddles was polite but bored; he spent a great deal of time under the
flap of the cellar door where he could keep an eye on his home from a
distance. He also did a great deal of thinking in these days.

There are people who say that dogs have no family life, but that is
either because these people do not really know dogs or have only seen
them reared in great kennels, for kennel dogs are as different in their
instincts and feelings from home dogs as orphan-asylum children are
from home-cuddled babies.

Though Waddles kept rather aloof from his family, what else could he
do? As they were not living in a state of wild nature it was not
necessary for him to hunt food for them.

If he asked Happy to take a walk, she would give him her usual little
caress on the nose and trot beside him as far as the gate perhaps, then
suddenly turn as if she had forgotten something, drop her body after a
way she had when she put on speed, and dash back to her house as if it
was the burrow of a rabbit whose fresh trail she had crossed.

Once or twice Waddles had gone into the nursery kennel and sniffed at
the pups in an inquisitive sort of way, but Happy immediately nosed
herself between them and their father, as much as to say, “Please be
careful, men are so awkward,” when he quickly retired under the cellar
door, to his watch tower on the porch corner, or to his bachelor
kennel, the third and smallest house of the group. This he had always
used as a retreat from sun and rain, or when he was too muddy from
hunting to make him welcome in the house, only being chained there as a
punishment or in emergencies.

When Jack and Jill were three weeks old, and might fairly be said to be
on their legs, they were as pretty a pair of beagles as one could wish
to see. Equally mated in size, build, and general colouring, Jack,
however, having the longer ears and rich brown head markings; yet in
temper and general behaviour they were as different from one another as
any two dogs could be.

Jack was affectionate and sedate, with a patient expression in his
steel-blue eyes that one day would, doubtless, be deep brown like
his father’s. Jill was impetuous, which often passes for affection,
capricious as April sunshine, with an expression of pretty impertinence
upon her face. She had dark lashes and a rim of dark brown around the
edges of her eyelids which gave her a look of mingled wisdom, slyness,
and determination to have her own way, that was at first captivating.

Happy was a model mother, and as soon as the pups had their breakfast
she gave each a bath from head to foot, or rather tail tip, with much
effort and many grunts.

These were the first puppies that Anne had ever been with so intimately
that she could watch their growth from day to day, and it seemed as
if she did little else but watch them when she was out of school;
in addition she had all that she could manage in keeping Tommy from
carrying them about, to the destruction of their digestions and the
straining of their backs.

All Anne’s persuasion, however, did not have as much effect as the
peremptory bark and nip in the ankle that Happy administered one
morning, when she surprised Tommy in waking the twins from their nap
that he might take them to ride in his wheelbarrow, for Happy, usually
so meek, was at that time a despot whom no one on the premises thought
of disobeying, with the exception of her daughter.

It was very easy for Happy to give Jack his bath, but with Jill her
patience was sorely tried. When it was time to do her back she would
roll over and kick her legs in the air, chew her mother’s ear, or make
a tug-of-war rope of her tail. Then, when the bath was completed all
but her fat little stomach, she would grind it into the dirt and brace
her paws, until her mother, quite out of patience, with a twist of one
paw would lay Jill on her back with a growled rebuke and a curious
threatening expression of face which she made by turning back her upper
lip from her teeth, as both fighting dogs and wolves do when freeing
their jaws to bite.

At three weeks old Jill had developed a shrill bark full ten days in
advance of her brother. At four weeks she succeeded both in catching
her own tail and in washing some mud from her hind paw very neatly.

When Jack attempted to do the same he only tumbled backward out of the
nursery door into the water dish, aided by a push from his sister,
who then rolled frantically about the floor in glee, while his mother
roused from her one-eye-open doze and seized the opportunity to give
him an extra bath.

When the twins were six weeks old Happy began their education in
earnest. Kennel puppies are usually weaned about this time and are
separated from their mother, so that instead of being trained by
her to act and think for themselves, they only learn, often through
punishment, blind obedience to rules they do not understand. Of course
this sort of puppyhood does not make as clever a dog as the other.

Waddles himself was an example of early training by his mother, who,
being a poor widow with a large family and owned by a very unsuccessful
truck farmer, had great difficulty in making both ends meet;
consequently Waddles and his brothers and sisters were taught very
early to shift for themselves.

It was owing to his patient cleverness in catching a small squirrel by
the roadside that Waddles, when only four months old, had attracted the
attention of Anne’s father, who bought him from his owner for five
dollars. As Anne once said, it seemed strange that five dollars could
buy so much when often one got so little for it; and then as she grew
to love him as a friend she did not like to think that he was bought
at all, for it did not seem right to sell such as he without his own
consent.

* * * * *

After learning to be clean, the second lesson that Happy taught the
twins was how to keep cool. Anne knew very well that dogs do not
perspire like people, but only by the moisture that drips from their
mouths, so that they need plenty of cool water to drink and shady
places to lie in if they are to be comfortable in hot weather. She also
knew that Waddles and Lumberlegs dug themselves holes in the dirt, as
she thought to keep off the flies; but why Happy should try to burrow
under the foundation of the nursery puzzled her. It was not to bury
bones, for the chosen spot for that was far away from home.

To help her, as well as to see what she would do, Anne loosened two
or three stones from the foundation of the tool house that stood next
to the kennel, much to Happy’s delight, who then began to burrow
furiously, throwing the dirt behind her with her strong front paws.

All day long she worked, while as soon as the dirt ceased coming out at
the mouth of the burrow Anne could hear it flying up against the floor
of the tool house, which, by the way, her father also used as a dark
room for developing photographs. Late in the afternoon Anne heard Happy
whining by the outside wall. She had kept at work all day, only leaving
to feed the pups who at this time varied their milk diet with a dinner
of puppy biscuit soaked in weak soup. Anne loosened a couple of stones
at this side as well, and in a very few minutes Happy dug herself out
and circled about, barking with every symptom of joy. But when Anne was
about to replace the stones, the little beagle thrust herself between
her mistress and the burrow in the same way as she had come between
Waddles and the pups, when he came to look at them.

Anne saw that Happy was working out some plan of her own, so she waited
and the next day discovered it.

In the morning when she went to look at the pups they were nowhere to
be seen, the gate of the yard was closed, and for a moment Anne feared
they might have been stolen, but baby barks from under the tool house
reassured her. Going to the outside opening of the burrow and lying
flat in the grass she peered in. At first she could see nothing, but in
a minute the light from between the stone chinks revealed Happy and the
twins stretched flat on their stomachs in the fresh earth, Mamma dozing
comfortably, the youngsters yap-yapping to themselves; for having a
deaf parent they were quite safe in saying anything that they chose.

“It’s a cool house, a regular summer day-nursery, the dear clever
mother to think of it!” exclaimed Anne in delight, quite forgetful of
the fact that her own chin was resting in the dirt.

“Of course if it’s the earth cooling down at night that makes the dew
collect, it must cool their fat little stomachs somehow the same way,
and puppy stomachs always seem to be boiling warm. Here we’ve been and
pounded the dirt in the kennel yard as hard as rock to keep it from
being dug up, just as if digging was only mischief instead of a ‘must
be.’ Of course all dogs aren’t as wise about it as Happy and it _was_
rather mean of Lumberlegs last summer to make a cooler out of mother’s
mignonette bed when it was in full bloom.”

* * * * *

It would never do for puppies to stay still all day even in so
delightful a place as their mother had made. Its best use was as a
retreat after exercising, of which they had plenty.

If their food supply had been uncertain, “food burying” would have
undoubtedly been their next lesson, and as it was, instinct whispered
in Jill’s beautiful brown ears one day when she was eight weeks old,
and when Jack was being vigorously flead by his mother she took his
portion of puppy biscuit and laid it, piece by piece, in the deep hoof
tracks of the barn road, where a few shoves from her nose quickly
covered it.

Jack, on the other hand, did not begin to bury food until he was fully
ten weeks old and had become quite accustomed to seeing his mother,
father, and sister perform the task. Even then he did not use any
judgment in the selection of a place or dig proper holes, but made very
conspicuous mounds in the middle of the walks where the cache could be
seen by the first passer-by.

It was at this time that Anne discovered that Happy had two different
ways of burying extra food. Meat or bones she invariably put in the
earth, digging deep and covering carefully that the morsel might keep
cool and not ripen too fast. She usually chose soft spots in the
vegetable garden for this. Often having more food in storage than she
needed, it stayed so long that the Sexton Beetles gut away with a good
deal of it, much to Happy’s surprise; for as they bore it to their
lairs underground, there was no surface trail to tell her keen nose
whence it had been carried or by whom.

If the morsel she wished to hide was dog biscuit, oatmeal cake, or
corn-bread, Happy worked quite differently. After finding a thick tuft
of grass, she pushed the scrap well into the centre of it and then
pulled the grass blades together over the top, weaving them loosely as
if her nose and upper front teeth had been a crochet needle.

[Illustration]

To “watch out” was one of the earliest lessons the puppies had to
learn, and as it was taught partly in the cool house and partly on the
road outside it afforded the children endless amusement. “Watching out”
also included taking notice of every strange thing that was brought
to the premises, as well as of things neither new nor strange, and
thoroughly investigating them. As may be supposed many mishaps came of
this habit, as when Jack, sniffing at a basket containing live lobsters
which the fishmonger’s boy had left on the step while he carried a
parcel to the kitchen, carelessly thrust his nose in too far and was
seized by a sturdy lobster claw. There was a yelp of pain, and pup and
lobster went whirling around the big apple tree. The entire household
came to the rescue, and Jack retired to the cooling house wiser not
only by the experience of a nipped nose, but a pinched tail as well.

It was not the fault of his mother’s lessons--he simply had not put two
and two together; in his eagerness to see what the lobster was doing he
had entirely forgotten to “watch out” for danger.

In the early morning, before the sun had crept around the apple tree,
the twins usually sat on either side of the doorway to the burrow,
with their mother lying on the grass near by. The two places were not
equally good, as from one side the entire length of the path from the
gate, as well as the garden and stables, could be seen at a glance,
while from the other they could only see one way at a time without much
neck twisting.

[Illustration: _Toad Hunting._]

Jill nearly always managed to secure the best place and if Jack
happened to get there in advance of her she resorted to various tactics
to dislodge him. First she would amble down the walk with an eager
expression on her face, and give a bark or two as if at an intruder.
If this did not bring Jack out, she would sniff at the ground and then
begin to dig frantically, giving the most ludicrous growls the while.

Jack’s curiosity usually overcame him at this point, for toad hunting
was one of the twins’ favourite sports, and he was never tired of
digging out a fat old patriarch with a spotted hide who lived under a
stone by the pump, and making him hop-hop-hop until he refused to budge
another step and flattened himself obstinately in the dirt, when he was
allowed to go home and rest for the next day’s excursion, and, strange
to say, the toad rather seemed to like the performance.

If both these lures failed, Jill would resort to force by sitting
squarely on top of her brother. Soon he would move a little in order to
breathe more freely or stretch his legs. As soon as he stirred, Jill
settled more heavily until she was wedged between her brother and the
stone side of the burrow, then one determined push settled the matter,
and he would roll over, look at her ruefully, stretch himself, and
take the second best place.

Jack had a lovely disposition and never seemed to suspect any one of
evil intentions; as often as Jill played tricks upon him he was always
surprised. Jill was much more quick-witted and far better able to take
care of herself, but not half so pleasant a companion, Anne thought.

Jack made friends very slowly and dodged into the burrow if a stranger
came near; but when his confidence was won, he did not forget. Jill
was all airs and graces; flatteringly friendly one minute and a little
spitfire the next.

Happy took care that the pups should have plenty of exercise to develop
their muscles, and when she thought they had dozed long enough in
the cooling house, she would get them out and incite them to play by
running round in a circle, keeping to the outside edge at each round so
that the course gradually widened until it took in the whole lawn.

There were boxing and wrestling matches, also, in which Jill again
usually had the advantage, for though Jack was the heaviest and had the
longest reach, she was quick as a flash and invariably lost her temper
and fought in earnest before the finish; then Happy interfered and
began her endless task of washing the pair and crushing the fleas with
her searching front teeth.

[Illustration]

At about four months the twins began to cut their grown-up teeth. This
time was a period of disaster, for no one could predict what they would
next choose for teething purposes.

One day the barn was the scene of action. Baldy’s new rubber boots, a
carriage sponge, and a horse blanket that hung low enough to be pulled
from the rack were the sufferers.

The next week, after rolling very thoroughly on some linen that was
spread to bleach, they turned their attention to what hung from the
line. Jill discovered that swinging to and fro by fastening to a pyjama
leg was good sport. Jack, trying to imitate her, unluckily chose
for his swing the waitress’s best apron with an embroidered frill.
Immediately there was a tearing sound, the slam of a door, and a much
grieved pup assisted by a swinging slap from a wet towel disappeared in
the burrow.

Jill immediately scented danger, and dropped the pyjama leg. The tears
she had made were not discovered until the garment was ironed, and then
it was laid to Jack’s account.

Anne, meanwhile, was obliged to make the waitress a new apron, because
she had been in charge of the twins at the time the mischief was done,
the rule now being that they must not play at large until they had
learned how to behave. Anne had fully intended to watch them closely,
but a strange bird song had floated over from the next field, and with
a reassuring look at the pups who were pursuing the poor patient toad,
she dashed off for only ten minutes, but that was quite enough.

Tommy, however, was the indirect cause of the worst disaster of all,
after an interim of several weeks when the daily damage had been
merely the natural wear and tear of grass scratched up, an occasional
roll in a flower-bed, or the mauling of a young chicken.

This happened a couple of months after Miss Letty’s arrival, when the
most serious haying of the season was in progress and the last loads of
long, firm timothy were to be taken in that afternoon.

Tommy took the pups from their yard soon after dinner and played with
them for some time. Happy, who was rested from her motherly cares, the
puppies now being weaned and quite independent, had taken up her old
hunting trips, and this afternoon had gone off with Waddles, Mr. Wolf,
Colin, Quick, and Tip after a vain effort to take the pups with her.

After a while Tommy, tired of play, lay down on the grass, and let the
pups crawl over him. Presently he heard the rumbling of heavy wheels,
and the great hay wagon carrying Baldy and a couple of extra hands went
out of the barnyard the back way.

“I’m coming for the last load ride,” called Tommy.

“You’d best be quick then; this’ll be it, and it’ll be a full one, for
Miss Letty and Miss Jule and Anne are all waiting up in the lot to get
aboard.”

“Wait, oh, wait a minute for me; it’s dreffle hot running so far,”
wailed Tommy. But Baldy did not hear because the wagon creaked so.

Tommy knew that he ought to put up the puppies, but they seemed to be
fast asleep, the wagon was already out of sight, he must go with his
sweetheart, for it was Miss Letty’s first ride on a load of hay--in
short, he turned and ran after the cart without looking back.

* * * * *

The children’s father often took photographs of birds and flowers to
illustrate the magazine articles and books that he wrote, and that
morning he had made a beautiful picture in the old mill glen of a
wood-duck just leaving its nest in a hollow tree with its young. It was
a very rare picture indeed, for these birds nest in deep woods, and he
could not have taken it except that a bright streak of sun chanced to
come through a gap and fell on the birds.

After dinner he had developed the negative very carefully in the dark
house, and then put it to wash in running water.

There was no faucet in the dark house, but there was one at the head
of the garden in a very shady place, and it was under this faucet that
the washing box was always set. This time, however, having but one
negative, it was left in a flat tray.

The children did not know about this wonderful picture, for if they had
even Tommy, anxious for a ride, would not have left the puppies to care
for themselves.

The twins awoke and finding everybody gone, set out on a tour of
investigation. If only a squirrel had scolded, or an apple fallen to
attract them, but no, on they went, playing and scampering toward the
garden. By this time they were thirsty, spied the running water, and
amused themselves for a while by lapping it as it flowed.

Then Jill stepped on the edge of the dish and tipped it up and the
glass negative fell out on the grass face upward. Sniffing at it, she
found the surface cool and something sticky on it that resisted. Of
course she began to lick and lick with extra persistency, stopping now
and then to cough and spit out the result, which, being gelatine that
had been washed in chemicals, including puckery alum, did not suit her
ladyship’s taste.

A rapid step came round the house; there was an exclamation of dismay,
for all that was left of the priceless duck picture was a small sheet
of smeared glass.

* * * * *

When Tommy came home from the hay-field he went to bed, and it was not
because he was tired.

Anne pleaded for him, but it was of no use. Her father was quite stern,
which was a rare thing.

“It is not the loss of the picture alone, it was because Tommy shirked
a responsibility, just as you did the other day. Only, as it happened,
by making a new apron you could undo your mischief, but Tommy cannot,
so he must stay by himself and think. And, moreover, if either of you
forget again, the twins must go and live at the Hilltop Kennels until
they also can be held responsible for what they do.”

At this dire threat Anne had to blink to keep back her tears, and the
worst of it was that Miss Jule and Miss Letty were coming to tea with
Hamlet and Tip, also Mr. Hugh, and it was a moonlight night, and Anne
and Tommy had expected to walk part way home with them.

* * * * *

Anne crept out to the dog nursery to see that all was safe and give
the pups their supper, resolving that if there were more accidents
it should be neither her fault nor Tommy’s; she would bear the
responsibility for both.

Happy had come home quite tired out and very muddy after her run, and
with a wild look in her eyes that was unusual for this staid parent.
She was lying on the floor flat as a pancake, while Jack, as if in
return for her care of him, licked her face gently. There was something
very beautiful in Jack’s love for his mother; he slept close by her at
night and had the most tender way with her; and once, when he was only
two months old and a strange dog came into the garden and accidentally
trod on Happy’s foot so that she cried, Jack rushed out, ridged up his
back hair for the very first time and flew at the stranger in real if
baby wrath.

Happy did not lie still long, but paced up and down and sniffed
eagerly, Jack watching her out of the corner of one eye.

[Illustration]

“It’s the hunting’s comin’ on her,” said Baldy, looking over Anne’s
shoulder as he came up with the milk pails. “She’s larnt them pups most
everythin’ but that, an’ some fine night she’ll get ’em out, no matter
how fast you’ve shet ’em, for it’s natur. When she’s had ’em out a few
times, then like as not she’ll be done with ’em and leave ’em to shift
and take to her own ways agin.

“Watch out when the moon’s bright and the dew’s heavy; rabbit hounds
most allus begins that time, for trailin’s dead easy, an’ you’ll _hear_
even if you don’t see nothin’.”

* * * * *

After supper Anne took the twins out to show them to Mr. Hugh, who was
a good judge of hunting dogs, and for the first time she noticed that
not only was Jack growing larger than Jill, whom Mr. Hugh pronounced
nearly perfect in the matter of points, but that he was of a different
shape. His legs were longer and he leaped along and did not drop his
body when he ran, as his mother and father did, so that the family name
of Waddles seemed inappropriate.

“Yes; he’s a trifle weedy for a beagle; he is really a typical
harrier hound,” said Mr. Hugh. “He gets that combination through his
grandfather, who was a foxhound, and one of the truest dogs in the
country.

[Illustration: _Jack._]

“You see, Mistress Anne, Jack’s grandmother was a handsome, wild,
headstrong young thing like Jill here, and she didn’t wait until her
family arranged a match for her with one of her own class, but eloped
with Squire Burley’s handsome hound, Meadowlark. Her family would not
forgive her at first or recognize her husband, and the poor thing had
a sad time of it; that is why your father was able to buy Waddles for
five dollars. But never mind, for if Jack has his grandfather’s long
legs he’ll make a good runner, and I think that he has his good temper
and cleverness as well--we always take Meadowlark out with Leonora and
Wildbrier when we are training the young hounds, for he keeps them
together and we seldom lose one, and that reminds me, we are going out
to-night for the first time this season. Later on, you shall go, for on
an autumn night there’s nothing like the music of hounds. Even with the
mixed pack we have, one or two from half a dozen farms, every man can
recognize the voice of his own dog.

“Where do we go to-night? Ah, this will be merely baby work; we lead
Squire Burley’s pet fox around the brush lots for a couple of miles
and then when he’s safely home and in bed, we put the youngsters and a
couple of steady old dogs on the trail; then, when they come back, we
give the babes something good to eat as a reward.

“Later we go out in earnest and follow the real trails on foot to
locate the dens for the autumn and winter clearing. It’s good work;
foxes are no joke to the farmers in the back country.”

“I’d love to go, that is, sometime when you aren’t killing the foxes.
They seem too much like dogs to kill them. Don’t you think Miss Letty
would like to go? I heard her ask Miss Jule the other day if she ‘rode
to hounds’ in the fall, and said that she had done it in England, but
Miss Jule said, ‘hereabouts some people ride and some run, for we shoot
our foxes, which is more to the point than letting the dogs tear them
to bits;’ but Miss Letty thought she wouldn’t care to run.”

“No; nor ride far either,” said Mr. Hugh, dryly.

* * * * *

Hamlet, whose hair was now about an inch long and neatly trimmed, was
quite a respectable citizen, and from having plenty of exercise and
dog companionship he had lost the nervous habit of shrieking when
he barked. He and Tip had formed a fast friendship with just a bit
of jealousy to bind it, for they both adored Miss Letty, Miss Jule
declaring that her own nose was out of joint, for Tip, who had always
slept on his mistress’s hearth rug, had transferred himself to the
hall by Miss Letty’s door where he lay nightly with his nose close to
the crack so as to get in the minute she awoke. Then, too, from being
a very independent individual, who came and went as he pleased, under
the coaxing of what Miss Jule called “Letty’s squash talk,” he learned
to fetch and carry and sit up in a queer, helpless way, holding her
slipper in his mouth with the most adoringly silly expression on his
face. He had to prop himself against something, it is true, for his
hind legs were not constructed for this position, but his intentions
were of the best.

After supper the family at Happy Hall laughed until they were weak at
his efforts, while poor Tommy, hearing the echo of their merriment,
sobbed bitterly all alone in his little white bed. Anne had not
forgotten him and instead of taking the moonlight walk that she so
loved, with her father and mother, part way home with the guests, she
called Waddles and slipped away upstairs to comfort Tommy, and tell him
the news that Miss Letty had a new sailor hat and a plain white gown
with no lace upon it that did not trail in the dirt, and yet that she
looked even prettier in it than in her “flower lady” dresses. Also that
she had put the cookies on his supper tray herself, and told Anne to
take him a kiss and tell him that sometimes very big men forgot things
that they ought to have done and did things they should be sorry for,
and that Mr. Hugh got very red in the face when she sent this message.

Then Tommy stopped sobbing, took interest in his untouched supper,
eating it cookie end first, while at that moment the baying of hounds
was heard toward the river woods and Waddles, hurrying downstairs
before Anne could catch him, pushed open the door and was off in full
cry.

* * * * *

[Illustration: “_Anne drew aside the curtain and looked out._”]

Anne must have been asleep some hours, though it only seemed a few
minutes, when she was wakened by an unusual sound and sat up to listen.
The moonlight was streaming into the room, and as she waited the clock
in the hall below chimed and struck two. Again the sound came, the
baying of one loud dog voice and two little bays. Anne drew aside the
curtain by her bed and looked out. Everything was either in white light
or black shadow. The cries came nearer, and four animals sped across
the open tennis court. Anne could plainly see a rabbit pursued by three
dogs.

“It’s Happy and the twins; she’s teaching them the hunting all of her
own accord when Mr. Hugh has to arrange it for the kennel dogs. Isn’t
it wonderful?” said Anne, aloud, presumedly to the moon as there was no
one else awake.

“But how did she get the twins out, I wonder? It’s one of Pinkie
Scott’s tame rabbits that live under her summer-house that they’re
after though, and it’s sure to get back among the stones, and they’ll
be disappointed. I must give them something to eat when they come back
as a reward, just as Mr. Hugh does the little foxhounds,” and thrusting
her feet into her moccasin slippers Anne stole lightly down the back
stairs.

How Happy got her pups out was an undiscovered secret until Baldy
found that the cooling house had a sort of switch-off burrow that led
backward under the stone fence, which the faithful mother could only
have made with infinite labour.

Anne opened the kitchen door by the well and stepped into the
moonlight, plate in hand. The baying and yelping had ceased, but she
could tell by the swishing of grass and bushes that the dogs were
returning. Soon they came in sight on the garden side; the twins seemed
tired and their heads drooped, while their mother encouraged first one
and then the other by little licks and caresses. Of course they were
both hungry and thirsty, and while the plate was being licked a window
above opened and Anne’s father looked out saying, “Anne! out in your
nightgown feeding puppies, or are you walking in your sleep?”

“Feeding the twins, father dear,” she called softly. “You see Happy has
been teaching them the hunting and as there wasn’t any catching, giving
them supper is a ‘must be.’ Mr. Hugh said so.”

Then the Winds of Night whispered wood messages in Diana’s ears and
drew her long hair through their fingers, and little Oo-oo, the
screech owl, laughed far off in the river woods, so that long after
she was asleep the sounds turned into dreams.

As to Waddles, he stayed out all night and was discovered tired and
muddy on the door-steps the next morning. When he was being brushed,
Anne asked him, “Why he had not helped Happy teach the pups?” He gave
her a reproachful look that said: “I’m surprised at you, mistress. I go
with the men dogs; teaching pups the hunting is woman’s work.”

CHAPTER VI

TABLE BOARDERS

When Miss Letty had been two months at the Hilltop Farm everybody
had fallen in love with her, twofoots and fourfoots alike. That is,
everybody but Mr. Hugh; he was simply polite and tolerant, treating her
new enthusiasm for dogs, horses, and outdoor things as merely the whim
of a spoiled child.

Miss Letty had packed her Paris finery away in Miss Jule’s big garret,
excepting a few pretty things for evening wear, and went about in white
duck skirts and dainty white shirt waists, belts and ties, for as she
said, “If you are much with dogs and horses, it isn’t enough to have
gowns that will wash, you must have things that are boilable.”

So Tommy changed her name from Flower Lady to White Lady, and doubled
his devotion, recklessly buying three cookie cutters at the ten-cent
store in town,--a heart, a rabbit, and a rooster,--that his offerings
of ginger cakes and jumbles coaxed from cook might not lack variety.
The heart and rooster cookies were sure to be in good condition when
Miss Letty received them, but the rabbit offered greater temptation to
Tommy in transit. It was a queerly built rabbit, and stood very high on
its legs. Tommy discovered that if the legs were nibbled off carefully
and evenly, bunny looked as if he was lying down, so if the cookie
was particularly crisp, and temptation overcame him, he soothed his
scruples by telling Miss Letty that “to-day the rabbit is tired.”

As for Anne, she had found a companion after her own heart, for Miss
Letty was as happy in her newly found freedom as a young house-bred
animal having its first taste of liberty. Anne offered to give up Fox,
but it was not necessary, for Miss Letty could control Miss Jule’s own
mount Kate by merely a pat on the neck, and together the two girls--for
at this time Miss Letty was as young as Anne--explored every wood path
in the vicinity, having an escort of Dogtown police in the shape of Mr.
Wolf, Quick, Tip, and Waddles to protect them, with Colin as a sort of
clown to amuse them when they rested.

At first Miss Letty spoke in French to Anne, because her mother asked
it and it was really her own tongue, but she soon stopped, saying
frankly that it seemed as much out of place in New England wood and
farm life as her lace frills or Hamlet’s long curls and bracelets,
while Anne’s Indian names for beasts and birds caught her fancy, and
Miss Letty was as quick as Anne in detecting an unusual bird note, even
though she might not know the name of the bird.

In fact, she was rather slow in learning to name birds by sight, and
came galloping down so often to tell Anne that there were some great
strange birds in the meadow, with green and blue feathers, when they
were only crows, or perhaps grackles seen in the bright sun, that it
came to be quite a joke. But if she once learned a bird’s name from
hearing its song, she never forgot it.

It was Miss Letty also who discovered that Tip and Colin had musical
ears, and could be made to sing. Waddles had always been a musician
of ability, being so sensitive to vocal sounds that Anne was obliged
to shut him up in the farthest away barn if her mother had a musical
evening.

Jolly piano music seemed to annoy him, and he would get up and walk
away of his own accord, with an injured air; but if Anne in practising
chanced upon a minor scale, then from under sofa, bush, or remotest
spot, where the sound carried, Waddles appeared tiptoeing along with
tail erect and wonderful dilating eyes.

If he happened to be indoors, he would come within two or three feet
of the piano; if outside, to the nearest door or window, and sitting
down, throw back his head and let the sound well forth, high and in key
with the scale, only dropping to a throaty gurgle when he had to take
breath. On and on he would sing until the scale stopped, and then he
crept away to seclusion, as if quite exhausted, and lying quite still,
gave an occasional little bay that sounded like a sob.

This singing was entirely different from the baying and full cry of
hunting hounds, and after a while Anne discovered that there were three
other sounds than her minor scales that produced it,--the call of the
whip-poor-will, the quavering of a screech owl, and a French horn that
one of Mr. Hugh’s stable men played, which, in spite of the distance,
sounded quite clear and true when the windows were open on summer
nights.

Tip, Quick, and Colin’s singing was of a different order, but quite
remarkable, for setters and spaniels are not credited with the voices
that belong to all hounds, and when, during one of their lessons, as
Miss Letty, with finger raised, whistled the tune that started them,
Mr. Wolf’s sombre, deep-barking St. Bernard voice suddenly joined,
counteracting the fox terrier’s double high _c_. The effect was
astounding. Mr. Hugh, who was riding up the wood road, stopped short
in sheer amazement, muttering to himself, “It’s odd that such a little
butterfly creature should have so much influence with dogs.” Then, as
the lesson ended, and Quick, having scented him, came bounding across
the lawn, showing that he had a paper frill round his neck and a small
red cigar ribbon bow on his tail, he said something about “more circus
tricks,” and gave his horse a quite unnecessary cut with his whip and
galloped away, Quick following much to his chagrin. If he had looked
back he would have seen Miss Jule standing at the road edge laughing
until the tears ran down her cheeks, while Miss Letty danced along the
piazza holding Hamlet’s paws, saying: “We’ve shocked the Great Bear
again. I wonder what he will say when he sees you ride Fox, all dressed
in your red jacket.”

Miss Letty had taken great pains to keep out of Mr. Hugh’s way ever
since the day that she first met him, when she heard him tell Tommy
that he did not care for people who were “not useful”; and she never
spoke of him except as the Great Bear, giving her aunt as her reason
for the name, that when she looked out of her window at night at the
stars, the constellation of the Great Bear (which is commonly called
the Dipper) pointed its tail straight at Mr. Hugh’s house.

* * * * *

Everything had been quiet in Dogtown for some time. To the twins the
novelty of the first hunting trips was wearing off, and Happy was
resuming her usual habits,--going to walk with Anne and Waddles,
sunning herself by the lilac bushes, and going nightly for the cows
with Baldy. Now she had also her devoted son and servitor for a
companion, Jill only going by fits and starts as suited her.

Monotony, however, is against the laws of Dogtown, and to prevent such
a state of things, for nobody could see any other reason, one fine
morning Miss Jill ran away.

At least Anne insisted that this was the case, though she could not
prove it, and all that was really known was that when Baldy came for
the milking pails at 6 A.M., he let Happy and the pups out of the
nursery kennel; and that two hours later, when Anne went to feed them,
Happy and Jack were waiting for her, but Jill was nowhere to be found.
Moreover, when Anne whistled to Jack and said: “Where’s Jill? Find
Jill!” instead of running about and giving funny shrill barks as usual
until she answered, he paid no attention whatever.

Tommy suggested dolefully that the train might have killed her the same
as it had Lily, but a careful search proved the contrary. Anne’s father
was inclined to believe that she had been stolen by some one going to
the market town with a milk or vegetable wagon, as many such passed by,
and Jill had always made friends rather too easily. Miss Jule scoffed
at this, saying that the people about were all too fond of dogs to
allow such a theft to pass unpunished, and had followed up all dog
stealing so swiftly that it had become almost an unknown crime.

Nevertheless, Miss Jule called up the sheriff, who was a lover of
animals, and if he once saw a dog could recognize it again anywhere,
and sent him scouring the countryside over, with no result, for Jill
had vanished as completely as if she had taken wing.

“Of course I’m sorry,” said Anne, rather doubtfully to Miss Letty, who
came down to offer sympathy; “but it isn’t as if Waddles, or even Jack,
had gone. It is horrid to lose anything, and not to know what has
become of poor Jill, for she may be hurt and lying somewhere sick and
hungry, yet somehow I think that she didn’t care much for us, and that
she has been planning to run away for some time.”

Miss Letty laughed at the notion, but Anne could not be shaken in her
belief, and as there was nothing to do but wait, she waited. Meantime
Happy Hall was quite a tranquil place, that is, on the rare days
when neither Hamlet, Mr. Wolf, Quick, nor Tip came to visit Waddles,
or Schnapps and Friday did not come to drink in the cow pond and
meet Pinkie Scott’s fox terriers and Hans Sachs the dachshund on the
war-path for rats behind the barn, Pinkie’s house being just above.
When this happened, hard words were exchanged, for though Schnapps and
Hans Sachs had been litter brothers, they were now in deadly feud, and
of course Friday stood up for his chum.

* * * * *

The summer of this particular season that the children always
remembered afterward as “the year when Miss Letty came,” was very
warm indeed, and Anne established a midday retreat in her beloved
old apple tree, or rather two retreats. One was high up in the broad
branches where you could look down into various birds’ nests. A few
slats, placed long ago by Obi, the garden boy, had been added to by
Baldy, so that the perch had places for three. The other was a sort
of house below, furnished with chairs, a table, and hammocks. This
gave shelter above and below even in rainy weather, and from it in
different directions the lawn, garden, shrubbery, kennels, and distant
hills could be seen with all their inhabitants of flowers, butterflies,
birds, and fourfooted animals.

Anne called this place the “time eater,” because, as she said, “you go
there to stay a minute, or you sit down to read, but you don’t come
away and you don’t read; you simply look and listen, and before you
know it is dinner time, and the morning is all eaten up.”

The things that Anne and Tommy heard there as they spent their vacation
time together were Heart of Nature’s own stories, and it was his own
voice that told them.

It was also a good point of vantage from which to watch the play of the
dogs, and Anne discovered one thing beyond question, that where dogs
live and are fed there the birds gather. In fact, during the nesting
season that year the doings of the birds and little beasts that fed
from the dogs’ table would fill a whole book.

[Illustration: _Anne and Tommy._]

At the north of the nursery kennel was a broad-topped stone fence.
Being convenient and of exactly the right height, Anne used a wide
hollow stone as a mortar for pounding the dog biscuit, taking a narrow
stone for a pestle, for the Waddles family all preferred drinking their
milk or soup, and having the biscuit in bits the size of small lumps of
sugar so that it could be gnawed like a bone, to having it soaked into
pulpy stew. Of course there was cracker dust left in the mortar, and
little bits would fly about here and there. But no matter how much dust
was left at evening, the next morning found this place as clean as if
it had been scrubbed, so Anne began to watch.

There was a pair of song-sparrows that had their second nest in a great
rose-bush by the walk, and though the parents gave their nestlings
only insect food, they fed upon the biscuit crumbs. These two soon
grew so tame that when they had cleaned the wall they hopped about the
dog houses and helped themselves from the dishes, giving shy little
flutters if the twins barked at them, but only going a few feet and
returning very quickly.

Then there were the chipping sparrows, the dear little brown
velvet-capped birds, who are so tame that the Latin word for sociable
is part of the name the wise men give them. They actually hopped on
Waddles’s back and almost caught the moist bits that fell from his jaws.

The goldfinches came also, beginning in early spring when the males and
females wear the same clothes of dull olive-brown and black, and making
daily visits all through the season until the males after wearing a
mottled costume put on their yellow wedding coats and black caps, and
put them off again.

Black and white nuthatches took their dog food differently, picking
up the larger bits and carrying them into the apple tree, where they
hammered them to pieces exactly as they would crack beechnuts or corn
kernels.

Anne was not surprised that birds like these should feed on dog
biscuit, but when catbirds, robins, and phœbes--the air-living
flycatchers--began to be the regular table boarders of the Waddles
family, she began to wonder. These last birds were of course first
attracted by the kettle of cooked meat scraps that was often hung in
the tree to cool; but lacking meat, they were satisfied with the crumbs.

One morning a lame-winged crow appeared from the wood edge and walked
solemnly up to the dish where Jack and Jill were eating, giving a
squawk that sent them in haste to the nursery, though Jill soon came
back and attempted to flirt with his crowship, which so surprised him
that he nearly choked to death by swallowing too quickly. This ended in
Baldy’s catching the crow, who was not a welcome garden guest, as was
proved by the chorus of alarm notes that arose at his appearance, and
he actually had the destruction of many orchard homes written against
him in the Birdland records.

One morning Bobwhite, who had been whistling and telling his name
proudly from the protected meadows all the spring, appeared on the
fence. Anne held her breath and Tommy watched, round eyed with
eagerness. Bob threw back his head and proclaimed his name proudly;
then no one disputing him he called more plaintively, poor-bobwhite!
dropped from the wall to the grass, and then walked along the gravel
path as unconcernedly as any barnyard fowl. Coming to where the pups
had upset their dish, he gave a few scratches and began to pick up the
smallest bits as if he was gleaning grain in the stubble.

At this moment Mrs. Waddles coming round the house corner flushed Bob,
and he rose with the whirring of wings that is one of the eery sounds
of the autumn lanes every year before grouse, quail, and woodcock
have grown too gun shy, and, going over the garden house, disappeared
in the long grass. But he came again and took home a report of the
good eating, for one summer morning a little after dawn, when Anne was
sitting on the foot of her bed and looking out of her window, she saw
what she at first took to be Tommy’s banty hen leading a large brood of
chicks down the garden path. Rubbing her sleepy eyes, she leaned out of
the window and saw that they were not the bantams, but Mamma Quail and
the children out for a breakfast walk.

Anne hurried down as quickly as she could, but Waddles cheered so
loudly, thinking that she was also going for a walk, that the party
disappeared in the quince bushes before she could steal up to them. It
had rained in the night, and their chicken-like footprints in the fine
moist gravel by the empty dog dishes told her that they had breakfasted
there.

In autumn the jays always came slyly to the oaks and beeches at Happy
Hall and carried away nuts and acorns for winter use, storing some in
a hollow chestnut in the pasture, and others under the shingles of the
old cow barn.

When the resting season came, however, they usually stole away to the
pine woods across the river, as Anne’s father did not encourage them
about the garden; for whether or not they are always unneighbourly
egg thieves, it is certain they carry terror to the gentler hearts of
Birdland, and at Happy Hall nothing might stay that could annoy the
wood thrushes and brown thrashers that returned season after season.

What was Anne’s surprise then one June morning, to see in the orchard
unmistakable flashes of “jay blue,” which is a colour by itself, and
not to be mistaken by the owner of the Magic Spectacles for the colour
of either bluebird, indigo-bird, king-fisher, or heron. Next she heard
the jay’s bell note, not the harsh jeering “jay-jay” of alarm, but
the spring call, like the striking together of well-tempered bits of
metal. Then came a chorus of alarm cries from all the birds of the
neighbourhood, and a commotion in the trees over the garden house.

As Anne was going out to see what was the matter, a flash of blue
crossed the sunlight and landed on the walk, and there was Tchin-dees
the blue jay himself, in flawless bravery of feathers.

He put his head on one side and peered here and there saucily, as much
as to say: “Where is your old dog bread, anyway? Stingy this morning,
aren’t you? Yes, I’ve been here before, you can’t fool me. I know it’s
after breakfast time.”

[Illustration]

The dog dishes were not in sight, and there appeared to be no scraps
upon the ground, but Tchin-dees was not daunted. In the nursery kennel
slept Jack and Jill, stretched out as flat as if they were cookie dogs.

Their food dish stood by the doorway, well inside. It was full, for
they had not yet breakfasted.

Tchin-dees spied it, took a survey of the situation, hopped into the
dish, and began to stir up the bits with his feet in order to more
easily choose the smallest.

He gave a start and flutter when he spied Anne, but making up his mind
that a meal in the stomach is worth several in the dish, returned to
the charge, finally carrying an obstinate fragment to the stone wall
where he beat it with his bill, keeping one eye on Anne meanwhile, and
making a face at her she avers, as he flew away.

When Anne told Miss Jule about the “table boarders,” she laughed and
said, “What have I always told you should be painted on boards and
posted in every country town like the ‘keep-off-the-grass’ signs in
parks?” Anne remembered that it was,--

“If you hate birds, keep cats.
If you love birds, keep dogs.”

Truly, who can say that they have seen wild birds feeding from a cat’s
dish when its owner was at home, or pulling out pussy’s fur for a nest
lining.

* * * * *

Among the fourfoots who shared the hospitality of the Waddles family
table were coons, skunks, weasels, red and gray squirrels, chipmunks,
and the various gnawers of meadow, wood, and wall, the least of these
being the tawny-backed white-footed mice and tiny field mice, scarcely
bigger than bumblebees.

There were few mornings that stories of one or more of these animals
might not be read by the keen-eyed on or about the stone wall, or on
near-by tree trunks, in footprints on the ground or damp stones, or
by claw marks on bark, etc. As to the field mice, they made the wall
their turnpike to which the various nooks between the stones were
cross-roads, and all day long they came and feasted daintily upon the
crumbs, sitting up and cleaning their whiskers and paws after each meal.

Of late Anne had found many “owl balls” about the wall and under the
pine trees, but never an owl could she see; for though a few came about
every winter, they generally went early to the deep woods, where they
kept company with the jays. These balls, which, as the snow owl once
told Tommy-Anne at his Xmas party, were the pieces of the things they
ate but could not digest, and so rolled into little balls and spit out,
seemed to be all made of the fur and bones of field mice; so really, as
Anne told Tommy when they discovered them, “the Owls were the Waddles’s
table boarders also, only in a sort of second-hand way because, you
see, the mice eat the dog food, and then the owls wait until they are
through and eat the mice.”

But where did the owls hide? Anne thought that she knew every nook
and cranny where they could nest, and Tommy usually managed to wriggle
himself into the places she could not reach.

One night there was a commotion in the orchard; the evening song broke
up early, and birds darted to and fro, giving alarm cries. Happy and
Jack started off together and in a moment Waddles followed, but instead
of crying and going nose to the ground, they sniffed the air and were
silent, tiptoeing about among the ferns that grew under the pine trees.

After Tommy had gone to bed Anne heard a strange quavering noise close
to the house. It was pale moonlight, and stepping out Anne found that
her father was walking down the wild path toward the orchard, so she
joined him. As she was telling about the unusual sound, it came again
quite close. It was a sort of crooning, ending in “shay-shay-shay,” as
if dried peas were sharply shaken in a sieve. A moment later a dark
object flapped across, brushing Anne’s face.

“A screech-owl,” whispered her father. “Keep still a moment and I
will see if I can call it.” He imitated the sound perfectly and again
the bird swooped directly across his face, snapping its beak, while a
second owl appeared a little farther on and began the same tactics with
Anne.

Anne tried to call and was so successful that she soon had to put her
arms above her head to protect her face, the birds grew so bold.

“They must have a nest near by,” said her father; “they are teaching
the young to fly, and we are interrupting their signalling.”

[Illustration]

“Look, do look!” whispered Anne. “Oh, the dear little fluffy thing,
it’s cuter than a kitten or a puppy,” and there among the pine branches
in the moon path, directly on a line with her nose, perched a baby
screech-owl, its little slant-wise eyes tightly closed.

Anne put up her hand to take it, but a screech-owl, like a weasel
asleep, is a deceptive thing. Six claws fastened themselves in her
flesh,--claws barbed like fish-hooks and of surprising strength. She
tried to drop the baby, but it wouldn’t let go, and her father had
to pry its grip off with a stick; but the pain was soon forgotten by
the sight of another owl farther up, and then another, until they had
counted six of the fuzzy balls in addition to the parents.

Anne, with her handkerchief tied about her hand, protested that it did
not pain her, and so the pair stayed for an hour, and watched the play
which consisted of signalling, flying, and then the feeding of the
young birds as if by way of reward.

Presently Waddles, Happy, and Jack came back, following each other in a
straight line through the orchard and across the wall. As they turned
into the wild walk, Mamma Owl, at least it was reasonable to suppose it
was she, as the females are the most alert when the young are flying,
swooped at Waddles who was in the lead, flapped him in the face with a
heavy wing, and gave an unearthly screech not a foot from his sensitive
ears.

For once Waddles was daunted and sat down suddenly. Mrs. Waddles and
Jack being close behind did likewise. The owl gave another scream
and a long-drawn shay-shay-shay; but this time instead of frightening
Waddles, it seemed to strike the musical note in his soul, and settling
firmly on his haunches he threw back his head and began to sing. His
lips moved very little but the chords in his throat could be seen to
vibrate even by the moonlight.

[Illustration]

Jack, after a few squeaks and barks, joined in a queer trembling
treble, and finally the noise penetrated Happy’s brain, deaf though she
was, and she added to the din by a tune in a wholly different key.

The effect was as bewildering to Anne and her father as to the
soldiers in a procession when they are an equal distance between two
bands playing different tunes. At first they laughed, then put their
fingers in their ears, called to the dogs and tried to stop the din,
for it was being taken up far and near, the shrieks and imitation bays
of Pinkie Scott’s fox terriers, who didn’t know how to sing, being
particularly piercing. In fact, Miss Jule afterward said that all her
dogs responded, and that Mr. Hugh’s hounds and Squire Burley’s kept it
up half the night.

Jack and Happy were easily quieted, but Waddles was irrepressible and
continued to sing to himself after he went to his sleeping place on the
rug outside of Anne’s door, so that long after the household had vainly
tried to go to sleep, and Tommy half waking had an argument with his
mother, and insisted upon being dressed, saying that he knew it was
morning, because he “heard roosters,” Waddles was led out to his house
and chained for the night, the severest punishment that he could have.

Anne tried to console him from her window, but as soon as he seemed
about to lie down, he began again, and Anne retired in disgust; at her
last glimpse of him he was standing motionless with his head raised
and facing the moon in musical ecstasy. She did not know, however, that
Mamma Owl was mouse hunting in deep shadow along the wall back of the
kennel, saying things that no self-respecting dog could hear and keep
silence.

The next morning Anne’s first thought was of the owls, and that she
must try to find where they had nested. She believed that she and
Tommy had explored every tree in the neighbourhood since March when
the ice melted. The nest must be somewhere in the orchard, for there
was nothing in the owl boxes that were put in the pines several years
before.

When she threw open the shutters toward the wooded side of the place,
her eye rested on two unusual bumps on the reddish bark of a Scotch
pine. She looked again, and even without the aid of her field-glass
saw that two of the baby screech-owls had settled for their daytime
sleep in the crotches of the pine, their young rusty gray feathers so
blending with the bark that it would have been impossible to see them
except from the slant of light and the fact that she was on a level
with them.

[Illustration: _Waddles Baying the Owls._]

Hurrying down she walked under the tree, and though she knew exactly
where they perched, it was some time before she could find them
again. Their eyes were tightly closed, yet as she walked around the
tree the heads turned and followed her until it seemed as if they would
twist them off altogether.

[Illustration]

“I know where some of those words come from that you do not like us to
say,” Anne said to her mother as she went in to breakfast. “To ‘rubber
neck’ is a regular verb in pure owl, for I’ve just seen them do it.”

Before the morning was out, the children had discovered three of the
baby owls in a hemlock, and one parent perched in a hackberry close
to her stone-fence dining room, probably waiting for supper time, as
the table was then occupied by the little day birds that hopped about
fearlessly, as if relying upon Anne and the bright sunlight for
protection, for little Oo-oo is a true night owl.

After Anne had searched the orchard for the nest, and given it up in
despair, Tommy found the owl’s home quite by accident. He was hunting
for the sixth little owl, and thought he saw it in a pine near the
house. Not being daunted by pine gum, he had nearly reached the top of
the tree, which was bushy instead of pointed, as the leader had been
snapped off in a sleet storm, and several branches were struggling to
replace it. Suddenly he called to Anne in great excitement, for there,
in the bushy place, resting on the thick stump of the broken tree-top,
was the owl’s nest, not fifty feet from Anne’s window.

It was not much of a nest, to be sure, merely a collection of sticks
and matted pine needles, but that the six owlets had spent the weeks
between hatching and flying in it, was proved by the bits of bones,
fur, and beetle shells with which it was littered.

Of course Anne had to go and look, and later on they coaxed Miss
Letty up too, for it was quite easy climbing, if you didn’t mind the
stickiness. As they all came down again, who should come in but Mr.
Hugh to return a book. Miss Letty shook hands carelessly, without
looking at him, thereby mischievously transferring a goodly share
of pine gum from her palm to his; but though he looked surprised,
there was nothing for him to do but laugh, and it somewhat broke the
stiffness that was always between them.

Just then a pitiful howl led the party toward the long grass below
the pines. A strange noise indeed, nothing less than Waddles howling
with pain. He had found, and tried to retrieve, the sixth little owl,
that had dropped from its perch into the long grass, and the owlet
had seized him by the nose with its six talons, using its beak in the
meantime.

Anne, remembering her last night’s experience, drew back. Tommy
foolishly cried “sic-em” in anticipation of a fight. Miss Letty would
have grasped the bird if Mr. Hugh had not been quicker, giving it a
little rap above the beak that made it loosen its hold and flop down
in the grass, where it sat with wings partly raised and snapping beak,
the picture of baby rage, while Waddles drew back and eyed it ruefully,
head on one side.

Anne’s father, seeing what was happening, ran for his camera and
took a picture of the group before Waddles had recovered from his
astonishment, and put himself to bed in his kennel both wiser and
sadder. Moreover the twins did not spoil this negative.

“I think your Magic Spectacles need cleaning, little daughter,” said
Anne’s father, laughing, when she told him of the near-by nest and how
no one had even suspected that an owl family was in the garden, after
all their efforts to attract little Oo-oo with boxes and ready-made
nooks.

[Illustration: “_Waddles drew back and eyed it ruefully._”]

“The moral of that is,” said Mr. Hugh, pausing as he was telling Miss
Letty of a compound that would take pine gum off white duck skirts,
“don’t try to manage wild birds. Keep dogs, be liberal with their table
board, and watch out; the birds will do the rest.”

CHAPTER VII

FIVE-O’CLOCK TEAS

Pinkie Scott’s cousin Dorothy came to spend a week with her, and the
two little girls planned to have an afternoon tea, not only for some
friends, but for their friends’ dogs as well.

Pinkie’s mother looked dubious when first approached about the matter,
but finally said that they might ask six people and six _young_ dogs,
thinking in this way to keep the festivities within handleable limits,
as young dogs, like young children, are not so apt to have the fixed
ideas and jealousies of their elders.

Pinkie Scott was Tommy’s nearest neighbour, though that does not mean
that she lived near enough for them to grow tired of each other’s
society, for the houses on the hillside of Dogtown were few and set
amid plenty of land. Pinkie had three dogs,--a stout black and tan
dachshund named Hans Sachs, and twin fox terriers called Luck and
Pluck, which names exactly describe their character.

Hans was an extremely amiable dog of the now fashionable “turnspit”
variety, and possessed a keen sense of humour, which he expressed by
a most wonderful scale of barks varying from a sub-cellar basso to
high _c_. When a particular bit of fun tickled him, he would plant his
bent fore feet, a joke in themselves, and whirl round and round like a
pinwheel.

He was Pinkie’s constant companion, followed her wherever she went, and
slept on a mat at her door. Luck and Pluck, though devoted by fits and
starts, were not nearly so reliable, often taking runs a whole morning
long quite by themselves; but then, unless fox terriers can run until
they are tired, they jump about like four-legged electric batteries and
make one nervous.

Wednesday would be Dorothy’s sixth birthday, so the tea-party was set
for that afternoon, and the day before, the two cousins, each carrying
her pet doll, walked up and down in the shade of the arbour playhouse,
trying to make up their minds whom they would invite and what they
should have to eat, for parties were very informal affairs among the
little folks, an invitation given a day in advance being considered not
only quite sufficient, but particularly desirable by their parents. It
takes a very grand affair indeed to withstand long anticipation.

“We’ll ask Sophie and Charlie Mayhew and Silvie their dog, of _course_;
that’s two people and one dog,” said Pinkie, counting on her fingers.

“And Tommy and Anne and all their dogs,” added Dorothy.

“Tommy and Jack Waddles,” corrected Pinkie. “Anne is too old, and of
course Mr. and Mrs. Waddles are.”

“But Waddles loves tea parties and things to eat, and cheers like
anything when he even smells five-o’clock tea biscuit,” pleaded
Dorothy; but Pinkie’s mind was made up; “He is too greedy,” she said.
“At Miss Jule’s dog party he ate nearly a whole box of ‘five-o’clock
teas,’ the lovely mixed ones, pink and chocolate and white, and mother
has only given me two boxes for the whole party. Of course we shall ask
Jessie and Jack Lane, and they’ve got two dogs, Toodles and Blackberry.”

“That only makes five people and five dogs,” said Dorothy, unable to
deny Waddles’s greed, especially where the crisp tea biscuit, his pet
delicacy, were concerned. “Who will be six?”

“Miss Letty and Hamlet of course,” replied Pinkie, with the air of one
announcing a star attraction.

“But she is very, very old,” objected Dorothy, “nearly as old as mamma,
and Hamlet is just as old as Mrs. Waddles; I heard Miss Jule say so.”

“You disunderstand,” said Pinkie, looking annoyed at having to explain.
“You see, if the people who come are nice, there is always somebody old
at a party to shampoorone it and see that people don’t eat too much or
do too many things they like. Mother is going to take Aunt May to the
Golf Club to-morrow, and so Miss Letty is going to shampoorone my tea.
She’s lovely for that, Tommy’s had her and Sophie, and she won’t do it
a bit hard, and Hamlet is going to be the entertainer and do all his
tricks, and Miss Letty says that if we put the samwiches and biscuits
in a basket with a handle, he’ll take it in his mouth and pass them
round to the other dogs.”

“My!” ejaculated Dorothy, opening her eyes very wide; “that’ll be
better than Punch and Judy, besides we’ve been having them everywhere
I’ve been all winter, and the man that unswallows the rabbit and the
bowl of goldfish and paper flowers beside. But why mightn’t Hamlet
run away with the basket and gobble the things himself?” added the
practical young lady.

“Because--because he’s twained--he wouldn’t _think_ of such a thing,”
stammered Pinkie, such an objection never before having entered her
brain.

The guests being arranged, food was the next question. “There’ll be
ice cream and sponge cake and chocolates, and real tea to pour out of
a tea-pot for us,” said Pinkie, readily, “and five-o’clock teas, and
samwiches with sausages between for the dogs, and buttermilk, and a
bone each to take home with them. Mother told cook yesterday to collect
nice strong bones that won’t chip up and hurt their insides. Then
there’ll be cookies, too. You make dog cookies with lard. Miss Jule
invented them, ’cause dogs love lard.”

The guests being duly invited before luncheon on Tuesday, all promptly
accepted before dinner time of the same day, and Pinkie and Dorothy
went to bed very early, intending to rise with the sun and begin their
preparations, for Dogtown mothers were very sensible and insisted that
when little entertainments were given, the children should do as much
as possible of the preparation themselves, instead of casting the
burden upon the servants, and then spending the intervening time in
fault-finding.

Pinkie’s mother purposely darkened the room, however, so that they
might have a good long sleep, for after breakfast was quite soon
enough to begin.

Pinkie discovered the very first thing that it wasn’t churning day, and
was about to wail at the lack of buttermilk, which was a much esteemed
beverage of at least five out of the six dog guests.

“Oi’ve crame enough for the shmall churn the day, and if ye’ll bate
it for me I’ll make out to give ye the buttermilk, for wid the ice to
freeze and cake and cookies I’ve me hands full,” said the good-natured
Irish cook, wiping Pinkie’s tears away with the corner of her gingham
apron, one of the peculiarities of the helpers in Dogtown being that
were they native or foreign, black or white, they were as fond of
children and dogs as their employers.

Dorothy wished to churn the butter, but as Pinkie said, “The first time
you do it, you splatter it all about, and nobody gets any buttermilk
but the floor,” adding, “but I’ve done it more’n seven times, and I
know how.” So Dorothy was persuaded to cut out the cookies instead,
and chose a plain round cutter, saying wisely, “I’d best not make cat
and rooster cookies ’cause it might teach the doggies to eat what they
shouldn’t.”

While Dorothy worked away at the table close inside the kitchen
window, enveloped in an all-over white apron, on the other side of the
lattice, Pinkie, sitting on a small bench in the corner of the back
porch, delved away at the churning, while they exchanged reports of
progress that were rather discouraging to the butter maker.

It seemed to Pinkie that she had only fairly begun when Dorothy called
out, “First pan gone in the oven.”

“Ker-chunk--ker-chunk, ker-chunk,” answered the dasher in the churn,
saying by the tone of its voice as plainly as any words, “Only cream
yet, and thin at that.”

[Illustration: “_Butter’s come!_”]

Pinkie stopped for a moment and brought out Julia Minnehaha, her
favourite doll, whom she stood close beside her for company.

“First panful baked, and they are lovely. Crisp and good if the butter
in ’em is lard,” called Dorothy, in a mumbling voice that proclaimed
that she was eating.

“You mustn’t eat them, they are for the _dog_ company,” expostulated
poor Pinkie.

“I’m only eating the broken ones,” said Dorothy.

“Was there more’n one?”

“Yes, three; you see when I help cook cut cookies at home I gener’ly
make two or three broken ones out of the edge pieces on purpose to
eat, so that’s why there’s three now, and next pan there’ll be four.”

“Won’t you bring me one and put it in my mouth?” coaxed Pinkie. “‘Cause
if I stop plunking this butter, it will what cook calls, ‘go back.’”

Presently Luck and Pluck appeared on the scene, drawn by the smell of
the baking cookies and the sound of the churn, and stood licking their
lips, looking alternately at their little mistress and backward toward
the kitchen window with a wistful gaze.

“Ker-swish--ker-swash!” said the buttermilk, as it separated from the
butter with a watery splash.

“Butter’s come!” cried Pinkie. “Now listen, doggies, you are going to
have company this afternoon, so now you can only have two drops of
buttermilk apiece.”

“The cream is frozen and the dasher is ready for us to scrape, hurry
up,” called Dorothy, coming to the window armed with a plate and two
spoons, “and it’s all pink with fresh stwaberries, too, the very last
in the garden.”

When this new excitement had subsided, and the frosting of the sponge
cake hearts and rounds for the two-footed company had been closely
inspected, with many remarks of regret that not one of these delicacies
could, by any stretching of conscience, be called even damaged, it
still lacked an hour of luncheon time, and the party was not to begin
until half-past four.

“Let’s set the table and fix the seats, and have everything ready,”
suggested Dorothy, who was the leading spirit of the two. “I’ll bring
out the table and you get the cups and saucers.”

They put the little table under the arbour, close to the entrance where
it would be shady in the afternoon, and covered it with Mrs. Scott’s
best fringed tea-cloth, that she let them have only on the promise that
they would be very careful, and not let the dogs put their paws upon
it.

They filled one little jug with flowers and left the other empty ready
for the cream.

“This table won’t hold anything but the tea things,” said Pinkie,
thoughtfully, “we will have to put the refweshments somewhere else and
pass them.”

“Here, on the stone wall behind the arbour, is a nice place,” said
Dorothy, “and no one can see the things. Let us play tea-party now,
I’ll pour the tea and say ‘cream or lemon, one lump or two, please?’
And you can say ‘no tea, thank you, I _never_ take anything between
meals.’ Then I sha’n’t be ’barrassed ’cause there really isn’t any tea.”

“Yes, I will,” acquiesced Pinkie, readily, “only I think first I’ll
get Julia Minnehaha and some bread and butter ’cause I’m really, truly
hungry.”

Then the two sat down at either end of the table, while Hans Sachs and
Pluck, believing it to be a real party, waited for their share, which
proving to be only bread crumbs sent them off in a huff.

Miss Letty came to take luncheon with the two mammas and brought a
large box of mottoes for the party. “They have paper caps in them, I
know,” whispered Pinkie in delight, “and we can put them on us and the
dogs and have a fancy dwessed ball.”

[Illustration: “_One lump or two, please?_”]

“Be sure not to forget the basket with a handle for Hamlet to play
waiter with,” said Miss Letty, as she went into the dining room. Pinkie
meant to get it at once, but she stopped to count the mottoes and so
forgot all about it.

* * * * *

When the mammas started for the Golf Club at four the little girls left
the piazza where they had been told to sit still and keep their dresses
clean, and took their station upon the gate posts, unseen by Miss
Letty who was busy in the dining room making some sausage sandwiches
about two inches square, so that each represented a dog mouthful, and
disputes and untidy eating might be avoided.

Tommy was the first guest to arrive. He came on his wheel and looked
very hot and tired, for it seemed that Waddles wished to come with
him while Jack Waddles did not. The dispute ended in his bringing
both, though when Waddles saw that he was not welcome, he obeyed the
order “go home” as far as going out of the gate and disappearing,
but before he went he raised his nose in the air and gave a long and
searching sniff, which caused Tommy to say, “Now he knows all about the
’freshments.”

Jack Waddles, Luck, Pluck, and Hans Sachs had a fine game of tag round
and round the lawn, in which Hamlet refused to join, sitting sedate and
silent on the very step of the porch where his mistress had left him.

This behaviour was probably owing to the fact that it was the first
time that he had worn an ornamental collar with a large bow on it since
the day of his disgrace and clipping, and he did not seem quite to know
himself, or be sure who he really was, like the little old woman in the
story who had her petticoats “cut all round about.”

His closely clipped hind quarters told of freedom and the life of
his ancestors, who, as everybody knows, were one of the most ancient
water-dog families of France, being wonderful retrievers and renowned
swimmers. But the clanking collar and great bow of wide rose-pink satin
ribbon tickled the back of his neck and made his head feel as if it
was tied on. It also reminded him of the days in Paris when he went to
a dog dancing-master to learn to waltz, and to the barber to have his
wool clipped in as many useless devices as the tattoos of a savage, so
that he might be sold for a great price to be the clown of some lady of
fashion. Fortunately for him, however, the lady who bought him was Miss
Letty’s aunt Marie.

So there he sat and brooded and if Anne had been his mistress she would
have understood and been on the watch for some sort of outbreak.

[Illustration]

Sophie and Charlie Mayhew were the next to come. They were heralded by
much squeaking and creaking of wheels, for Charlie played horse and
brought his sister in state, sitting in her little canopy-top box wagon
with dainty Miss Silvie, an aristocratic Yorkshire terrier, beside her.
Miss Silvie wore a light blue satin bow, and her silver-blue locks had
been brushed until they hung in a glistening fringe. She also seemed
depressed by her dressed-up condition, refused to give a paw to either
Pinkie or Dorothy, and crawled on her stomach over to the porch, where
she gave Hamlet an apologetic lick and crouched close beside him, the
pair looking very much like bored human beings at an afternoon function
where they were perfect strangers.

“Hurrah! here come Jessie and Jack Lane, now the party can begin,”
cried Tommy, who had climbed a small tree the better to see down the
road, and up dashed a pony-cart containing a boy of nine, a girl of
seven, a lovely ruby spaniel, and the coloured groom Charles, while
behind followed a half-grown English setter pup.

“Mr. Lane directed me, miss,” said the groom, addressing Miss Letty as
evidently the one in command, “as how I’d better stay in the ’mediate
vicinity, miss, in case of trouble or a scrimmage between these yere
dogs, miss, it being not improbable they might, miss, ’specially ourn,
Ruby being most polight, miss, but that there Blackberry the setter
pup, miss, bein’ variegated in his disposition, miss, and uncertain
where he’ll break out, but he would follow.”

Miss Letty told the man to stay by all means, such a possible
complication not having occurred to her; so after taking the pony to
the stable, he discreetly lost himself in the shadow of the near-by
shrubbery.

“Shall we have tea or make the dogs do their tricks first?” asked Miss
Letty, to whom this free and easy sort of dog party was a novel affair,
the only previous one she had attended having been at her Aunt Marie’s,
upon her own birthday, when Hamlet had been presented to her.

At that party the ten dogs, all poodles, brown, white, or black, had
a table to themselves, around which they sat upon high chairs, with
napkins about their necks, while they were fed with chicken pâtés by
the maids of their several owners, and afterward did their tricks for
prizes of bonbons.

Only imagine Dogtown dogs eating bonbons! The very idea made Miss Letty
smile, though she did not know why candy was a forbidden thing in the
local dog law, the reason being this.

Long before, when Waddles was a half-grown pup, and Diana was
Tommy-Anne, and Obi the garden boy, Waddles had one day lingered in
the grocery store after his mistress had started for home. The clerk,
either for mischief or because he thought the dog might like sweets,
threw him a generous square of old-fashioned molasses candy in its
wrapping of oiled paper.

Waddles at first had played with it as a toy, not thinking it an
eatable, knocking it about with his paw, and then throwing it into the
air. During this performance he got a taste of the covering, and then
holding the bit between his fore paws he proceeded to gnaw the paper
off. The sweet taste pleased him, and he tried to nibble the candy, but
it resisted his teeth. Being somewhat piqued, he did a fatal thing,
he opened his mouth wide and threw the morsel backward, closing his
chewing teeth upon it, after the manner of eating refractory bones.

Waddles chewed and chewed, but he could neither swallow the candy nor
free his jaws from it. Sticky juice ran from the corners of his mouth,
and his eyes began to look wild. He tried all the muscular methods of
tongue and throat known to dogs that wish to uneat undesirable things,
but to no avail. He tried howling, but could not utter a sound, for he
was literally tongue-tied.

Suddenly he bolted from the store and tore up the road, the
clerk following pale and frightened, for he feared the dog was
choking, and no one in the whole village would have hurt a pet
of Tommy-Anne’s for worlds. Meantime, missing Waddles when she
reached the house, Tommy-Anne turned back to look for him, and to
her terror met him coming in the gate, yellow froth on his lips,
the clerk following, panting and having only breath enough to say,
“He--isn’t--mad--it’s--molasses candy!” Meantime Waddles had cast
himself into his mistress’s arms, thereby knocking her over, while he
rubbed his throat frantically in her dress. Anne, always prompt in an
emergency, called for Obi to come and bring a blunt kitchen fork. In a
trice the sticky mess was pried and twisted off and the dog freed, but
he never forgot the experience, and later on, when as a fully grown dog
he was admitted to the council of Dogtown, and made chairman of the
committee for the revision of laws, he caused the eating of candy to be
declared _oban_, or a “_must not be_,” which rule holds there to this
day except among the degenerates.

* * * * *

The children agreed that the tricks had best come first, because, as
Dorothy said, “You can’t tell but what the dogs will run away after
they’ve got their motto caps on and had their tea.” So the children,
under Miss Letty’s instruction, drew up in line on the lowest step of
the long side piazza, each having his or her dog in charge.

Jack Waddles’s only trick was wrestling, but as he would not do it
except with his mother, now that Jill had gone, he was excused, and
Pinkie stepped forward with Hans, who obediently did the routine taught
by her elder brother,--made a pinwheel of himself, sat up, saluted with
his right paw, cheered for the Kaiser, and died for the Vaterland in so
realistic a manner as to cause Sophie to shed tears, which, however,
she soon wiped away, using the top of Silvie’s head for a handkerchief.
Luck and Pluck were less conventional and more animated in their
performance. They played leap-frog beautifully, stood and sat erect on
their hind legs, and caught a handkerchief made into a ball in a very
graceful way.

Next Silvie tiptoed forward, and after two trials sat up in a most
comical and tipsy manner, and held a stick as if it was a gun, thereby
so delighting her dear little roly-poly mistress that every one
applauded loudly.

Blackberry the setter, being young and timid, was also excused, but
when Jessie and Jack Lane, who had disappeared for a minute, returned
with Toodles the spaniel, dressed in a cocked hat, Toby frill and sash,
and made him tumble about like a clown in the circus, finally walking
up between them to make his bow while they did jig steps, every one
cheered.

Hamlet, of course, was the star performer, but then he was more like
a professional appearing at amateur theatricals. This day he was
extremely contrary, however, and his mistress had to give him two or
three scoldings in rapid French, which sounded very mysterious to the
others. But when it came to the dancing he threw himself into the
spirit of it at once, and waltzed to Miss Letty’s whistling until she
grew tired. Next he did his greatest feat, a sort of sailor’s hornpipe,
in which he was obliged to stand erect and keep in motion, while he
jerked his body forward continually as if he was pulling in rope.

This dance came to an abrupt ending because the tune which accompanied
it struck Jack Waddles’s musical sensibilities, and caused him to bay
in comic imitation of his father, thereby setting the others off in
various keys, and causing such pandemonium that the Lanes’ groom rushed
from the shrubbery, thinking “the scrimmage” had come.

Under cover of the noise Pinkie slipped into the house at a signal
from Miss Letty to tell the waitress that it was high time to make the
“real tea” and carry the eatables to the pantry on the stone wall
behind the arbour. Then she remembered that she had forgotten to ask
her mother for a basket for Hamlet’s waiter trick. “It’s too bad,”
she muttered to herself behind the pantry door. “Miss Letty says it’s
his queerest trick, and now it’s all spoiled.” As she looked up, the
crack of the door gave her a glimpse into the dining room, and her eye
rested upon the mahogany sideboard at the exact spot where, safe and
high and out of reach, rested a pair of openwork silver cake baskets
with hoop handles that had belonged to her great-grandmother, and were
consequently much treasured by the family.

“The very thing,” she said, dropping her voice unconsciously to a
whisper, “and a silver basket is lots properer than a straw one for a
tea-party.”

It was evident that at this moment Pinkie’s guardian angel and her
conscience had taken a walk together to the farthest end of the garden.

She pushed one of the big arm-chairs toward the sideboard, climbed from
the seat to the back, secured the nearest of the precious baskets, flew
to the pantry, emptied a box of five-o’clock teas into it, and covering
the whole with a napkin, ran and placed it on the fence with the cakes
and sandwiches, then sauntered back to her friends with a suspicious
air of unconcern.

“It is of no use for _us_ to have our tea until the dogs are served,”
said Mistress Dorothy, picking her words, and speaking in manner and
tone in perfect imitation of the way that some one of her elders might
have said, “give the children their supper, and then we shall have ours
in peace.”

The sausage sandwiches formed the first course; these were followed
wisely by the saucers of buttermilk, for sausages are rich, thirsty
things, and buttermilk both quenches thirst and is good for dog
stomachs. The cookies were next in order, each one making four
mouthfuls, though Jack Waddles and Silvie both tried to bolt theirs
whole, and choked so that they had to have their saucers refilled.

“Now let us give them their mottoes,” said Pinkie, forgetting the
basket for the time. “Will you please snap them and give each one their
cap, Miss Letty?”

This caused a great deal of fun, for the snapping affected the dogs
very differently, frightening some, and merely adding to the spirits of
the others, while the paper caps changed the dogs’ entire expressions
for the few moments that they consented to wear them; meanwhile Luck
and Pluck, seizing on a motto that had been dropped, played tug-of-war
with it to such good effect that the snapper exploded in their very
jaws, causing them to stampede in terror, while the children rolled on
the grass in fits of laughter.

“Now for the basket of five-o’clock teas,” said Miss Letty, who saw
that the dogs had about reached the end of their good behaviour,
and the children were also growing restive, and needed the soothing
influence of ice-cream. “Is it ready, Pinkie?”

Miss Letty then fastened Hamlet’s cap, which chanced to be a white
Normandy bonnet with strings, firmly under his chin, pinned a napkin
around his waist to imitate a waiter’s apron, and made him stand erect.

“Here’s the basket,” said Pinkie, coming forward and thrusting the
quaint bit of silver suddenly at Miss Letty.

“But, Pinkie dear,” she protested, “I only wished a common straw
basket; this is too good. Hamlet may bend or break it.”

“I couldn’t get anything worse,” answered Pinkie, jerking out her words
half sulkily, “any way--it’s--only an--old thing--and--mother didn’t
say I mustn’t take it.”

“Yes, but old things are often very precious; yet after all it will
only take a moment, and I will wrap my handkerchief about the handle so
that Hamlet’s teeth may not scratch it.”

“Allons!” she cried to the patient dog, who came slowly forward, took
the handle between his teeth, and walked dutifully down the line of
waiting dogs. Each child gave a biscuit to its pet, because if the dogs
had been allowed to help themselves, poor Hamlet would surely have been
upset, for to walk in such a position, and carry a heavy basket, is a
great strain for any dog, no matter how clever.

All went well until Hamlet reached the fox terriers, when Luck made a
spring for the basket. This seemed to be a signal of revolt against
good behaviour, for instantly Hamlet dropped on all fours and began
careering wildly around, still holding the basket. Instantly all the
dogs were running about in a circle, barking and yelping wildly, the
little tea table was overturned, and cups, saucers, and cookies went
rolling down the walk together.

The Lanes’ groom flew out from ambush and tried to restore order, or at
least to catch his own dogs, but Hans Sachs ran between his feet and
upset him in the midst of the china.

At first the children had added their shouts to the general mêlée;
but when the table was overturned, Pinkie began to cry, and Ruby
having growled at Silvie, little Sophie added her tears. For a moment
poor Miss Letty was completely bewildered, then she tried to capture
Hamlet, who was evidently the ringleader; but Hamlet was no longer the
polite and obedient house dog. He would not even listen, and after
circling the lawn three or four times, the others following in a line
like a troop of circus dogs, he led them through the open back gate,
and across the fields, still holding the basket of five-o’clock teas
aloft, until all disappeared from view like a whirlwind in the tall
grass--Silvie, blue bow, and all.

“’Taint no mortial use followin’ on ’em that ways, miss,” said the
Lanes’ man, making for the stable. “I’ll take the pony and head ’em off
by the cross-road, or they’ll run to Pine Ridge shore.”

* * * * *

“Now I think we would better eat our ice-cream and sponge cake before
they come back or anything else happens,” said Miss Letty, as she and
the waitress rearranged the table, and the children agreed with her
vociferously, that is, all but Pinkie. She had her great-grandmother’s
silver cake basket weighing on her conscience, and even ice-cream
seemed odious.

Suddenly Miss Letty realized that Hamlet had carried off the basket,
and without knowing its value, she spoke of it to the waitress, who
grew pale with fright when she heard what Pinkie had done, saying
that the mistress would never allow any one even to clean the baskets
but herself. A man was hastily sent to follow the trail of the dogs
carefully, and two helpings of ice-cream and unlimited cake and mottoes
kept up the spirit of those who had clear consciences for more than
half an hour, when a yelping from the direction of Happy Hall orchard
told that the run was over and the runners returning.

This time they came in at the gate, Hamlet still in the lead, but
without the basket. All were dripping wet, with water-weeds, and ooze
clinging to their coats and tails, and Miss Silvie’s blue ribbon
stringing out behind her was merely a long rag. Hamlet had found
himself, however, he was once more the retrieving water dog of old
France, and he had led his friends to the mill pond and challenged them
to a swimming match. A water dog he remained, for from that day he
refused to do his taught tricks, and wore his hair only long enough to
clothe his skin, but he became a more intelligent companion than ever.

* * * * *

Supper time came, and with it the return of Pinkie’s mother and aunt,
but the cake basket could not be found.

“We will drag the pond for it to-morrow; it is probably as safe
from burglars there at the bottom as if it was on the sideboard,”
said Pinkie’s father, who hated a fuss. But then it was not his
grandmother’s basket.

“What would dear grandma have said to this?” asked Pinkie’s mother
of her sister. The idea was too appalling to admit of an answer, for
Pinkie’s great-grandmother belonged to that particular puritanic time
when children though seen were said to have _never_ been heard, and
dogs? Well, dogs were merely four-legged brutes, who were fed upon what
nothing else would eat. One custom of the far-away period, however,
happened to Pinkie that night--she was spanked.

* * * * *

Waddles, on returning from escorting Tommy to the party that afternoon,
threw himself down under the lilac bushes for a nap. He was in a huff,
as during his brief stay at Pinkie’s his keen nose had scented the
presence of the five-o’clock tea biscuits, which his heart craved. No
one had asked him to stay or given him a biscuit, and he felt himself
insulted both in his private capacity and as Mayor of Dogtown.

Toward sunset he awoke with a yawn; it was past the time to go for the
cows, he had slept and missed a trick for once. Suddenly a howling and
baying caused him to prick up his ears, and at the same moment the
procession of dogs cut cornerwise from the orchard across the garden
and away toward the woods and pond.

[Illustration]

Waddles started to follow them, but as he had nearly reached the corner
of the wall something glittering caught his eye, and a beloved smell
seized on his nose at the same time. There at the edge of the cobbled
gutter lying on its side was the precious cake basket with fully half
of the box of five-o’clock teas beside it on the ground.

Waddles’s eyes glistened. He sniffed with long sniffs of enjoyment, he
licked his lips, and looking round cautiously from time to time ate
up every biscuit and every crumb, then walked slowly off, head erect,
and tail held gaily as much as to say, “Some poor dogs have to go to
parties, others have the party brought to them.”

* * * * *

The next morning when Anne went out early to gather flowers for the
breakfast table, she found the silver basket still lying on its side.
Picking it up joyfully, for every one now knew of its loss, and finding
that it was unharmed, she sent it at once to its owner. Waddles, who
was with her, gave no sign of recognition, but tiptoed steadily along
on the other side of the walk.

“I wonder which dog ate the five-o’clock teas?” said Anne to herself.
“They were scattered through the fields, most likely.”

Only Waddles and Hamlet could answer this question, and--there is
honour among dogs. Anne noticed, however, that from the day of the
party Hamlet became an esteemed member of the Dogtown council--such is
political influence!

[Illustration]

CHAPTER VIII

A HEN PARTY

One day a letter came to Miss Letty from her Aunt Marie in France,
asking if she was homesick, and if she did not wish to come back and
go to Switzerland with them, “for,” the letter translated said, “it
will not be long, at most, before you will rejoin us. My gay little one
could never remain in that strange country of wild dogs when the winter
comes, she would be desolate for Paris. That word will not now mean the
black dress, plain fare, and high brick wall of the school; but the
opera, fêtes, bonbons, enchanting costumes, and a handsome husband,
for your uncle has already in thought two suitable alliances between
which we are willing you should yourself choose. If, however, you
remain still longer with the incomprehensible Aunt Julie, be careful,
my angel, of your complexion, and never go out without the heavy brown
veil above the white one, for I am told that the sun in America is most
cruelly piercing.

“One word as to the beloved poodle, Hamlet. See that his coat is well
oiled and preserved, and that he does not play with strange dogs or
walk out in the morning before the dew has dried, and then only in the
shade and with caution, for we intend to exhibit him at the Xmas fête
that Madame de B---- is to hold to benefit the hospice for sick dogs.
He shall do his tricks under your teaching and you two will have a
success superb.”

Anne was sitting in the window of Miss Letty’s pretty room when the
letter was brought, and she wondered why her friend grew so pale as she
read it, and when she suddenly threw herself, face down, on the pretty
white bed and began to sob, Anne, thoroughly frightened, for Miss Letty
was always gay and smiling, put her arms around her, and begged to know
if her aunt was sick.

“No, read it, it’s about going home; just when I had almost forgotten
that I had ever lived anywhere but here--it’s too bad--read it,” and
she thrust the crumpled letter at Anne, burying her head in the pillow
again.

Anne read it through very slowly, and then, as a bark from below caused
her to look out of the window, she began to laugh so heartily that Miss
Letty looked up, surprised at her lack of sympathy.

“I can’t help it,” Anne gasped, as she took another peep out of the
window. “If your Aunt Marie could only see Hamlet, all shaven and
shorn, digging out a mole with Quick and Tip, and looking like an
anyhow dog, I’m sure she wouldn’t expect him to go to the show.

“Then, of course, she doesn’t know that you gave Tommy your two brown
veils to make a butterfly net, and that you are--well--rather tanned.

“But,” continued Anne, suddenly growing sober, “of course you will be
married some day; but surely it will not be to somebody you’ve never
seen. It would be very nice to go to Switzerland, though. Oh, Miss
Letty, are you really thinking of going, and does it make you sorry to
leave us and the dogs--and everything? Miss Jule said that perhaps you
might like it here well enough to stay with her always, though it was
almost too much to expect, and Mr. Hugh said that it most certainly
was; yet I could not help hoping.”

Then two heads were buried in the same pillow, and fifteen and eighteen
seemed, as often happened, to be about the same age.

“I can stay here if I wish. Father said that I could choose when I
had tried this country for six months, but I think I’m crying because
Aunt Marie hurries me so, before I’ve even thought of going. If
only--_bien_, there are several ifs, Diane darling, that you do not
understand. Why do you say of course I will marry some day?” asked
Miss Letty, raising her head on one hand to peep out of the window at
Hamlet, who was giving his “Vive la Republique” barking song.

“Why? Why, because I think it is so much nicer than not being; that is,
when one has no mother to leave and is grown up and has to wear their
hair up and their dresses down. There is mother, now, do you think that
she could possibly be as happy without father and _us_? Of course _I_
shall not marry, because I couldn’t leave her, but that is different,”
said Anne, in a tone of deep conviction.

“Aunt Julie has never married, and I am sure that she is perfectly
happy and free. No, I shall be independent like Aunt Julie and keep
horses and dogs.”

“Miss Jule is happy and lovely to everybody, but I know that she is
often lonely, and as to being independent, as you call it, it was not
her plan at all. _He_ died, and he was Mr. Hugh’s oldest brother, ever
so much older of course than Mr. Hugh. Mother told us about it once
after Tommy asked Miss Jule why she was not married and lived up there
all alone when she doesn’t like thunder, because mother always sits
in father’s study and holds his hand when the big storms come; not
that she’s afraid, oh, no, but you see she’d _rather_-- That’s why,
because of his brother (beside both liking dogs), Mr. Hugh is so nice
to Miss Jule, exactly the same as if she really was his aunt,” and Anne
stopped, quite out of breath; but as Miss Letty had dried her eyes and
looked interested, she continued:--

“Dogs sometimes have a great deal to do with people’s marrying each
other, that is, I mean beginning it. You see, one day, ever so long
ago, father was in New York, and as he was going along the street he
heard a dog yelp and cry dreadfully, and then a crowd collected. When
he got near by he heard some one say, ‘It’s been run over but, it is
only a cur, a policeman’ll soon come along and end it.’

“Then the people went away, all but one young lady, and in the gutter
he saw a little terrier lying; its front leg was broken, and though
it was partly stunned, its eyes were full of pain and terror. Before
he could reach the dog the lady had gone to it, tied her handkerchief
around the hurt paw, and lifting it up very gently, and in spite of its
being bloody and dirty, carried it away. When she had gone a little
distance down a side street she stopped and hesitated. Then father
overtook her and asked if he might help with the dog. She said that she
had just remembered that she did not live in the city, and that as they
would not let her carry the dog on the street cars, she was wondering
how she could get it home.

“Father said that he would gladly carry it to the Prevention of Cruelty
to Animals’ Hospital, and so, without even thinking they had never
been introduced, they walked along together, and the poor little dog
stopped moaning and licked father’s hand. When they got to the hospital
the people said that they would chloroform the dog dead, or if it was
a pet they could cure it, for they thought it must be a pet, otherwise
two nicely dressed people would not be likely to get themselves all
smeared up to bring it to the hospital. Of course it wasn’t a pet, only
a yellow brown, wire-haired terrier with back legs that didn’t exactly
match the front. The lady was going to say ‘chloroform him,’ when he
struggled up on three legs and licked her nose, so she changed the
words to ‘cure him if you can, and I will pay,’ and she told her name
and address.

“Then father found that she was the sister of one of his college
chums, and so you see by and by they were married. She turned out to
be mother, and we had that terrier for ever so long, though he always
had one bent paw and limped. Father christened him Accident, and we
called him Axy for short. And when he grew old and died, we began the
dog cemetery beyond the orchard with him, and after that father bought
Waddles for me.”

Anne told the story almost as if she was reading it from a book, for
it was very real to her, and both she and Tommy were never tired of
hearing their father repeat it.

She had barely ended when the door flew open and in bounced Quick,
Tip, and Hamlet, followed by Miss Jule. With a rush and whirl the
dogs pounced upon Miss Letty, and began to dig her out from among the
pillows as if she had been a rabbit in its burrow, while Anne vainly
tried to call them off and rescue the snowy bedspread.

Miss Jule looked from one to the other with a question in her eyes as
she saw her niece’s flushed face, but she received her answer when she
read the letter that Letty handed her. She put it back in its envelope,
saying dryly: “I claim you until the six months are up, after that we
shall see. Meanwhile Mr. Hugh has asked you all to go to-morrow and
picnic on the new land he has bought that lies between the river and
Pine Ridge.

“His cousins, the Willoughby girls, are staying with him; but as their
mother is an invalid, I am to keep you out of mischief and see that you
do not get lost. I will take the brake with the luncheon, and you can
either drive all the way or take your wheels and alternately drive with
me or ride them.” So Anne went home to prepare for the next day and
appease Tommy, who would be broken-hearted to hear that his White Lady
was going to a picnic without him, while Miss Letty seated herself at
the desk by her window to answer her letter, and this is the English of
what she wrote:--

“DEAR AUNT MARIE: My Aunt Julie makes it a point that I remain with
her the six months for which I came. But believe me, I am very well
amused, even though I have no companions but Diane and the little
Tommy, for this place is much more unusual than even Paris. The dogs
are not wild, as you think, but most polite, with delightful manners.
Two have now come to call upon Hamlet, and as I write are conversing
with him below the window. He is well, but his costume is so altered
that you would hardly know him. I also no longer wear a veil, it not
being the custom here, neither is it to have an uncle choose one’s
husband in advance of one’s wish to marry. I decidedly prefer all
American customs in such matters. It is glorious summer now. Do not
let us speak of winter, dear aunt, until the frost has browned the
leaves at least.
“Your affec. niece
“LETTICE.”

As she sealed the envelope she heard a horse galloping down the road,
but why she smiled as she looked out the window, or felt somehow
deceitful about the letter she had written, she could not have told.
Perhaps it was because Hamlet was standing on his head and doing some
of his old tricks, all the while looking very wise, and as if he knew
that he was surprising Tip, who always tried to imitate him.

The next morning was cool and delightful, but one of the sort of days
that is not to be trusted at Woodlands, when it comes in early August;
for it may grow very sultry at noon, thunder-clouds following the
change, or the wind may turn to the east, and bring a cold storm with
the incoming tide.

However, everything promised well when the long brake, with its four
horses, a clothes-basket of good things, and Miss Jule and Letty,
called for Anne.

When they arrived at Mr. Hugh’s home, they met a disappointment. The
Willoughby girls were waiting, armed with sketch-books, plant boxes,
and fishing-poles, but no Mr. Hugh. He had been called to town on
business, but hoped to be back in time to join them at luncheon, and
they were to do everything as he had first planned--fish for bass in
the big pond, shoot at a target that he had arranged for his own use in
the long meadow, and cook their luncheon gypsy fashion.

“Never mind,” said Miss Jule, “this is a hen picnic; but when I was a
girl we seldom had any other kind hereabouts, and yet we always had
plenty of fun. I think that you girls had better ride your wheels until
we come to the long hill, or else pack them into the other wagon; for
with all these fishing-rods and things the brake will be full.”

The dogs had to be tied up and stay at home; for taking dogs who love
to swim on a fishing excursion is a “mustn’t be.”

Mr. Hugh’s new land was a strip of several hundred acres of wild
meadows, bordered by thick woods that joined his farm and followed the
river quite to the Pine Ridge waterfall.

It had once been a farm; for in open places the hummocks under the
rough grass told where cornfields had been. There were two tumble-down
orchards (one of early and one of late apples), while raspberry vines,
a ruined chimney, and tufts, here and there, of old-fashioned flowers
told of a home that had gone.

The woods that bordered the river were very wild and fascinating,
deep shade being made by oaks, beeches, and giant hemlocks. No trees
had been cut for many years, though the dead wood had evidently been
carefully cleared away.

There were great rocks covered with ferns that sloped to the river
edge, where the water had whirled stone within stone and worn
“pot-holes” and carved many strange devices.

The Willoughby girls were in ecstasies, for most of their summers
had been spent by the sea. Elsa, the eldest, soon chose a bit for a
sketch; Martica, who was a junior at Vassar, discovered material for
a thesis on ferns; Louise, the youngest, set about picking delicious
looking blackberries, that though now growing wild must have been the
grandchildren of the fruit of the old garden. Thus it came to be that
Miss Jule, Letty, Anne, and May Willoughby formed the fishing party;
for no one cared to shoot at a target without Mr. Hugh to keep score
and praise or criticise their shots.

The pond was a little way up the stream, from which it was separated by
a sloping stone dam that extended like a wall for fifty feet around the
north side, and being overhung with trees made a fine place from which
to fish.

The hooks were baited and dropped in the water, and then Anne began to
look about as if to locate herself, saying: “I thought I knew every
bit of woods within miles of home, but I’ve never been on this side of
the river just here. When Obi was our garden boy he and I used to go
a great deal to the old mill on the other side of the pond where the
wood-ducks nested; but once when we came across the dam, close by where
we are now, and dug some wild sarsaparilla, an old woman with a crutch
came out of the trees and chased us away.

“Obi said that she was called the Herb Witch, and that she lived in a
hut somewhere in the woods, and gathered weeds and things, that she
sold to make magic medicines, and that we had better not cross her,
because she could poison people by even breathing at them.

“Of course I didn’t believe that; but she certainly looked rather
weird, standing there among the trees wearing a cloak with a pointed
hood, such as witches always wear in story-books, with her skirt, that
was gathered into a sort of bag in front, full of roots and herbs.

“Do you know, Miss Jule, of whom Mr. Hugh bought this land? Somehow, I
didn’t think that it belonged to anybody.”

“He bought it from the town,” answered Miss Jule, slowly. She was
watching her line with interest, for the bobber would now and then give
a dive and then whirl about.

“Years ago the place belonged to a farmer, a Scotchman of the thrifty
old stock who could make a living anywhere; and I’ve heard my father
say that it was a fine old farm, and yielded a good income when the
town had only two market days a week--Wednesday and Saturday --and
depended upon the produce from the neighbourhood. When this farmer
died, his son, who was a sailor, came ashore, married a pretty cousin
from over seas against her people’s wish, and tried to work the farm.
But he was a born rover, and the easy days for farming among these
rocky hills had passed. In a few years he went to sea once more, and
was never heard of again. Then his wife struggled along with her
little boy, and for some time made a fair living from selling milk
and poultry, renting pasture, working the fields on shares, and such
like, hoping to keep things together until her boy could take charge.
Of course he was lonely, and as he grew up craved companionship, and
finally went off, I think to a cousin who did something in Australia.

“The mother stayed on alone, and for a while seemed to do well. I
fancy the son sent her money. But the old house burned down, and she
grew more and more crabbed, and of late years has had nothing to do
with her neighbours, and would let no one into her house, she having
moved into a small cottage on the north road when the farmhouse was
burned. Different people have tried to help her; but she is proud and
unmanageable, they say. The town finally took the farm for unpaid
taxes and--ah! I’ve lost that fish, and it was a good one, too,”
ejaculated Miss Jule, stopping her story as the line tautened and hung
loose again. “One thing, I’m quite sure by the way the small fish dodge
about that there are some big pickerel here that keep them moving, and
we shall not catch any pan fish for luncheon.”

“But, Miss Jule, what became of the old woman when her land was sold,
and why did they call her a witch?” asked Anne, who was much interested.

“She will be taken care of at the town farm, and it’s not such a bad
place, either. As to the name of Herb Witch, I think people gave it
to her because she puzzled them by going about the woods at all times
of day and night and gathering plants they thought only weeds. Then
she always minded her own business, and never complained, which always
aggravates people who do not do likewise.”

“How dreadful to be old and have to leave home and go and live in a
poorhouse, when you’ve owned all this!” said Anne, stretching out her
arms, and Miss Letty, looking up, suddenly saw a big tear roll off the
end of Anne’s nose; for to her home was heaven, and the thought of any
one’s being driven from theirs seemed unbearable.

At that minute Miss Jule, with a flop, jumped quickly back from the
edge of the pond, landing in some alder bushes, and with finger to her
lips as a sign for silence, pointed to an object in the water. It was a
monster pickerel, the dreaded ogre for whom all little bass, perch, and
trout are taught to “watch out” as soon as they know enough to wiggle
their tails and swim. Lazily it nosed along in the deep shadows, all
unconscious of the excitement it was causing on shore.

“I wish I could grasp it,” whispered Miss Letty, the sporting spirit
seizing her.

“Yes, and perhaps lose your fingers; Obi nearly did once,” said Anne.

“Bring me the little rifle from the brake. It’s not the right way to
catch fish, but I’ll make an exception for this old cannibal,” said
Miss Jule, while Anne needed no second telling, darted off and was
quickly back again.

The rifle, a repeater, was soon in her hands, and as Miss Jule loaded
it, she told the girls to stand back, and asked Anne to put the landing
net they had brought for the bass that did not bite, close beside her.
The pickerel crossed the sun streak once more. Bang! only one shot was
needed. Miss Jule dropped the rifle, seized the net, and a pickerel
weighing fully eight pounds lay upon the moss.

The other girls came up upon hearing the noise, and the men who had
charge of the horses, all being surprised at the size of the fish.

“We will have it for luncheon, if Martin will clean it for us. I only
hope that Mr. Hugh will come in time to enjoy it,” said Miss Jule.

Martin was one of Baldy’s brothers; and he not only cleaned the fish
nicely, but cutting it in quarters, spread it open for broiling with a
clever arrangement of sweet birch twigs, and also made a grill between
two rocks, filling it with charcoal, a bag of which he had brought for
the gypsy fire Mr. Hugh had promised to build.

“Cousin Hugh says that he is going to put up some sort of a little
lodge on this new land, with a big fireplace, so that people can come
here and have tea, and see the birds and things, even in winter; and in
summer it will be convenient to have it to go into if showers come up.
He said, too, that he would have some one live in it to be a sort of
game-keeper and prevent pot-hunters from killing the birds.”

“How lovely!” sighed Anne. “Won’t it be simply perfect, Miss Letty?”

“I shall probably be in France by the time it is built,” she replied;
for one of her contrary fits had been hovering over Miss Letty all day.

The cool morning disappeared in a sultry noon. They waited dinner as
long as their hunger made it possible, but Mr. Hugh did not come. Then,
as is usual at picnics, outdoors and dinner combined to bring sleep.
Not that any one travelled all the way to dreamland, but they all sat
about in blissful silence, watching the shadows among the trees and
the silent molting birds flit shyly in and out, for only the locusts
serenaded them. August is the voiceless summer month in the woods; the
spring song is over, and the young of the year are not yet trying their
throats, as they do in autumn.

“Four o’clock!” said Miss Jule, sitting up suddenly, and giving her
ticking-covered hay pillow a vigorous punch--Miss Jule always had a
dozen of such for piazza, hammock, and excursion purposes. “I think we
had better make a start; for if I’m not mistaken, there are what Martin
calls ‘dunderheads’ in the west, and we do not wish to end the day by
running all the seven miles home, to escape a wetting.”

When the wagons were loaded, and they all gathered in the open
preparatory to starting, the wind had veered, and the black clouds were
hurrying off toward salt water again.

“Do you think we might ride our wheels home?” said Anne to Miss Jule.
“See, the road is shady for a mile farther up, and then it loops
around the Ridge to the turnpike, and it is down grade all the rest of
the way.”

“Yes; please do let us ride,” said Elsa Willoughby; “for I sat so long
on that rock sketching that I need stretching all over.”

Miss Jule thought a minute, looked at the sky, and said: “The shower
has gone round. It’s a lonely road, to be sure; but with six of you
together no harm can happen, and even if you loiter, you will be at
home before supper time.” So the brake and Miss Jule started off one
way and the girls on their wheels the other.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER IX

THE HERB WITCH

Miles are always longer when you travel them than when you talk
of them. For this reason, as well as for the fact that Anne had
miscalculated the distance, the up-grade road to Pine Ridge seemed
endless.

When they had travelled less than half the way, Anne’s cyclometer said
two miles, and Miss Letty’s wheel began to bump and act badly. She
stopped to find the cause, thinking that the front tire needed blowing
up; but to her dismay she found that it was hopelessly punctured by a
bent horse-shoe nail!

Anne tried to mend it with some plaster from her tool kit; but it was
old, dry, and would not stick. If they turned back, the road home would
be even longer than to keep on; so, after a long consultation, held
under a sign-post that offered no consolation, as the bridge on the
cross-road to which it pointed was known to be up, they agreed that
there was nothing to be done but to keep on and lead the wheel, Elsa
Willoughby and Anne offering to walk to hear Miss Letty company; the
others to ride ahead and explain the delay.

“Such a stupid accident!” said Miss Letty, who felt very badly at
upsetting the plan of a swift downhill ride home, even though she was
in no way to blame.

“I’ll tell you what we can do,” said Anne, brightening up, as the
party was about to divide. “Instead of going up around the Ridge
to the turnpike, we can cut straight across the fields. There is a
little blacksmith’s shop at the mill corner where they do all sorts of
tinkering for the farmers that go by to town, and I’m positive I’ve
seen a sign ‘Bicycles repaired’ on the tree. There are bars that we can
let down in crossing lots and that dead tree back on the hilltop will
do for a guide-post, for I saw it from the other side this morning as
we came up. Then it stood about halfway between the roads.”

This seemed the most sensible thing to do; and though of course the
country was strange both to Miss Letty and the Willoughbys, they had
entire confidence in Anne. So the bars were dropped, and the party
trooped through and crossed the field diagonally, keeping the dead tree
on the hilltop well in front of them.

“I don’t see any bars in that fence yonder, but it’s old and
tumble-down, and we can easily lift the wheels over,” said Anne, who
was beginning to feel the responsibility of what she had undertaken.

When they reached the fence, however, a new difficulty presented
itself--the old rails and posts were meshed in and out with barbed
wire, rusty, and formidable as the quills of an angry porcupine.

“It is certain that we can neither crawl over, under, or through that,”
said Elsa Willoughby, speaking decidedly, and evidently feeling rather
bored.

“We must follow the fence south,” said Anne, cheerfully; “it ends
somewhere, you know.”

For ten or fifteen minutes they went on without speaking. It is not
easy to walk through uneven, briery fields, much less to lead bicycles.

“The dead tree is behind us, now,” said Miss Letty, stopping suddenly;
“and ought we not to come to the river? We must cross it before we
reach the turnpike.”

“I wonder if there is any bridge here in the fields where there is no
road?” said Martica, rather sarcastically.

“Oh, look at those black clouds!” cried Louise, “They have whirled
about and are coming directly toward us.”

Then for the first time Anne realized that not only was she uncertain
of her whereabouts, but that they were likely to be overtaken by the
fury of a summer storm; for the clouds were followed by a yellow
underscud whose meaning she well understood.

“At most we can only get a wetting,” said Miss Letty, putting her arm
around Anne; her sunny disposition conquering her feeling of alarm,
when she saw her friend’s distress. “I’m sure that I heard a dog bark,
too; and if there is a dog near by, there must be a house.”

“Here is the end of the barbed wire fence,” called Anne, who had been
hurrying ahead; “and a pent lane leads from it. As this is the inside
end, if we follow it, we must get somewhere; for there are ever so
many roads like these that run from the turnpike into back lots and
woodlands. I think we would all better keep in the middle of the lane
away from the trees,” she added, as a flash of lightning almost dazzled
her. “Father says it is always best to keep in the open if you are out
in a storm.”

“Do you know where you are going, or are we lost?” asked Elsa
Willoughby, shortly.

“If we had kept on the road, Miss Jule would find us, for she will
surely send back for us when she sees the storm coming; but here no one
will know where we are,” said Martica, wrenching herself free from a
strong catbrier vine.

“I’m trying to go toward the turnpike,” replied Anne, in a shaking
voice, “but--” Before she could finish they heard the bark again, this
time close ahead; but it had a tired, discouraged sound, and was not at
all aggressive.

“I see him,” said Miss Letty, joyfully; “it’s a collie, too. There must
be a farm somewhere near.”

As they reached the dog it stopped its feeble barking, but did not move.

“Don’t go near him, he may bite,” cried Louise; and the four
Willoughbys huddled close to a big chestnut tree in spite of Anne’s
warning.

“Something is the matter with that dog. I wonder what it can be,”
said Anne, half to herself, as she walked slowly up to him, talking
familiarly as she would to Waddles or any friendly fourfoot, Miss Letty
following her closely.

“I see! One hind foot is caught in a fox trap, and--yes, he has broken
the chain and tried to get away, only to have it caught on a stump
again, and he is weak with hunger. Poor fellow, we will take the trap
off, and perhaps you will be so good as to take us home with you.”

“Poor fellow,” seemed to have a bad opinion of people, and to doubt
their intentions; for he drew back his upper lip, showing his teeth,
and then seeming to be utterly exhausted, sank down upon the ground
with a pitiful whine.

“I will hold his collar if you can unsnap the trap,” said Anne, turning
a white, determined face to Miss Letty; while the others protested that
if he was freed, they should all be bitten.

“Push down the spring and put your foot on the grip crosswise,”
continued Anne, “and I will pull out the paw. What if poor little Jill
was caught this way and starved to death.”

Miss Letty made two efforts before she succeeded. Fortunately the
bone was not broken, though the flesh was cut and bruised. As the
collie gave a sigh of relief, Anne ventured to rub the paw gently
with the tips of her fingers, to start the blood in circulation again.
This eased the poor animal so much that he licked her fingers, and,
scrambling to his feet, began to limp painfully away down the lane.

“Stack your wheels under that chestnut tree,” said Anne, in a tone of
command that gave the others courage, “and we will follow this dog. We
can easily send for the wheels, and no one will steal them here.”

The lane soon became wider and more open, which was encouraging; but
this also gave them a better view of the lurid sky, and did not show
the stream that they must cross before they reached the highroad.

“There is a hen and some chickens under that shed and where these are
there are usually people near,” said Miss Letty, peering over the
vine-tangled wall.

“There is a house,” cried Anne, at the very moment that the squall
struck the bushes beyond and launched a shower of raindrops so squarely
in her eyes that she was blinded for a moment.

A house it surely was, and doubtless at one time substantial, but now
scarcely more than a house in name; for the tops of the tall chimney
were crumbling, half the window-panes were broken, and one side sash
was wholly missing.

Still the jumble of red day-lilies, bluebells, and trumpet-vine in the
pathless garden made it look cheerful, and any shelter was welcome.

[Illustration]

“We must have been going round in a circle,” said Anne, as she fumbled
with a rusty iron hoop that held the gate fast. “The dead tree is in
front again, and this must be the old house that the Herb Witch lived
in before she went to the town farm.”

As Anne opened the gate, the collie, who for the moment had been
forgotten, slipped past, and hobbling across the yard scratched at the
side door.

“There must be some one living here, then,” said Anne, and following
the dog she knocked twice, briskly. There was no answer, though she
was sure that she heard footsteps, and a light puff of smoke from the
least tumble-down chimney told that the house was inhabited.

Anne began to feel very uncomfortable, and Elsa Willoughby whispered,
“Suppose this is a tramp’s camp?” A perfectly natural remark, but one
that was not comforting.

[Illustration]

The collie scratched again, and then gave two sharp barks. Instantly
there was a quick tapping sound inside, as of a stick on the floor, the
door opened in with a bang, a weak hinge giving way at the pull, while
a gaunt female figure leaning on a crutch clasped the dog in her arms,
hugging him and crying: “My laddie, my laddie, and I thought they had
taken ye, when ye stayed agone three nights, and when I heard the shot
this noon I thought they had killed ye certy.”--It was the Herb Witch
herself!

* * * * *

A flash and crash followed by a gust of rain made Anne step forward,
and as quickly as possible ask for shelter. When the woman saw the
party, her face grew rigid again and, for a moment, it seemed as if she
would close the door; then she changed her mind, and opening it as wide
as the broken hinge would allow, said, “Walk in, leddies.”

The door opened directly into a low, square room. At first it was so
dark that the girls could distinguish nothing, then as their eyes
became accustomed to the dimness, a few chairs, a table, and a small
stove set in the wide, open fireplace, were outlined. The room was bare
and poor, but very clean.

The old woman, after feeding the dog from a pot that was on the hearth,
returned, and stood by the window, the dog behind her, after motioning
her guests to be seated; but she did not speak, or ask a question as
to from whence they came, or whither they were bound. She might have
been accustomed to have six girls come every day, for any surprise she
showed. The silence became embarrassing, until Anne, partly to break
it, and partly because the chairs fell short, sat down on the floor by
the collie, and began to talk to him, and through him to his mistress,
in her coaxing way that no one could withstand.

“Tell your missy where we found you, and how the wicked trap pinched
your foot,” she crooned, scratching him under his chin until he rolled
over on his back with a contentedly foolish expression.

“And did yer find him trapped, and loose him, little leddie? I didn’t
mind his foot was hurt, my eyes are so poor and farsome.” Her speech
was fascinating, wholly unlike the harsh country dialect; and yet only
now and then did she use a Scotch phrase.

Thus encouraged, Anne told the story of the day’s adventures,
punctuated now and then by promptings from the others, until she had
said really more than she intended, and the old woman knew that her
guests had heard at least one side of the tale of her misfortune.

Then the sight of young faces around her seemed to warm her lonely
heart and loosen her tongue.

“Yes,” she said presently, but with no trace of complaint in her voice,
“the place was sold a month gone to pay the taxes. The same being law
and justice, I’ll not complain. And I by rights would be gone as well,
but for Laddie here; and as it is, I’m but a trespasser.

“I’d to deal with but the few chicks you saw out yonder, a sick pup,
and an old cow that pastures behind on--the Lord forgive me!--what’s
mine no longer; when the night before the day I was to go yonder,”
pointing north to where the poor farm lay, “Laddie, he disappeared.

“I’d not paid his tax, and so the law was against him. Leastway, the
bit I’d saved to pay it was made way with by the lad I sent it to the
town clerk by, and I’d no way to earn more--the lameness being too hard
for me to pick and peddle berries down the turnpike. What with that
fear before me, and knowing he’d taken a chick a week agone from some
one, being sore tempted to find meat, I was worried in deed and truth.
If he’s dead, said I, his troubles be over; but if held in bond, and
breaking loose he comes home, and me away, he’ll just pine away and
starve, slow and pitiful.

“But noo,” she continued, trying to make her voice sound cheery, “he’s
come, and to the favour of your loosing him I’m minded to ask another.
As you know dogs’ ways, little leddie, will ye take him with ye, and
give him his keep his life out? It’ll not be long, for he’s turning
ten, and has’na had a full stomach these last years. Will ye, leddie?
I’m sorrowful not to gi’ him free o’ the tax, but it’s the first and
last favour Jane Carr asks o’ any one. Ye will. God bless you, child!
Now to-morrow the old ‘Herb Witch’ will move on.”

It was all Anne could do to keep from breaking down and crying aloud.
Miss Letty did not even try, and Elsa Willoughby wiped her eyes
hastily, forgetting that she had used her handkerchief that morning to
cleanse her paint-brushes. So interested had they all been that an hour
passed unnoticed, and with it the storm.

“But,”--stammered Anne, trying to steady her voice, “where is the sick
puppy? Don’t you want us to take that too?”

“You’d best take it, certy; but it’s not mine, and you may likely
seek out the owner, for it’s a well-favoured little hussy, and
affectionsome, though flighty, if I make no mistake. Ten days back
Laddie came in barking and making signs for me to follow, for he has
speech, has Laddie, or I mistake.”

“So has Waddles,” said Anne, sympathetically.

“Weel, I hobbled down the lane length to where the old fence lies
that’s bound with that fearsome wire.”

“We know that fence,” said the girls, so completely in chorus that a
smile actually wrinkled the old woman’s features.

“A rod farther down Laddie led me, and then stood still. Before him was
a little animal meshed in the wire. I thought it a rabbit; next I saw
it was a pup that like had been chased by a wild cat,--oh, yes, there’s
a few here yet,--and held by the barbs. I unloosed the pup, Laddie
a-givin’ me orders all the while.”

“Just like Waddles,” ejaculated Anne again.

“I took the wee thing home and washed its wounds with herbs I well
know the worth of, and now it hardly shows a scar. I’ve kept it close,
mostly in the bedroom yonder, for fear those who bear me ill might say
I stole it, and lay hands on it and keep it from its lawful owners, and
work me worse ill, for it’s as fine a little she beagle as ever my eyes
lit on, and I’ve seen many in the old land.”

“Beagle,” said Anne and Miss Letty together, as Jane Carr threw open
the door of a small room which was nearly filled by a large bed
with a blue and white spread. Upon this bed, with her head resting
comfortably on the only pillow, lay Jill Waddles!

Anne fell upon Jill and hugged her, for it was a relief to feel
that the little creature had not starved to death, in spite of her
ungrateful behaviour. But Jill merely yawned, jumped down from the bed,
ambled about prettily with her head on one side, but retired under the
old woman’s skirt when Anne tried to take her up.

“She has adopted Mrs. Carr,” said Miss Letty, laughing, while the old
woman stood amazed, saying, “Weel, weel, the ways and freaks o’ she
animals is yet to be accounted.”

Explanations followed. “You see that I owe you two weeks’ board for
her,” said Anne, gaily, “and that will pay Laddies’ license, so he will
be a free gift.”

“But she sha’n’t leave, she sha’n’t lose the dog,” she added, under her
breath, to Miss Letty, who answered, “Of course not, if we can only
manage to keep her here a few days longer to gain time, so that we can
tell Miss Jule.”

“I have it,” said Anne, and then turning she said: “Will you kindly
stay here until day after to-morrow, to please me, Mrs. Carr? Then
father and I will drive up in the morning and take Jill home. I know
Mr. Hugh, who has bought the land, he’s a very particular friend of
mine and Waddles’s, and I’ll tell him that I asked you.”

Mrs. Carr was only too glad of an honourable day’s reprieve. Then, as
the sun almost at setting, shone through the window, Anne opened the
door and said that they must get their wheels and go on, for she had
been so excited by what had passed that she was now doubly anxious lest
those at home should worry.

“Leddies, would ye--” began Mrs. Carr, hesitating, “would ye drink a
cup of tea with me before ye go? It’ll not take a minute, and it’s
likely the last time I’ll be offer’n it to company,” she added with
grim humour.

Anne accepted the invitation promptly with her fine breeding, not
giving the Willoughbys a chance to demur. A brush fire was burning in
the stove, and Anne saw by the heap of faggots outside how the woods
had been kept clear of underbrush.

The Herb Witch opened a narrow cupboard by the chimney and, as she did
so, they caught sight of a dozen or so bits of old Lowestoft china, a
tea-pot, cream pitcher, caddy, and half a dozen cups and saucers.

“How beautiful!” exclaimed Martica Willoughby, who “collected.” “Do you
know that those are valuable? Why don’t you sell them?” she continued
indiscreetly.

Miss Letty declared afterward that the Herb Witch suddenly grew so tall
that she thought that her head would bump against the ceiling, as she
answered: “Those same are my self-respect. When I’ve been tormented to
beg and ask favours, I opened that door and looked at the bits that
come from afar with me, and I minded those I came from, and whose will
I crossed to my hurt. If ye sell your self-respect, leddy, that’s to be
the real pauper,” and poor Martica forgot her college-bred sufficiency
for once, and mumbled an apology.

Quickly the tea was drawn, only Anne noticing that it was the last in
the caddy, and the sugar the last in the bowl, and Mrs. Carr taking a
small loaf from a stone jar cut it in thin slices and spread them with
wild plum jam, from the same closet where there still remained a few
pots. “I’m out of butter, as it haps,” she said dryly.

The tea was delicious and every one enjoyed it heartily. Anne was
standing by the door with a second “jamwich,” as she always called the
combination, in her hand when wheels came up the lane, a horse stopped
suddenly, and a figure sprang from the runabout, vaulted over the
rickety gate that the rain had made still more difficult to open, and
strode up the walk. It was Mr. Hugh, and he wore what Anne had always
called his “would-like-to-break-something” expression.

It flashed through her brain that he was either vexed at finding the
Herb Witch still in the house, or that he blamed her in some way for
their detention. She never knew exactly why she did it, but the moment
he reached the door and opened his lips to speak she thrust the bit of
bread and jam between his lips, calling gaily: “You are just in time,
it’s perfectly delicious, and the very last piece, too. Please, Mrs.
Carr, do you think that you could coax one more cup of tea from that
duck of a pot? It’s Mr. Hugh, you know, and he’s come to look for us.”

Astonished as he was and gagged with bread and jam, Mr. Hugh’s anxiety
and anger disappeared at the same moment, for both he and Miss Jule,
who had driven completely around the circuit without finding the party,
feared they might have tried to cross the river at the disabled bridge
which had disappeared altogether at the rush of the suddenly swollen
stream, and his turning into the lane at all had been quite an accident.

Instantly there was a confusion of tongues, and poor Mr. Hugh’s brain
whirled as he heard the words: “punctured tire,” “across the fields,”
“horrid barbed wire fence,” “dead tree that kept moving,” “Laddie in
trap,” “license money stolen,” “dear old china,” “such delicious tea,”
“saved Jill Waddles from starving to death,” “thunder and lightning,”
“chestnut tree,” etc., each sentence coming from a different person.
Nor was his bewilderment lessened by the sight of the Witch herself,
leaning on her crutch by the chimney closet, dignified and silent, the
very reverse of the whining beggar, half lunatic, half tramp, that she
had been represented.

His first idea was to relieve Miss Jule’s mind and get the girls
safely home, his second was to apologize to Mrs. Carr for his evident
misunderstanding and abrupt entrance.

“You can tell me all about it on the way home,” he said to the group at
large. “Elsa, your mother is nearly frantic about you all; fortunately
Miss Jule expected to keep Anne at the Hill Farm all night, so her
mother knows nothing about the matter.

[Illustration: _The Herb Witch._]

“The wheels are up under that chestnut? Very well, we will ask Mrs.
Carr to keep the lame one until it can be called for to-morrow; its
owner will have to drive with me, and the rest ride, at least, as far
as the blacksmith’s on the turnpike, for it will be dark before I can
send the horses back here. Whose wheel was disabled?”

“Miss Letty’s,” said Martica Willoughby, “and I should think she would
be thankful to drive home, for it was hard enough for us to lead our
wheels through all that stubble; but her front tire was so flat she
almost had to carry hers.”

Miss Letty got into the runabout without more ado, having the tact
not to make a fuss, and offer to ride Martica’s wheel. Mr. Hugh bowed
pleasantly to Mrs. Carr, who came to the gate, drawing her cloak about
her,--the same one that Anne remembered,--and led the way down the
lane, crossing the river, which was narrow and swift just there, a
couple of hundred feet west of the house.

When they reached the highway they held a short consultation, and it
was agreed the cyclists should lead home. As they were about to start
Anne cried, “Look!” and waved her handkerchief toward the rising ground
around which the lane had curved. There, upon the stubbly hillside,
with her crutch before her and Laddie by her side, sat Mrs. Carr,
watching them on their way, her witchlike hood pointing toward the sky,
but a weary sort of smile upon her wan face, while behind her, against
the distant horizon, was the dead tree still in front of them.

“I wish you would have that old tree cut down, Mr. Hugh,” laughed
Anne over her shoulder, as she shot ahead; “it’s in the middle of
everywhere, and like Robin Hood’s barn, you go round and round it, but
you never get there.”

* * * * *

Mr. Hugh and his companion drove along for a while in silence, then
Miss Letty, forgetting herself, said half aloud, “I wonder what led you
into that lane?”

“Geese,” said Mr. Hugh, at which astonishing remark they both laughed,
and the ice began to melt as he explained it by saying that as he
was hurrying along the highway, a flock of geese suddenly waddled
across the road a few feet ahead with much hissing and flapping of
wings, whereat Artful, his horse, being full of good spirits and oats,
shied to the right, and made a bolt down the lane, which his driver
had not even noticed. Being once there he recognized it as the north
boundary of his new land, forgot that it did not run from road to road,
remembered the old house which he thought empty, and took the stray
chance of the girls having taken a short cut. “All of which proves that
accidents are sometimes lucky things,” he added.

“I wish my accident might bring some luck to Mrs. Carr,” said Miss
Letty, simply, and then she told the story of the afternoon, her
musical voice giving it pathos, and as she wholly forgot herself, a
little foreign accent crept in her speech that made it more appealing.

“I certainly won’t turn her out, I give you my word for that,” said
Mr. Hugh, earnestly, “I’ve tried time and again to see her. How can we
handle her? Her pride and the old tea caddy will not feed and clothe
her, and the house is only fit for bats.” Mr. Hugh had a warm heart,
but he was very practical.

“I could manage the clothes, I think,” said Miss Letty, shyly. “I’ve
got plenty of pocket money, for there is nothing to buy about here; the
bonbons are atrocious--all made of glue. I could ask her to make me jam
in exchange. You see she makes four kinds from wild fruit, and I adore
jam.” In some things Letty was younger than Anne.

“But when you have finished your visit and gone back to France, what
about her clothes then?” persisted Mr. Hugh, not realizing that he was
teasing her.

“I forgot,” was all she said, but her head drooped, for Miss Letty was
warm-hearted, but not altogether practical; but few people are at
eighteen.

In a moment, however, she redeemed herself by saying suddenly, looking
ahead as if speaking of something she saw, “I have it, Miss Elsa said
that you were going to build a small house somewhere on the new land,
where you and your friends could build a fire in cold weather, and cook
supper or have afternoon tea, and that you would keep a man in it to
protect the game.”

“Yes, I’m going to build at once, for every bird and flower will be
killed or carried away if I do not take care; but if the land is
protected, I am more than willing to have the villagers use it for
their outings, say two days a week in summer time.”

“The very thing,” continued Letty, growing more earnest, “cut through
the lane from road to road, and make a new street in Dogtown, then put
a gate in the middle; that will be by the Herb Witch’s old house. Make
the house warm and snug, clear out the old garden paths, and then use
it for a gate-house. Let the game protector man live there as company
for Mrs. Carr, and make her the gate-keeper. In France the gate-keepers
at many estates are the old women. Then such pay as you may give her
can be eked out by allowing her to sell tea and bread, jam and cookies
to the picnickers, and she can always cook your supper when you wish.
That kitchen with the wide chimney would make a charming room. I can
see it now with blue and white paper and dark furniture. She would be
independent too, poor soul. You know what Anne said about the dead tree
and Robin Hood’s barn? Bien--let us call the house _Robin Hood’s Inn_,
because it sheltered us when we were on the way to nowhere.”

“Good work,” cried Mr. Hugh, clapping his hands so enthusiastically
that he nearly dropped the reins, and Artful took another skirmish.
“If all is satisfactory when I go up there to-morrow I will begin work
next Monday. Do you know, I’m awfully obliged to you, Miss Letty. I’m a
slow fellow for thinking out things, and two heads are better than one,
though this idea came from only one, and that’s yours. Hullo, where are
we going?” For in their eagerness they had passed the Hill Farm and
were spinning down hill.

When they had turned back, Miss Jule met them at the gate, saying,
“All’s well that ends well; but I was afraid just now that Artful was
running away.”

“Oh, no,” said Mr. Hugh, “we were having a most interesting
conversation, and if you will ask me in to tea you shall pass upon our
scheme.”

“I’m sorry you had to ride home with the Great Bear,” said Anne,
innocently, as they went upstairs to get ready for supper. “I love to
drive with Mr. Hugh, he is teaching me the names of all the rocks.”

“There are bears and bears,” replied Miss Letty, smiling to herself in
the mirror. “Also geese that make good guide-posts.”

[Illustration]

CHAPTER X

TOLD BY THE FIRE

Before flocking swallows and cool nights told that September had come
in a-tiptoe, the Herb Witch’s house had been restored, and christened
“Robin Hood’s Inn,” and even the thought of the poor-farm banished from
the old woman’s mind.

It had been a very easy matter rearranging the house, which had a solid
frame; new floors, shingles, window-glass, and pretty wall-papers,
chosen by Miss Letty and Anne, working a wonderful transformation
within, while a week’s well-directed efforts of a couple of men
restored the garden to its quaintness without spoiling it.

Mrs. Carr herself was much more difficult to handle, so anxious was
she not to accept anything for which she could not render service in
return. Miss Jule and Mr. Hugh had planned very wisely, but, after all,
it was Anne herself who broke through the crust of pride that held the
old woman so close in its grip.

The day after the thunder-storm, when Anne had gone with Mr. Hugh to
bring Jill home, that contrary young beagle had absolutely declined to
go with her mistress, and, after struggling, barking, and growling in
puppy rage, slipped her head through her collar, jumped from Anne’s
arms, and ran up and hid in the attic that was littered with rubbish
and drying herbs.

Such a strong attachment from a capricious little animal like Jill
argued well for Mrs. Carr’s influence over dogs, as did the nicely
healed wounds made by the barbed wire for her medical skill and care,
and a new idea came to both Mr. Hugh and Miss Jule. They frequently had
dogs, both young and old, who needed some special attention or petting
that it was impossible to give them in the kennels, or in the little
house that stood apart and was called the hospital. One of the old
orchards could be fenced, and a small building put in the corner near
by Robin Hood’s Inn, the whole to be used as a sort of dog’s excursion
resort, for those who needed a change, Mrs. Carr being in charge of it.

Anne begged leave to tell the news to the old woman. At first Mrs.
Carr was about to exclaim in delight at the prospect of so much dog
companionship, then her habitual distrust seemed about to settle as
she said, “I only hopes it’s for their own good and not mine they ha’
planned it; I wish I cauld be main sure.”

Then at last Anne rose up with almost a stamp of impatience, and
folding her hands before her, looked the questioner straight in the
face, saying: “Mrs. Carr, I’m disappointed in you, you are just as
pernickerty as you can be, and stingy beside. Perhaps you don’t know
what ‘pernickerty’ means, because it’s one of Baldy’s words for being
show-off particular, like the woman father tells about, who was always
so dreadfully good. When she went to heaven they gave her an extra
beautiful gold crown to wear, with a soft lining, so that it couldn’t
hurt, but she took it off and looked it all over, and said, ‘I can do
with a cheaper one; beside, linings are heating!’ And you are stingy
because you won’t let any of us have the pleasure of thinking we are
making you comfortable;” so saying, Anne, with a red spot in the middle
of each cheek, walked out of the cottage, mounted Fox, and rode away,
without looking behind her.

Miss Jule, who a few moments later drew up from the opposite direction
expecting to meet Mr. Hugh and advise with him about the new scheme,
was astonished to find that Anne had gone, and to see Mrs. Carr
crouching in her arm-chair with her face in her apron.

Making no attempt to hide the fact that she had been crying, the old
lady straightened herself, and said in a trembling voice: “Ye’ll be
havin’ no more contrairy times with me, yerself and Master Hughie, for
the little lassie hit out straight and fetched me between the eyes
like the minister in the kirk used, and I see my error, that is, I
like shall when I’m through blinkin’. Pride is a good life-buoy when a
body’s drownin’ in the waters o’ trouble, but inconvenient and unseemly
to wear juist for ornament on dry land.”

Miss Jule asked no questions at the time, but the truth leaked out,
and Mrs. Carr herself was the first to tell the story, laughing as she
did so, with the dry, harsh laugh that needed use to mellow it, and
illustrating with her crutch the emphatic sound of Anne’s boots, as she
walked out.

The result of this change of heart, or rather of manner, for at heart
the old woman had always been good as gold, was that even when picnic
days were over, and the good folks of Dogtown left the fields for the
fireside, and children returned to school, Robin Hood’s Inn, remote as
it was, became a meeting-place for autumn walks, and Saturday parties
out to gather leaves or nuts. Moreover, few people could decide which
attracted them the most, the tea and seedcakes, the courtesy of Laddie
the old collie, Jill’s coaxing antics, or Mrs. Carr’s fine hospitality.

“Herb Witch you shall still be called, for no one brews tea like you,”
said Mr. Hugh, one afternoon as he sat by the wide fireplace, holding
one of the precious Lowestoft cups that had been filled the second time.

Mrs. Carr, for some unknown reason, never served anyone but him she
termed her “landlord,” and Miss Letty from these cups.

Miss Jule, her niece, Anne, and her mother had been driving together
and had likewise stopped for a chat, also to inquire for a delicate
little spaniel, one of an overlarge litter, that Mrs. Carr was
mothering.

“Ah, but I’ve fostered a rival at the tea drawin’,” said the old lady
with a smile. “Miss Lettice here betters me at it, ’twas she that drew
that very potful as your foot was on the sill.”

“Why didn’t you put a few poison ivy leaves in it? I’m quite
surprised,” laughed Mr. Hugh, never thinking how the jest might hurt
the young girl with whom he had been on very friendly terms since
the day of the storm. But that was Mr. Hugh’s chief fault; he often
sharpened his little jokes upon other people’s feelings, while Miss
Letty never did. She said nothing, however, but going to the window
picked up Jill, and resting her upon the sill laid her face against one
of the long soft ears.

“Some day, Hugh,” said Miss Jule, rather sharply, “Letty and I will
find a thin spot in your cuticle, and then we will always keep salt
ready to rub in it!”

“Ah! but there’s a bonnie fortune here,” said Mrs. Carr, discerning
something awry and lifting Letty’s empty cup she looked in the bottom;
“but what’s this on tother side?” she muttered, “two horses travelling
even, and then one ahead and riderless. I can’t read that--best wash
the cup.”

* * * * *

No matter how warm the noontide sun might be, when September came
Waddles liked to lie by a fire in the evening. If there was none in
the hall chimney-corner he would nose open the door into the kitchen
and stretch himself on the warm hearth before the range, for though
he would not like to have had it mentioned, he was rheumatic, and his
left hind leg often gave him trouble in crossing stone walls. As for
rail fences, he had ceased even going through them, and always crawled
under.

Mrs. Waddles also enjoyed fireside evenings, and had coaxed her way
until she shared the rug with her spouse as a matter of course, though
he alone slept at Anne’s door, Happy going back to the nursery kennel
for the night. Jack still slept there with her, for if ever there was a
“mother boy” it was he. All day long he kept her in sight, and at night
drew as close to her as in the days of his dependent puppyhood.

It was one of the first of these evenings. A log was smouldering lazily
on the hearth in the hall, though doors and windows were open and the
house was full of moonlight.

The family had all gone to Miss Jule’s for supper and to talk over a
harvest festival with outdoor sports that Mr. Hugh proposed to hold at
Robin Hood’s Inn.

Before Anne went out she ran to the hall table to take one more look at
something very precious that had come that afternoon--her camera, so
long wished for, had actually arrived, and she was all eagerness for
daylight that she might use it, as she had watched her father at his
work so often that she felt as if she really knew how. He had insisted
that she begin with plates instead of films, that she might the more
easily develop her pictures and thus discover her own mistakes, so the
camera was a substantial four by five instrument in a leather-covered
case, with a light tripod for time work.

Waddles lay on the outer edge of the bearskin rug, Happy being next
the fire, everything was quiet except her little whimpering snore and
the crickets that chanted outside, led, it seemed, by one persistent
individual in the wood-box.

Suddenly Happy gave a groan, and began to shiver and cry in her sleep.
Up started Waddles, stumbled over her before he understood from where
the noise came, and then gave her a little shake, saying, in a language
that, deaf though she was, she understood: “Wake up. What is the
matter? You were so greedy about that cold sausage at supper that I
knew you’d have trouble.”

Happy gave a despairing kick or two, then rolled over, and, gaining her
feet, sniffed once or twice, her back bristling, and then opened her
eyes. “I thought that I was a kennel dog again,” she said with a little
gasp, settling herself close by Waddles, as if craving protection from
such a catastrophe, and scratching an ear to be sure that she was
herself.

“I never lived in a kennel, though when I was very young I used to wish
I did. The Hilltop dogs got lots to eat and I didn’t.” “Why didn’t you
like it?” asked Waddles, who, having thoroughly waked up, was in the
mood for a lazy, comfortable chat.

“Ting, ting, ting, bur-r-r,” said the telephone bell by the door,
Waddles jumped up bristling, and barked his yap, yap, “treed-cat” bark
at it; he always regarded the telephone as a personal insult, and as he
did not quite fathom its workings or understand a voice unattached to a
person he was not a little afraid of it, a fact he managed to conceal
by bluster.

Through it he heard his mistress’s voice when she was at Miss Jule’s
and wanted to ask if she might stay to dinner or supper, but he could
get no scent of her whereabouts. Also he could hear the master talking
to the fishman, whose odour was _oban_ and forbidden of good dogs, and
was his chief enemy besides, having dared to flick his whip at him. Was
it not aggravating to hear those rasping tones without having a chance
to pretend to nip his heels or bark his bony horse into a gallop?

Now that there was no one at home to take down the magic tube that
released the evil spirit, he could take his revenge and bark his mind,
which he did until he was hoarse.

“Why didn’t I like it?” asked Happy, now also quite awake, and with
great energy. “There was enough to eat, I suppose, but how, and when,
and where? I should like you to tell me that first.”

As Waddles didn’t know, he could not tell, so Happy took the floor, or
rather the bearskin, and began her story, occasionally punctuating it
by pauses caused by stopping to give her paws an extra washing.

“Melody, my mother, was not born in a kennel, though after she had
great sport and hunted a few years, she came to live at Hilltop. I was
born there, and the difference between living in a kennel and running
free begins even before your eyes are open.

[Illustration]

“Of course you’ve looked into the kennel yard four acres big, inside
the tall wire fence and seen the grass-run, and the swimming-pool, but
have you ever been inside the long red house made into rooms with many
windows and doors, and a little yard by each?”

“No,” said Waddles, “I’ve often tried, but some one always drove me
away, though once, when I had stepped inside the door, I ran down a
long hallway when a big black and white setter, who seemed to be all by
himself in a small room, told me I’d best get out while I could, for
maybe if I waited I couldn’t, and begged me to bring him a bone next
time I came.”

“That was old Antonio, a boarder,” said Happy, looking into the fire
as if she saw the past in it. “His master used to have a country house
like this, and he raised Antonio from a pup, took him hunting every
leaf fall, and let him lie on the hearth-rug winter nights, but when
the master sold the house and went away, he sent Antonio to board at
Hilltop until he should come back for him. He promised to come soon,
but that was the summer that I was a pup, and Antonio is still waiting.

“Of course he is comfortable in a way; he and Rufus, the Irish setter
with red hair, have a good room together, each with a boxed straw bed,
and a private yard to lie in when they are not turned into the great
yard for running, but they are in chain when they sleep at night, and
when they are fed, and that is a grievous thing to an old dog who has
once run free, and owned his bones. My mother told me so then, but
being born a kennel dog I did not understand.”

[Illustration]

“What were the other rooms in that long house?” asked Waddles, now
sitting up wide awake and interested. “I saw more doors than there are
in this whole house or at Miss Jule’s, and though I was in a hurry, I
sniffed good crisp brown smells.”

“Some rooms like Antonio’s are for the grown dogs that live there all
the time except when they go away for hunting. Then there are others
closer and warmer for the mother dogs with families; I was born in one
of these, and stayed there with my little brothers and sisters until I
was six weeks old, and could stand firm upon my feet without resting on
my stomach. Before this, for many days, when my mother was let out for
her airing, she stayed away longer and longer, and when we were hungry
they gave us milk to lap from a tin, which was tiresome and took much
more trouble than to eat the way our mother taught us, lying close to
her where we could knead her warm sides with our paws. Finally, one
night she did not come back at all. Then we were taken from our little
bedroom to a great square place, all wood dust on the floor and with a
great black thing standing in the middle that frightened me terribly,
but afterward I found that it was called a stove, and was warm inside
and pleasant to lie by, though it could not feed us as our mother did.

“In this big room were many other pups of different kinds and sizes,
who played or dozed in corners, but there were none as small as we,
and we felt sad and lonely. I well remember how we squealed that night
until Baldy’s brother brought Miss Jule and she had us put back into
our little room, but our mother was not there. Once in the night she
answered as from far away; but she couldn’t come for there were many
doors between. They called this weaning us, so that we should learn to
care for ourselves; but if you are born free like our Jack and Jill it
all happens of itself and there is no sorrow. Next day we went back to
the big room with all the other puppies, and four times every day each
one of us was put into a little box like a chicken-coop--there was a
row of them all round the wall--and given a dish of food.”

“What was that for?” asked Waddles, “why did they shut you up? I like
to walk about when I eat.”

“Because,” answered Happy, feeling proud and important at knowing
something that wise Waddles did not, “if the food was given to us at
once the biggest would gobble two or three shares and the small pups
would get none. At the kennels grown dogs are tied when they eat, but
pups wear no collars, for they are bad things for their soft necks.

“After a while we became used to the life and had good times playing
in the puppy pasture. One day we saw our mother in the other enclosure
with the grown dogs, and we ran close to the fence and tried to dig
under it; but kennel fences are set deep with melted stone poured round
the posts. When we found we could not get through we barked and wagged
our tails and then even our bodies when we saw her coming toward us;
but she did not notice us at all--she had forgotten us!”

“Then who taught you to play snatch-bone and wrestle, who killed your
fleas for you and washed you?” asked Waddles, with indignation.

“We learned to wrestle by tumbling about together. As to snatch-bone,
how could we play it, we who have no bones?”

“No bones!” echoed Waddles, in amazement.

“None to keep, or to bury, or play with; such as we had must be gnawed
at a meal or they were taken away. How could kennel dogs who are never
alone bury bones without having them stolen and breeding a fight?

“One day after I had left the puppy yard old Antonio kept a round bone
hidden in his mouth to gnaw on later. Forgetting himself he barked and
dropped it. Oh, but there was a commotion that took three men, besides
Miss Jule, to quell, and all the dogs were bristling and angry for
three days.

“Waddles,” and there were almost tears in Happy’s eyes, “you don’t know
what it was to be a well-fed kennel dog, and yet be so poor that you
had not even a bone to bury! And if you had one you could not hide it
in a floor of melted stone.

“I noticed that as I grew bigger and stronger and hungrier I had fewer
meals, until when I was grown and slept in a separate room with Flo,
the English setter, we had but one a day; a great pan of warm stew with
bread in it, every evening when we were chained up for the night beside
our beds.”

“That stew sounds good,” said Waddles, licking his lips, “and what for
breakfast?”

“No breakfast. No bits of toast from Tommy, or chop shank from the
master. It’s always supper with a kennel dog. It isn’t Miss Jule’s
fault, or anybody’s; there aren’t enough bits of toast or chop bones to
feed a yard full of pups and dogs.

[Illustration]

“As to the fleas and baths, when we were old enough Baldy’s brother
Martin washed us every week. There is a room next to the nursery kennel
that has a water-box in it like the one our cows drink out of, and
above it hang rows and rows of collars of all sizes, ready for dogs to
wear who are to go away or come to the kennel without them.

“We little pups were washed in this box, and if we cried or jumped
about Martin would put a collar on to hold us by. The washing wasn’t
bad at first, but it was very wet and sometimes cold, and the big brush
he used wasn’t as soft and warm as our mother’s tongue that washed and
wiped at the same time.

“Sometimes if Martin was tired or in a hurry he did not dry us well,
and often dogs grew sick and sneezed and shivered. Then the big
doctor-man came hurrying out from over town with his quick horse, to
see them, and said they had ‘distemper.’ When this happened Miss Jule
would often sit up at night with them; and sometimes they got well,
and sometimes they were taken away and never came back, then Miss
Jule would say ‘This is an unlucky season.’ But we knew it most often
happened when Martin forgot something, for Miss Jule could not feel
each dog’s nose every day, and see if its eyes look bright, and ask us
if we feel well, as our mistress does.

“The flea-killing was worse; our mother took them one by one, but
Martin rubbed sneezy powder in our hair, so if we tried to lick
ourselves a bit we coughed and choked. Our Jack is nearly grown, and
yet he has never had a bath from any one but me, and there’s not a flea
upon him. See what it is to be born free and live a private life!”

Then Mrs. Waddles’s broad chest swelled with pride, as she yawned,
stretched her feet toward the fire, and curved her back.

“Where did the good smells come from?” asked Waddles. “Part of them
might be soup, but the others were too much like the village bakery
where Mistress sometimes buys us broken cakes.”

“That smell came from the kennel kitchen, you must have been there on a
baking day. There are four rooms together that dogs must never go in,
but the day our Mistress bought me from Miss Jule and I walked home
with her, she went out through those rooms, then I saw and knew. The
littlest room was full of the soap they wash us with, and bottles of
the stuff they give us when we are sick or sprinkle on the melted stone
floors, that are through all the kennels, to sweeten them.

“The next room had boxes in it like those that hold the horse food in
our stable, and they were full of the stuff Martin makes the dog-bread
of. I saw him take some out, and in the corner was a great cold box,
and though I could not see inside I smelled that it held meat, and near
by was the kettle they cooked our soup in. In the biggest room of all
there was a great block like that our butcher chops the meat on while
we wait to catch the bits, also a big can full of milk and rows of tin
pans piled on more shelves.

[Illustration]

“Just then I smelled something delicious and Mistress turned round, I
following her; there I saw Martin standing by the open door of a great
oven with a red fire below, and in it were pans and pans of crispy
bread ready to take out, and more upon a table to go in, and Mistress
broke off a crust that overhung, and threw it to me. I sha’n’t forget
that crust; it was my first bite of liberty.”

“Did you never run free at all, or never go out alone to have any
sport? I should have jumped that fence or dug out somehow.”

“No, you would _not_,” said Happy, decidedly. “Silver Tongue, the
biggest foxhound, could not. Ah, yes, we had good sport sometimes, all
through the swamp woods trailing for rabbits though we never got any,
and do you know, Silver Tongue told me once that they tied the smell up
in a bag and dragged it on the ground just to make us run, and there
was no rabbit!

[Illustration]

“One day, though, they took me with some older dogs to track real
rabbits, for I saw them and I had run one into a fence corner, and it
turned round and looked at me, when such an awful noise came down upon
my head I thought the sky had fallen. I forgot the rabbit and fell over
for my head ached terribly. Martin picked me up and rubbed my head and
wrapped me in his coat, then everything was still. It has been so ever
since, pleasant and quiet. When I felt better I saw Martin’s gun was
broken and burst, and now I have to see with my eyes what people want
of me, for my ears catch nothing.

“There was always sport, too, when new dogs came, either to live or
board with us. They didn’t know the rules and so of course they made
lots of mistakes. Sometimes they felt sulky and would not eat their
supper because they didn’t know that there was no breakfast, and they
would cry and beg, and if Miss Jule came by she would understand and
give them some, but Martin only went by rule.

“You know the open shed up at Hilltop where the log-wood is kept, and
the old grindstone? for we’ve often chased squirrels up the back of it.
That shed is in the puppy yard, and the boxes that dogs travel in are
kept there. We pups used to have great sport lying there in the shade
to watch the boxes brought in and out, and see who came, who went away.

“We all thought it would be fun to go travelling and often scrambled
in and out of them, but if Martin shut the door we were frightened,
and glad enough to be loose again. The boxes were not tight but opened
and latticed like hen-coops, and they called them dog crates. It was
a fine thing at the end of summer to see the crates brought out and
cleaned, and the old dogs, setters, hounds, and spaniels, who had been
away before for the hunting, go nearly wild with joy at sight of them,
and clamour for the start.

[Illustration]

“The youngsters who had never been, and thought the crate a punishment,
trembled at first, but the others explained, and so all through the
autumn there was coming, going, and excitement.

“Sometimes, on fine days, Miss Jule would come with an apronful of
dog-bread, and throw the bits for us to catch, and that day was held
a great festival. For the one who jumped the highest, or caught the
quickest, would get an extra bit, or be taken out to spend the day at
the house, and have its dinner with Mr. Wolf, Miss Jule’s very own best
dog, and Tip, the head retriever. When these dogs came back to the
kennels, though, there was always a row, for they felt so very fine and
big, and bragged so about what they had seen, and the dozens of bones
they had gnawed or buried, that finally, we who were neither quick nor
clever could not bear it, so we agreed that whenever a dog came back
from running free we would all bark together so loud that not a word of
what he said could be heard.

“Flo, the English setter, one of my best friends, who lives up there
still, tells me that times are much better now, for Miss Letty takes a
great interest in the dogs, and every morning, as soon as she has had
breakfast, she comes to the fence of the front yard, bringing a basket
of dog-bread. She gives a whistle, and when the dogs are all collected
then she begins throwing them bread, bit by bit, aiming it so carefully
that even the stupidest, slowest dog of them gets at least one piece.
Then sometimes she will go inside the fence of the big field and throw
a ball for the dogs to chase, and Flo says that when Miss Letty calls
the dog who wins by name, or praises him, he likes it better than a
bone, and wags away like mad. So now the kennel dogs have two things a
day to look forward to, supper at night, and Miss Letty in the morning.”

“I call that a very stupid life,” said Waddles, yawning and stretching
in his turn; “isn’t there any real hunting or real fun?”

“Yes, in the autumn and once already this season there was a hunt, Flo
says. It was Miss Letty who let the dogs out to go to it, and Silver
Tongue, the foxhound, who showed them the way. My, but they had fine
running and catching, only Flo says that their getting out was an
accident, and that Mr. Hugh was very angry, but Squire Burley and Miss
Jule only laughed and laughed, and it was a week before the dogs all
got back.”

“Hurry up, and go on and tell about it,” said Waddles, sniffing
uneasily. “Mistress will be at home soon, and then you will have to go
out to bed, and I sha’n’t hear what they hunted.”

“They are here now,” said Happy, holding her head on one side, for
though she could not hear, she could feel the vibration of coming
footsteps.

“Keep quiet,” said Waddles, “it is so dark that maybe mistress will go
by and forget you.”

[Illustration: _Miss Letty feeding the Kennel Dogs._]

The master went through the hallway to the library, Tommy stumbled
sleepily along toward the stairs, holding his mother’s hand, while
Anne went to the table where the moonlight showed her that the camera
was safe and sound, and after giving it a caressing touch, called
Waddles and went up to bed, but not to sleep.

CHAPTER XI

“OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY!”

That Waddles did not go up stairs the moment he was called was nothing
unusual, for though Anne’s door-mat was his regular bed he was at
liberty to roam about the house at will.

He sat quite still for a few minutes, listening until the footsteps
overhead ceased, his eyes glowing through the dark like bits of green
phosphorescence, then settled himself again with a sigh, for his back
legs were extra stiff. Happy, having forgotten and gone to sleep, was
again struggling with bad dreams, so he had to arouse her.

“Now that I’ve managed for you to stay indoors, the least that you can
do is to tell me about the hunting the kennel dogs took out of season,”
he said, as soon as she was fairly awake. Poor Happy was heavy with
sleep, but her obliging disposition conquered, though she nodded two or
three times before she remembered where she left her story.

“It was way back in the beginning of flea time, when Miss Letty had
not been up at Hilltop very long, that she gave the kennel dogs such a
holiday as some of them had never had in their whole lives, though Flo
does say that it happened quite by accident.

“All through the hill farms, Miss Jule’s, Squire Burley’s, and Mr.
Hugh’s, there are trees that bear those big long-stemmed red berries
that the birds love; cherries, I think House People call them. When I
lived up there I used to watch out under the trees to see the robins
and catbirds come to eat them, and laugh at poor Antonio, who used
to get a stiff neck pointing at the birds up in the branches, never
getting anything but the pits they dropped on his long nose.

“Flo says that Miss Letty loves these cherries, and that after picking
all the ripe ones she could reach from the ground and fences, one day
she came riding along to gather them on horseback. The best trees were
in Squire Burley’s paddock where his foxhound kennels are, and as he
had often asked Miss Letty to come and help herself, she opened the
gate with her whip handle, rode through and thought she closed it after
her, but it didn’t quite latch. Harkaway, one of the squire’s hounds,
told me this. The squire has five hounds but no one else in Dogtown,
except Miss Jule and Mr. Hugh, keeps more than one each, and when they
really go a-hunting in the fall the squire stands at his gate and fires
his gun, then all the people know the signal and come bringing their
dogs, and together they make as fine a pack as the Hilltop Kennels can
show.

“Miss Letty rode slowly along under the trees, now and then pulling
down a branch with her whip, but she didn’t stay very long before
she went out again and turned into the brush lane that runs from the
squire’s down behind Miss Jule’s kennel yard toward the rabbit wood.

“Then Harkaway signalled to the other hounds with the silent signal
for still hunting and no cry, and they slunk out of the high paddock
gate after nosing it open a little wider. Keeping behind the fence
they followed Miss Letty to the back gate of Miss Jule’s kennel yard
where they lay low and waited. Now those high gates have a strange
fastening; the latch falls between two iron paws that move and hold it,
but sometimes though the gate stays shut one paw forgets to move, and
a quick nose can shove the gate before the paw remembers. That is what
happened when Miss Letty opened that back kennel gate; the outside paw
was stiff and did not lay hold.

[Illustration: “_Pulling a branch down with her whip._”]

“No sooner was she well inside and going to the swimming-pool to give
her horse a drink, than Harkaway, lying outside in the long grass, gave
Silver Tongue the silent signal. Then Silver Tongue, standing in his
usual place, watching frogs by the pond sluiceway, gave his far-away
cry that sounded as if it came from over by Mr. Hugh’s barn, and
Miss Letty, hidden by low-hanging trees, did not notice that all the
foxhounds understood it and sprang up, that the setters stood first at
a point and then dashed toward the gate, one by one disappearing down
the lane.

“Lucky for them that Mr. Wolf didn’t see, for he would have told Miss
Jule and spoiled their sport, for of all the dogs within or out the
kennel Mr. Wolf has the most ‘say so,’ and we almost know that he tells
Miss Jule our secrets, and that they talk together. This much was told
me; the rest I saw myself, for I was in the lane on rabbit business
that morning.

“As it happened, it was our family, the Beagles, that gave warning, for
the moment the first one, old Bramble, my grandmother, and my uncle
Meadow Brook, got into that lane they fell on a fresh rabbit trail and
gave tongue, and then the hounds answered with full cry, and throwing
family pride away, ran with the little hounds, barking, yelping,
following every trail, fresh and stale, and dashing here and there,
where there was no scent at all.

“Miss Letty turned, saw what she had done, and galloped toward the
house, from which Martin and Miss Jule came running, speechless with
astonishment, for all the dogs in the grow-ups’ exercise yard had gone,
and the puppies were wild with excitement and dashing at the wires.

“At first Miss Letty was almost crying, but in a few minutes Miss Jule
began to laugh until she shook all over, and you know that is a great
deal of shake. Then Miss Letty laughed, too, and Martin closed the
back gate and opened one to the barnyard, and sat down by the pump and
waited.

“Soon Mr. Hugh came riding by, looking, oh, so cross, that I was afraid
and hid. He went to where Miss Jule was standing by the puppy yard
fence talking to Flo, and asking her how she came there. Flo had been
shut in by mistake that day, and as she couldn’t get out to go with
the others she was amusing herself catching meadow-mice and she told
me what they said. Flo is such a hard-working dog, and she points,
flushes, and retrieves as well as any two others, and even when she is
shut up she keeps in practice on mice, toads, and squirrels. I can
always tell when it’s a meadow-mouse she is pointing, even when I watch
her through the wires from far off, because she stands short and points
down into the grass, but other times she spreads out more and points
ahead. This day she quite forgot the mouse in listening to Mr. Hugh;
for she said she never knew before that House People could growl.”

[Illustration]

What Mr. Hugh said did not interest Waddles, who was eager for the
hunting, so Happy did not tell it; but as twofoots may like to hear, it
is recorded as it happened.

“Whose carelessness is this?” asked Mr. Hugh.

“Mine,” said Miss Letty, with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, before
Miss Jule could answer. “I didn’t latch the gate, but the dogs will all
be back in a few days, Miss Jule says. What makes you look so fierce?
Surely, your dogs are all safe at home?”

“That’s exactly what they all are not,” said Mr. Hugh, gnawing the ends
of his brown mustache, while his gray eyes flashed green and yellow
sparks, and he beat an angry tattoo with his whip on his leather gaiter.

“But I’ve not been on your land stealing cherries, or opened your
gates,” said Miss Letty, looking puzzled.

“That was not necessary. I was walking below in the lane with a string
of young, unbroken dogs on leaders--four hounds, and half a dozen
setter pups--when a whirlwind of dogs came by, some yelping, some in
full cry, with their noses to the ground, some looking in the air, some
tumbling over each other on a single trail, and others dashing about
between half a dozen. In the hubbub my dogs escaped and followed the
others--”

“Over the hills and far away!” sang Miss Letty, before Mr. Hugh could
finish his sentence, her laughing face breaking into dimples,--“but
pray, how could they get away if you had them in leash?”

“I let go--that is, the stringer slipped through my hand, and so,
because Miss Heedless left that gate open, a fine lot of pups that I
bred for exhibition and who have never before left the kennels, have
gone goodness knows where, and, ten to one, I shall never see any of
them again. I’m awfully annoyed,” and Mr. Hugh swung himself off his
horse and fumbled with the bit to cool his heated temper.

It would have been better for him if he had stayed mounted, for Mr.
Hugh on horseback had a commanding figure, while on the ground his legs
seemed too short for his body, so that the sudden change was always
something of a shock to the looker-on.

Miss Letty coloured a trifle and then said pleasantly, but in quite a
firm voice, as if she had decided that she would not be treated like a
child any longer: “I don’t wonder that you are annoyed at having been
what Anne calls ‘rattled,’ and letting your dogs slip through your
fingers, I sympathize with you. I should be if I were you; but I think
you will see them again for they will probably kill all the ducks and
geese and turkeys they meet. I’ve noticed it’s a way young dogs have
on their first outings. Then of course the owners will bring back the
dogs and the bills for damages together. Oh, no, your dogs will return.”

After that day Mr. Hugh was quite careful how he crossed swords with
Miss Letty, and she no longer stood in awe of him, which means that
they then began to understand each other without knowing it.

* * * * *

Happy got up and turned her other side to the fire, before she
continued. She felt uneasy, and thought perhaps she had eaten too much
sausage; but it was so good and she always felt hungry.

“The hunting, where did the dogs go?” prompted Waddles.

[Illustration: “_He stood in his gateway holding his gun._”]

“They ran down the lane together until they reached the low woods by
the brook, and after trampling the trails into a snarl, they divided,
the beagles keeping in the rabbit land. The others climbing up the
rocks and following the ledge that goes on and on until it is Pine
Ridge, where the fox lairs are and the best coon-trees. For of course
the old hounds remembered the real hunting days when any autumn day
might find the Squire’s hounds chained to the fence in readiness while
he stood in the gateway holding his gun waiting to fire the signal to
tell the neighbours that a fox had been seen, when they would gather
men and dogs to scramble afoot over rocks and briers. Of course as you
are a house fourfoot, I suppose you never went fox-hunting; but I will
tell you one thing, it is no work for beagles; our legs are too short,
for the foxhounds lope like horses and we get nowhere.”

“I’ve been,” answered Waddles, putting on a worldly wise expression,
such as Hamlet used to wear when he did tricks, and before he found
himself, “I haven’t forgotten it. I was away two nights and a day and
Missy thought me dead because it was at the time we had adventures and
saw strange things and we had been to the far woods to see the _Bad
One_ die, only two days before.

“At first I followed the fox trail with the hounds. It’s a queer trail,
and smells rank and raw, not ripe and delicious like a rabbit’s. Soon
I fell back and stumbled, for they went over places I could only crawl
through, and then I sprained a paw and drew into a corner where the
moss was soft, to rest. When I waked up it was early morning, and I was
stiff and hungry. I tried to surprise a rabbit for breakfast, but the
wind was the wrong way and they scented me first. I was too lame to
walk much at a time, and I had to rest often. Toward afternoon I caught
a mole and tried to eat it, but ugh! it had such a horrid flavour that
it sickened me, and the fur was loose and gave me a cough. Just before
night I caught a red squirrel that was trying to rob a nest and got
pecked in the eye and fell out of the tree. The squirrel was an old
fighter, with iron legs, a leather body, and wooden insides, not a bit
juicy, and only good to chew. Next morning I limped home in time to
breakfast on kidney stew. I tell you what it is, the hunting is fine
for sport and killing, but living by it is quite another thing, and
running with foxhounds is not good for beagles.”

“Well, as I was saying,” continued Happy, “the old foxhounds kept on up
to Pine Ridge, the little ones following very well, but the setter pups
turned off at the Mill cross-roads and got into trouble.

“Besides the Squire’s dogs and Miss Jule’s, all the idlers in Dogtown
had gathered and straggled after when they heard the foxhounds call,
and there are mischief-makers among fourfoots as well as with House
People.

“Beyond the Mill is a big turkey pasture, you know, the place we
buy our turkeys from. Just as the setters were passing it a hairy
yellow cur came up and said, ‘There’s fine hunting there and plenty
of it--nice young birds.’ The moment those setters got under the bars
their noses went down and their tails whirled around like buzz-saws,
and they zigzagged across the pasture, charging on the first flock in
a body. These were fine white turkeys. The hen who led them showed
fight, but the yellow cur teased her off, and the setters, knowing
nothing, bit and shook and scattered feathers, until of the fifteen
young turkeys not one was left unhurt; then, wild with excitement and
the taste of game, they dashed down the field to where some fine bronze
birds were sunning themselves. Half a dozen fell before a great gobbler
charged from the bushes and gave chase, while the cur picked out one
of the killed and took it behind a stone fence, where he ate it at
his leisure. Then men began to gather from the fields and two of the
pups were caught and tied securely in the barn while the turkeys were
collected.

“‘Some one will pay well for these,’ said the farmer, as he laid
twenty-nine young turkeys in a row, ‘and the bill will read twenty-nine
Thanksgiving turkeys at $2.00 each, for that’s what they were on the
road to. Now we’ll round up the dogs’ owner,’ and he went toward the
stable to harness a team.

“The other two setters, Patty and Rory, disappointed in having to leave
before they had tasted meat, went toward the mill-pond for a drink.
‘Quack, quack,’ said a covey of plump white ducks, sailing from the
open into a little bushy cove.

“Quick as a lightning-bug, the pups splashed after them, Rory O’Moore
leading, for he was a special pet of Mr. Hugh’s, and had taken swimming
lessons from Hamlet in the kennel pool, once crossing the river. The
ducks dove, and scattered, but the pups seized a long neck each, and,
determined not to go hungry this time, took their game to the shelter
of the very door-steps of the mill to make a luncheon. Poor pups! they
knew no better, but they do now, for the big miller caught them and
dropped them into an empty feed bin, where it was nearly dark, and
oh, so stuffy! Then the turkey farmer driving down the road pulled
up, and after some talk the miller got in with him, and they drove
off together, the turkeys and two ducks packed in the wagon box for
witnesses.

[Illustration: _Antonio and the Young Spaniels._]

“It was lonely that day up in the kennel yard, I can tell you.
Flo said it made her feel like the leaf-fall time, when she had the
distemper, and all the bird dogs had gone travelling in their crates
but she; and she was glad to talk to a lame-winged crow that came to
beg, for the only grown dog in the big lot was old Antonio, and with
him the young spaniels Ruth, Dell, and Una, who plagued his wits out by
chasing him round and round the pool, and daring him to swim.

“Meanwhile the beagles were all over the woods, and I--well, I went
with them, just for old acquaintance sake, you know. There were plenty
of young rabbits round about, but somehow we were confused, and let
them slip; too many trails are worse than none, I find. But just before
evening Clover-Dew, my litter brother, and Briar, my aunt, broke loose,
going off together, and I following, for they ran well, and the trail
lay straight.

“Up from the wood they went, across pastures and a truck farm, until
they gave tongue that the scent was hot, and the quarry close in front,
then I saw two big rabbits that were the poorest leapers of any I ever
knew. Will you believe it, Waddles, they even sat up once or twice
and looked back at us. We overtook them in a fence corner that had a
garden on the other side. We three charged together, and there was a
great tussle, for if those rabbits were stupid about running, they were
fine kickers. Just as I had the biggest well by the leg, a man and a
little girl came to the fence, and when she saw what we were doing,
she began to hop up and down and scream, and cry, ‘Oh, papa, save my
poor bunnies!’ Then I saw that she was Tommy’s friend, Pinkie Scott,
and those fool rabbits were the foreign Hare things her father gave her
for her birthday, and that she keeps in a great big bird-cage,--that
is, when she remembers to shut the door, which isn’t often. Of course,
we were polite and let go, and went a little way back in the field
and sat down to rest. The rabbits? Oh, one wasn’t hurt, but the other
was--well--damaged; they mended him, for I saw him last week when I was
down there to call on Luck and Pluck with Tommy. Pinkie had forgotten
again, and those rabbits had broken loose and eaten all the late
lettuce, and her father was chasing them, and he said, ‘I wish those
little hounds had finished you last summer.’ Then I didn’t feel quite
so ashamed of biting that hind leg as I had before, and, Waddles, do
you know, that everywhere I go to visit, private rabbits seem to be a
nuisance, and a ‘better be dead’; so I’m sure they ought to be fair
hunting, like the wild ones.”

“Humph!” said Waddles, “good running as usual, but poor catching. What
did the foxhounds get, a mouthful of thistle-down?”

“Ah! but they had the best of it,” said Happy, her eyes sparkling;
“they stayed out two whole days, and when they had tired out the stray
dogs that followed and the young dogs that only wanted to play, they
settled down to work. They knew their ground well for they’d just been
on a spring run with the squire and Mr. Hugh to locate the dens for
fall work. Late the next night, Flo says, the squire’s Harkaway and
Meadow-Lark gave tongue so loudly that the squire and Mr. Hugh went
out, and following the cry two miles found them just as they had killed
an old gray fox, the biggest hen-roost robber of all the Pine Ridge
pack, one they had tried to shoot and trap for years, as his scars
quickly told them.

[Illustration]

“Wasn’t the squire proud! He gave Miss Jule the brush, though it wasn’t
good for much,--pelts are poor in summer,--and he made a meat feast
for all the hounds, for after they had heard Meadow-Lark’s death bay
they came limping back one by one. Next day when I went up to talk
to Silver-Tongue he was standing as usual by the sluiceway of the
swimming-pool catching frogs, but when I asked him to come over by the
fence and lie down, and tell me about the great hunt, he said he’d
rather stand up for he didn’t bend well. That is one of the hardest
things about not running free, you don’t get your exercise every day
when _you_ want it, but when somebody else does, and then it comes all
together in bunches, and between times you get rusty.”

“What happened about Mr. Hugh’s pups, did he get them back, and the
turkeys and ducks?” asked Waddles, who was beginning to grow sleepy.

“Bills happened and lots of talking, Hamlet told me about that and Mr.
Wolf. The farmer and the miller wouldn’t give back the dogs until they
got their money either, and Hamlet says if Mr. Hugh teases Miss Letty
she only has to sing ‘Over the hills and far away!’ and he stops, but I
don’t see what that has got to do with it, do you?”

“Hush!” signalled Waddles, knocking on the floor with his tail to
attract Happy’s attention, “Missy is coming!”

Yes, Anne was coming downstairs, not barefoot this time, but dressed in
a warm, red bath gown, her feet in moccasins, and looking in the dim
light very like the Indian maidens she loved to call her kin. She had
been planning what picture she would take first on the morrow, and she
thought her camera might be safer in her room; at any rate if she put
it on the chair beside her bed she would see it the moment she opened
her eyes, for this camera was not merely a picture machine to her, but
a magical live thing to help her keep the images of those she loved.

She was just deciding that Waddles should have the honour of being the
first to be photographed, as he would probably be ready sooner than her
mother, when the burned-out log fell apart, and its parting glow showed
her Happy, lying on the hearth-rug.

“You in here! This will never do; because, you see, when I bought you
from Miss Jule, mother said that you might come here if I promised
that I would never let you sleep inside the house, not even once; as,
being a kennel dog so long, your manners are not quite those of a house
fourfoot,--and I promised. Yes, I know it’s very nice in here; but your
house is nice, too, for Baldy put in a new bed to-night, and you’ll be
very comfy; and you know, my dear, you do snore horribly,--such loud,
growling snores. Besides, Jack Waddles is out there alone waiting for
you. Ah! do you mean to be spunky? Then I shall call father,--no, I
forgot; he is busy in the study, and it’s a ‘mustn’t be’ to disturb him
when he is there, you know,--only mother may do that. So don’t roll
over on your back; you are far too heavy for me to carry.”

Anne gave a stamp and pointed to the door,--her way of telling the
deaf little beagle that she meant business; and Happy got up slowly,
and crept, rather than walked, out, and made directly for the nursery
kennel, which she still occupied, without more ado. Jack was, of
course, delighted to see her; but, strange to say, she did not return
his caresses, but growled and snapped at him, and refused to let him
go near the bedroom end of the house, which was separated from the
front part and was full of straw. Instead of lying down at once, she
rummaged about in the straw restlessly, throwing it out on the floor
and refusing to lie down. After two rebuffs, Jack left the kennel,
and stood looking disconsolately at Anne, who was quite puzzled, and
finally allowed Jack Waddles to go back to the house with her, saying
as they went: “This is quite a new arrangement, and to-morrow Jackie
shall have a place of his own, if mamma is going to be cross. To-night,
and maybe always, he shall be a house fourfoot, like his papa, if he
will mind his ways and keep on his own rug.”

Next morning there was a still newer order of things that quite settled
the matter of Jack’s quarters, and also gave Anne an unlimited chance
for photography as well.

CHAPTER XII

THE SIXLETS

Anne was unusually drowsy the next morning, because she had not gone
to sleep until quite late. Every time she began to sail off to the
pleasant island where the Land of Nod is located, the new camera bobbed
up and pushed her ashore again, and finally when she really drifted
beyond its reach, she had a dim idea that it was skipping after her, on
its long thin legs, like a water spider.

[Illustration: _The Sixlets._]

At any rate she stumbled about in a most unusual fashion, forgot that
Jack Waddles had slept indoors for the first time and must be let out
early, until Waddles came in and literally dug her out of bed as if she
had been a woodchuck in its hole, and ran baying in front of her to the
hall door. Next she almost overflowed the bath-tub by filling it so
full that there was no room for the bather, and finally found herself
sitting by the window wondering whether putting your stockings on
wrong side out was, as Mary Ann said, a sign of good luck, or merely
stupidity on the part of the wearer. Just as she had decided that she
would leave them on to see what happened, and securely tied her tan
colored shoes, Tommy came running up and began to dance and shout under
the window in a state of wild excitement.

Now Tommy was a confirmed “lie a-bed,” and to see him out before
breakfast was a cause of wonder in itself; but when Anne heard the
words, “Happy--tiny little puppies--bit Jack Waddles,” she simply
jumped into her petticoats and nearly fell out of the window as she
fastened her collar, calling, “Puppies! Where? Whose?”

“In the nursery kennel, ours and Happy’s, of course. Jackie Waddles
wants to lick them and she won’t let him, and Baldy wouldn’t let me
have but one look because he says light isn’t good for them and they’re
ever so little and queer like Pinkie’s Guinea pigs.”

“How many are there, twins like Jack and Jill?” asked Anne, again
nearly popping out of the window, while she tied a blue ribbon at
the top of her hair, and a pink one at the end of her braid in her
excitement.

Tommy darted off to consult Baldy who was bringing in the vegetables,
and returned holding up to his sister’s view one hand and the thumb
of the other as he counted--“One--two--three--four--five--six--there’s
sixlets, Anne, and Baldy says that three’s girls and three’s boys!”

“Then there are three pairs of twins,” said Anne, coming out of the
side door. “Of course Jackie’s nose is broken, the poor dear! See him
look in my face as if he didn’t understand why his mother should turn
him off so. Never mind, when little brothers grow up you will have
great sport playing with them, and seeing they don’t get in mischief,
and meantime you shall be assistant house fourfoot, sleep on the front
door-mat, and ‘watch out’ for your living with papa Waddles.”

After breakfast the entire family, augmented by Miss Jule, who had
stopped in on her way to the village, went to see the pups, and though
Happy was evidently pleased at the attention, she would not let any one
but Anne come very near, and kept herself between the visitors and the
precious “sixlets.”

“If you take my advice,” said Miss Jule to Anne, “you will have Baldy
sweep all that loose straw out; it is hard for the pups to move about
in, and by and by, when their eyes begin to open, the sharp ends will
stick into them. I’ll send you down a barrel of prepared sawdust. If
you sprinkle it an inch thick on the floor of the bedroom part, and
then lay a breadth of clean old straw matting on top, it will make the
nicest sort of a bed, and if it grows cold of nights before they are
old enough to live in the cow barn, I’ll lend you one of my little
kennel stoves with a protector around it.

“Then until they are two weeks old, when their eyes will not only be
opened, but they can really see with them, you must care for Happy
entirely yourself, give her food and water, see that the door of her
yard is open so that she can get in and out at will and keep herself
clean, and do not let _anybody_ handle the pups, for as soon as the
news gets about, Pinkie, Jessie, Sophie, Charlie, and Jack will be here
in a flock, and it’s as uncomfortable for pups to be loved to death as
to die any other way.”

Miss Jule thoughtfully asked Tommy to ride on to the village with
her, and then go home and help her pick crab-apples for jelly that
Miss Letty had promised to make. It was almost impossible for him to
keep his hands off the little creatures, and the chance of climbing
and shaking the crab-apple trees and picking up the shining red fruit
would hardly have been a counter attraction if it had not been capped
with the idea of helping Miss Letty with the jelly. The skimmings of
a jelly pot are very good when spread thick on thin bread, and the
idea flashed through Tommy’s head that as it was Miss Letty’s first
jelly-making she would be very apt to skim deep, and the results would
be plentiful.

Baldy arranged the house as Miss Jule suggested, that afternoon, also
making a little window at the top of the bed corner for ventilation,
and Anne established the “dining room,” as she called it, in the front
half, where the food and water dishes could have a place clean and
apart. Here for two weeks dwelt the “sixlets,” having no separate names
or identity, except in the eyes of Anne, who knew them apart before
they were anything but six insatiable mouths.

Middle September brought some very warm days with it, and with all
the doors wide open Happy moved to the dining room, where the air was
better, and was at home to any admiring friends who chose to call,
though she did not yet care to have the puppies touched, and had much
more confidence in grown people than in children.

The pups were a source of endless wonder to Anne, for though she had
watched Jack and Jill grow up, she had not seen much of them during the
first two or three weeks of their life, as they had been born in the
barn at a time when she was very busy with her lessons, and had not
been brought to live in the nursery kennel until their eyes were open.
The sixlets, moreover, were smaller, seemingly of a daintier build,
and gave promise of being true beagles, and not taking after their
unacknowledged grandfather, the foxhound.

[Illustration]

At first their faces were blunt and heavy, and their rounded ears too
thick to turn over and droop; but their fur was of exquisite softness,
and the prettily rounded paws and fore legs looked as if they were
encased in silky mousquetaire gloves, while the pads on the soles were
full and pink, and seemed by far too delicate to be used as shoes.
Cleaner, sweeter little things it would be impossible to imagine, for
as soon as Happy finished feeding and polishing number six, she would
begin again with number one.

When they were two weeks old Happy gradually took more exercise. The
pups gained their footing and began to shuffle about, so Baldy devised
a day nursery where they might have a change and sunlight, as well as
give the nursery kennel a chance to be aired and swept every day. This
day nursery consisted of four wide boards, about four feet long, nailed
together to form a bottomless box. It was light enough for Anne to
move it about easily, according to whether a sunny or a shady spot was
desirable; this also secured a fresh grass carpet at all times, when
the ground was dry.

No sooner were the pups allowed to leave the kennel than Jack Waddles
came from the south piazza, where he had been moping and showing
all the symptoms of a severe case of that painful but not fatal
disease called “nose out of joint,” and made himself not only their
guardian, but almost foster-mother. At first Happy seemed to suspect
his motives, but they soon came to an understanding, and it was a
regulation thing for her to go for her morning exercise as soon as he
came from the house. Not only would Jack get into the pen and quiet the
pups if they felt lonely, but he often gave them their morning bath
as well; and Anne had both Miss Jule and Mr. Hugh as witnesses to the
fact that he once washed the whole six, one by one, moving each into a
different part of the enclosure as he finished it, then collected them,
and cuddled them to sleep, when their mother had remained away over
long, and they were yelping.

[Illustration]

One pup, a serious looking little chap, with the longest ears of all,
and a quaint, old-fashioned hound face, was his favourite, and he
would nose him out of the day nursery, take him to a sunny place, and
there mount guard over him, lying nose to nose, with an expression of
mingled love and pride, so that in these days Jack was always called
Big Brother.

“I wonder if Happy will try to take them into the cooler the same as
she did Jack and Jill?” said Anne to Miss Jule one day, when she was
telling her of some newly discovered wonder in the pups.

“Not at this season of the year; she is more likely to search out an
oven for them. Where are they? I see they are not in their day nursery.”

“Then Tommy must have taken them out and forgotten them, for they can’t
climb over the board yet; at least I think not,” said Anne, running
hither and thither. They were not in the kennel, or any of the piazzas,
neither back of the lilac hedge, nor in any of the many places that the
dogs choose for sunning themselves. Tommy stoutly denied that he had
taken them out, but added, “I shouldn’t think they would have liked to
stay where you put them this morning, for it was right under the edge
of the big apple tree, and every minute apples fell down plunk.”

A look in the day nursery proved this to be perfectly true, for it
contained half a dozen sizable apples.

Anne was worried, for though it was now certain that the pups had
gotten out by themselves, no one had seen either Happy or her family.

“They are safe enough somewhere, though it is hard to tell just where
she has taken them,” said Miss Jule. “Happy evidently was not satisfied
with the location of the nursery to-day, and she is teaching you a
lesson. I don’t blame her, either; for you left them under a cannonade
of apples, in a sharp draught, as well.”

Anne’s father and mother, Baldy, and also Mary Anne came out and joined
the hunt, Anne even insisting that Baldy should pull out some of the
stones where the entrance to Jack and Jill’s cooling house had been.

After a while the elders grew tired, and went into the garden-house
where Anne’s mother often brewed tea these cool afternoons, for, as she
said, Happy would soon come for her supper, and then they could trace
the pups.

This was too inactive a method to suit Anne and Tommy, so they
continued to rummage in every nook and corner that was big enough to
hold a hen’s egg. Suddenly they set up a shout at the same time, and
the tea drinkers hurrying out beheld a funny sight. There were several
hot-bed frames set against the stone wall. In the spring they were
used for forcing early vegetables, and starting the flower seeds,
while a few plants remained in them here and there. One part where the
sun shone brightest had been cleared and sown with the fall planting
of pansies, which were just above ground. In this, surrounded by the
sixlets, sat Happy! The sixlets were also having afternoon tea, with
their fat little stomachs resting on the hot earth that their mother
had thoroughly scratched up to make it the softer for them.

[Illustration]

“Well, I think what I said has come true,” said Miss Jule, leading the
general laugh in which Anne’s mother joined rather feebly, on account
of the destruction of the pansies. “Happy seems to have chosen the
nearest approach to an oven that she could find. See, Anne, there is
one underneath all the others, the pup with the dark ear, and that poor
thing always seems to be underneath. What is her name?”

“We haven’t named them yet, but we are going to to-morrow, because it
will be their three weeks old birthday. Oh, do look quick at that one
with the black and tan head, she is really scratching her ear with her
hind paw, the darling!”

All this time Waddles was acting in a most strange manner. He had
sometimes played with Jack and Jill, always came when they cried
or seemed in trouble, and literally mounted guard over the nursery
kennel, from out of his fastness under the cellar door. But now the
sight of the sixlets seemed to fill him with terror, and he would not
walk around that side of the house while they were in sight, though he
continued to be very polite to Happy, and allow her to rob his food
dish at her sweet will. He acted very much as a man might when his
spouse is too busy with a large family to give him any attention--he
went off with his men friends, Mr. Wolf, Quick, Tip, and Colin, and
hunted sometimes until early morning, much to Anne’s disgust and the
spoiling of his well-kept appearance; for Waddles had always been a
dandy in his bachelor days.

These were busy times for Anne’s camera; but, as her father told her,
she was beginning with almost the most difficult things that can be
photographed--living animals, which must be caught by snap-shots.
And in order to succeed with these, one must have skill as well as
experience to know what it is possible to take and what never can be
caught at all.

Anne had succeeded in making a very good portrait of her mother sitting
under the trees reading, also one of Waddles guarding his meat-dish;
though she wasted enough developer upon them to have served a dozen
plates. Thus encouraged, she began to snap wildly at the puppies,
getting some very laughable results, and learning that if she was not
going to spend her whole year’s pocket money in a single week, she must
take better aim before she fired.

One plate had only two pairs of back legs on it, another a grotesque
head of Happy, who had been facing the camera at such close range that
she was all head and her body dwindled away to nothing. Another one, of
the puppies gathered around their dish learning to drink, was a hazy
mass of wagging tails, and so on; but the oddest picture of all was of
Mr. Hugh bowing to Miss Letty as they met him on the road. Why it was
no one could tell, but it made him look so like a jumping-jack that no
one could look at it without laughing; that is, no one but Mr. Hugh,
who flushed up and said that Anne had been cheated in the lens.

“No, it’s a good eye; father says so,” put in matter-of-fact Tommy, who
usually championed Anne and her possessions. “It just saw you that way
and put it down.”

“If other people see me that way, I don’t wonder that they always make
fun of me, and don’t like me,” said Mr. Hugh, looking unthinkingly
toward where Miss Letty was playing tennis with Anne and a good-looking
college fellow named Varley who was a chum of Pinkie Scott’s big
brother; for Mr. Hugh was too practical and slow to take a joke
quickly, which was the one defect that kept him from being altogether
charming.

“I don’t think looks matters much. If you just like things, you see
’em all right. I loved Lily dog, but she was really ever so homely,
Anne says, lots worse than your picture, and I kept Miss Letty for my
sweetheart all that week the poison ivy made her eyes little and buried
her nose,” he added, swelling with boastful pride at his fidelity.
Thus did Tommy manage to alternately warm and chill the friendship
between his two friends.

* * * * *

At three weeks the pups were not only fascinating from their baby ways
but for their intelligence as well; and in the matter of points, Squire
Burley pronounced them quite remarkable for their age, Miss Jule adding
that it was a well-known fact that beagles developed more quickly than
almost any other breed of dog; while the fact that they could lap milk
nicely was a great help to Happy in keeping her larder well filled,
for catering for one pair of twins was wholly different from supplying
three pairs.

They had just been frisking about their dish, rolling and playing,
when Anne and Tommy came out from breakfast, bent upon the important
business of naming them.

“Ouch! their teeth have come, and sharp as fishes’, too!” exclaimed
Tommy, who had experience both with fish-teeth and fish-hooks, quickly
withdrawing an inquisitive finger.

[Illustration: _Naming the Pups._]

“Don’t tease them,” cautioned Anne; “if we are to name them, it must
be done properly, so that they won’t feel sorry about it when they grow
up. I want to give them real names we can call them, and not have them
registered under one name, like Cadence, and always called another.”

“Try to call them something that you can shorten,” said Anne’s father,
stopping on his way to the dark house. He, too, had been lured from the
study many times to take pictures of the puppies; but he refused to
show the results until they were properly finished.

“We might call them after birds,” said Anne, who had been looking
through the trees down to the distant meadows, where many birds were
flocking before starting on their autumn travels.

“Yes, let’s,” agreed Tommy, quickly. “Jay’d be a first-rate name for
one,” he added, as one of those bold-talking sneak-thieves called
overhead.

Anne laughed, in spite of not knowing exactly why, saying, “I
don’t think Jay will quite do; because when people are stupid and
disagreeable at the same time, and do not know it, people often call
them Jays.”

Just then a sweet note came from the field,--a real April
voice,--saying, “Spring o’ the year.” “It’s a Meadow Lark,” said Anne,
“and I will name this dear little fellow with the even white face mark
and black tail spot after it, and call him Lark for short, because I’m
going to keep him for our very own.”

“Aren’t we going to keep them all?” pleaded Tommy, looking up with
beseeching eyes, while his chin quivered.

“Not all, and perhaps only two, one for each of us; father said so last
night. There are too many; but we may keep them all winter, so that
they will be strong and well-grown before they go to the homes Miss
Jule will find for them, or perhaps Mr. Hugh will keep them himself.”

“Let’s call another Bobwhite,--this boy with the very white face,” said
Anne, a moment later, after each pup had been held up in turn to see if
its face suggested anything.

“Yes, that’ll be fine; ’cause don’t you remember that one that used
to come over here to feed, and brought the little ones one morning?
Now it’s my turn,” said Tommy, picking up the prettiest of the three
females, who had lovely even tan markings on the head, a white nose,
and the manners of a finished coquette. “I’ll name her--I’ll name
her--” he said, hesitating, and looking up into the trees, as no name
occurred to him.

“Phœbe, Phœbe,” called that demure fly-catcher, balancing on the
telephone wire.

“Yes, I’ll call her Phœbe,” said Tommy, in a tone of relief; and Anne
thought it the very thing.

“Now this one, Jack Waddles’s pet, and we will be through with the
boys.”

“You name him,” said Tommy, having found the matter more of a puzzle
than a pleasure.

“There is a lovely western sparrow, with a yellow vest and black
cravat, that I’ve seen in the museum, and its name is Dickcissel. I’ll
name him that, and we can call him Dick,” said Anne, after several more
minutes spent in thinking. “That makes four after birds, so we might
name the others for something else. This one that’s all white but one
ear spot, we could call Blanche, only it’s hard to say.”

“Lily’s nicer. I’ll let you call it after my dear old doggie,” said
Tommy, as if conferring a great favour.

“I don’t think she’s going to stay so very white,” replied Anne, after
examining the pup’s coat critically. “I think she will have black and
brown tick marks like her grandmother.”

“Then call her Tiger Lily, they are all spotted,” cried Tommy,
triumphantly, which tickled Anne so that she hugged him for his wit;
and Tiger Lily the pup was, and lived to be a great hunter.

[Illustration]

“Now for the last, the soft, fat, dark one. Somehow she reminds me
of a comfortable coloured person. I know, we’ll call her Dinah, the
very thing! and Di will do for short.” So the last pup was duly named
and put down, and Anne proposed that they should rest their heads by
wheeling up to the Hilltop Kennels to tell Miss Jule about the names,
when Tommy, who was looking after the pups who had scampered away on
being released, grasped Anne’s arm and pointed after them. Wonder of
wonders! Phœbe was holding Bob by the hind leg, while fat Dinah played
leap-frog over his back in a clumsy but perfectly serious manner, doing
it not once but many times, and she was only three weeks old!

* * * * *

In the matter of training and education it makes a deal of difference
to the mother as to whether her family consists of few or many, and
Anne learned many new points in dog law during the next few weeks.

Happy continued to feed and wash the sixlets until they were about two
months old, but she did not play with them, as she had with Jack and
Jill, except upon rare occasions, but left them to teach each other
and learn by experience, while she took a nap, near by enough to hear
if anything went wrong, wearing when awake the expression of being
good-naturedly bored.

It was Big Brother who threw bones in the air for them, and gave
them their first taste of meat by bringing home a young woodchuck,
and dragging it into their midst; when they sprang upon it with a
fierceness that seemed almost to frighten gentle Jack, and a tug-of-war
ensued in earnest, which ended in the woodchuck’s tail giving way and
Dinah turning a back somersault, it was saucy Phœbe who dragged away
the prize, and the others licked their lips with gusto.

“Never mind,” said Miss Jule, “when it comes time for the hunting Happy
will let no one teach them but herself.”

If Jack and Jill had been time eaters, what could be said of the
sixlets? Not only did Anne and Tommy spend almost all their hours
out of school playing with the pups on the sunny slope, but their
father had cut his chin several times from watching them out of his
dressing-room window when he was shaving; their mother sewed the
buttons on the wrong side of Anne’s pinafore, and Mary Anne poured
kerosene into her lap instead of into the lamp, from the same cause.

[Illustration]

[Illustration: _On Guard._]

The Hilltop people also were interested, in spite of their many
dogs; and Miss Jule, Miss Letty, Mr. Hugh, and Squire Burley all
happened in together the afternoon that Anne’s father had finished
printing and mounting his puppy pictures, and they begged so hard
for copies of them, that he said he should have to make them into an
album and let them draw lots for it. While Anne begged for a pair to
frame, one of the sixlets all together, four in a basket, and two on
the garden bench, and the other of Dick, Bobwhite, Dinah, and Phœbe
in a wheelbarrow, with Jack Waddles standing guard like a veritable
policeman.

“I like this picture best,” said Mr. Hugh, picking up a small
photograph of Miss Letty feeding Miss Jule’s kennel dogs; “it’s very
lifelike.”

“Why, I took that,” said Anne, delighted; “and I’ve done a lot more
pictures of the kennels beside.”

“I’ll tell you what to do,” said Miss Jule. “Take all the Dogtown
pictures you can, no larger than this, mind, and we’ll make them
into albums and give them to Mrs. Carr to sell, together with the
knick-knacks she makes, up at Robin Hood’s Inn to help along her fund,
and I’ll pay for the materials.”

“It will be great fun,” agreed Anne; “but what is her fund for? I
haven’t heard of it.”

Miss Jule waited for Mr. Hugh to speak; but he turned his back and
stared out of the window, so she answered: “Mrs. Carr wants to have
a little money every year to help what she calls ‘some decent puir
bodies,’ who have dogs that they love, and can feed, but for whom the
license money is a stumbling-block.

“You all know how near she came to losing Laddie, her collie; and
really might have if Letty’s bicycle hadn’t providentially broken down,
Anne lost her way in the back field, and the barbed wire fence been
where it was. So Mr. Hugh lets her sell little things she knits to the
picnic people who go to the Inn for tea, and he will see that she only
pays for worthy dogs.”

Mr. Hugh expected to hear Miss Letty’s ringing laugh, but he didn’t.

“Oh, I hope I shall be able to make a great many albums,” said Anne,
stretching wide her arms to express size, as she used to, when, as a
little girl, she opened her arms to the sky and said she wished she
could hug all outdoors.

“I’m sorry Lily’s dead. I’d have let you take her and me together, and
you could have charged a lot,” said Tommy, innocently; and then added
at random, in the polite silence that followed, “Say, Miss Letty,
if you loved anything, would you care if it looked ugly or like a
jumping-jack in a picture?”

“Why, of course not,” said Miss Letty, innocently, not looking in Mr.
Hugh’s direction, which was well, as she might have guessed, for he was
as red as a beet, being the only one who understood at what Tommy was
driving.

Miss Jule, scenting something, suggested that they go out and present
the pups with the collars that Mr. Hugh had bought for them but had
seemingly forgotten. This pulled him together again, and he handed Anne
a parcel containing six dainty chamois-lined collars. Three were red
for the girls, and three blue for the boys, and each was ornamented
with a pair of small round nickel bells.

“How lovely of you!” said Anne, going up to give him a frank kiss of
thanks, a hand on each shoulder.

“They’ll keep the dogs from straying away and getting lost. I always
put bells on my hounds’ first collars,” he said, quite at his ease
again.

“By the way,” he added, stooping, “what are those letters printed on
the dish the pups are feeding from?”

“‘Drink, Puppy, Drink.’ They come made that way; and I think the pups
understand, for they do it all day long,” and this time Mr. Hugh
joined in the laugh.

[Illustration]

That evening when Anne went to put away the dog pictures, much to her
vexation she could not find the one of Miss Letty feeding the kennel
dogs, and she so wanted to give it to Mr. Hugh.

CHAPTER XIII

BEN UNCAS’S LAST HUNT

One Saturday Anne discovered that Waddles was very low in his mind.
It was after a week when she had been busy at school, and had devoted
her afternoons and evenings to taking and developing more or less
successful dog pictures, to make the albums in aid of Mrs. Carr’s
“fund,” so that she had paid less attention than usual to the house
fourfoots.

At first Anne thought that Waddles felt neglected, and was a bit sulky;
but as petting did not mend matters, she looked about for some other
cause. It could not be that the sixlets bothered him, for they now
lived in separate quarters, and had a garden to themselves; and Mr.
Hugh had secured Tiger Lily, Dinah, and Bobwhite to add to the beagle
pack he was forming, when they should be old enough, much to the relief
of Anne’s parents; for the prospect of six puppies cutting their second
teeth upon any and everything they could seize was certainly rather
appalling.

Fortunately, neither Anne nor Tommy objected to halving the pups with
Mr. Hugh, for they could visit them at any time, and though his dogs
were obliged to obey, and to be very tidy and good, they were allowed
to spend their evenings lying in rows by the enormous fireplace in
the hall, and always sat in a group about his chair when he dined or
breakfasted alone.

Happy, having weaned the pups, had seemingly given them entirely into
the guardianship of Jack Waddles, who was so watchful and motherly in
his care of them that Miss Letty said his name should be changed to
Jane, and that he should wear a nurse’s cap and apron. But Anne, who
understood him, loved him for his gentleness, and was glad to have one
stay-at-home dog, that, though he knew and liked the hunting in a way,
did not run himself to a skeleton over it, for the cool weather had
set in, and Happy’s voice could be heard far and wide, telling of her
running ability; while upon more than one occasion she stayed out so
late at night that she did not have to get up for breakfast.

Strange to say, Waddles suddenly stopped hunting with her; of course
he was an old dog now, but why he should run one week and then stop
puzzled Anne. She felt his nose; it was moist and cool. She examined
his paws; there were neither cuts or thorns visible. His coat was
well-kept and flexible,--a rough, brittle coat tells its own tale of
illness both in dogs and horses,--likewise, his eyes were bright,
yet he ate but little, and lay all day silently guarding a large
accumulation of ungnawed bones.

“Miss Jule says ‘if a horse seems all right, yet doesn’t eat, look at
his teeth.’ Perhaps it may be the same with dogs; anyway, I will look,”
said Anne to herself.

At the first attempt Waddles resisted and growled a little; then he
changed his mind. Sure enough, the tooth back of the right canine was
not only broken, but quite loose, and the gum red and swollen.

“You poor Waddlekins! Of course you can’t chew without getting a
dreadful pain! Baldy shall pull the old thing out, and it will all be
over in a minute,” said Anne, soothingly. Waddles sat perfectly still,
looking out of the side of his eyes at his mistress. He suspected
something, and yet he had no experience in tooth-drawing to give him a
hint of what was coming.

Anne first found Baldy, then going to her father borrowed a little
pair of pincers that he had kept in a drawer by his desk, ever since
they had done duty on her easy first teeth, and would soon do the same
for Tommy. Then she called Waddles to come to the garden where Baldy
was working. After thinking for a few minutes, he obeyed, walking very
slowly on tiptoe, his gait when either suspicious or reluctant. When
Baldy tried to hold him firmly between his knees, Waddles instantly
freed himself from collar and all, with the single backward jerk of the
head for which he was celebrated; but the next moment seated himself
quietly by Anne, and without being held, allowed Baldy to pull out the
tooth.

An expression of surprise, quickly followed by one of relief, crossed
his mobile face. He choked and coughed a little, then straightway
understood the whole affair, took a drink from the birds’ bath-tub
under the big syringa bush, and walking straight back to what Tommy
called “Waddles’s bone-garden” unearthed a particularly ripe and
delicious beef rib and began to gnaw it with relish, his tooth and low
spirits having disappeared together.

The next day Waddles had a long call from Mr. Wolf, Miss Jule’s old St.
Bernard, and after the usual pleasant exchange of sniffs and other
greetings the two adjourned to the south side of the orchard wall,
which, topping a slope, commanded a wide stretch of country. Here,
lying back to back so that eye, ear, and nose might have as wide a
range as possible, they proceeded to “watch out” for game.

[Illustration]

Mr. Wolf, otherwise known as Ben Uncas, and Waddles were the leading
members of a curious sort of club that hunted fur, and, as a usual
thing, let feathers severely alone. This club now numbered six members
of various sizes and breeds, and when the queerly assorted pack started
off for a day or night outing, the House People of Dogtown, hearing the
babel of cries, said, “Ben Uncas & Co. are on the war-path!”

Until this particular season the club had consisted of the St. Bernard,
its leader, Waddles, Colin, Tip, and Quick; now Hamlet had been
initiated, and was one of the most daring members, especially in the
matter of sometimes swimming down even the web-footed muskrats, who
sought safety by taking to the water.

The animals that the club hunted ranged in size from meadow-mice,
moles, chipmunks, muskrats, rabbits, skunks, woodchucks, foxes, coons,
and occasionally a rare and wily opossum, while these native animals
were liberally punctuated by an assortment of cats. Now this matter of
cat hunting by Ben Uncas & Co. has a very dreadful sound, and requires
a word of explanation.

It had its origin in what some shiftless sort of House People called
“their tender feelings” in this way. Any number of people living in
the farms and on the country edge of the village kept cats which they
fed and housed after a fashion, but when kittens were born, instead of
humanely destroying those for which they could not care, they simply
shifted the responsibility to the poor kittens, allowing them to grow
up as best they might and provide for themselves.

Those that did not starve to death soon formed a roving band of feline
bandits of every age, sex, and colour, that haunted deserted barns,
remote haymows, and even hollow trees in the deep woods, living by
preying upon song and game birds, rabbits, and barnyard fowls.

Waddles’s fierce old enemy, Tiger, the miller’s cat, had been adopted
from this race, and so constantly had Waddles, as well as Mr. Wolf and
the smaller dogs, heard the cry of “cats!” and been called to hunt the
enemy from a chicken coop or an orchard full of nestlings, that they
regarded wildcats as lawful hunting.

One thing, however, was a proof of the wonderful intelligence of the
hunters; they knew perfectly well the difference between the pet cats
of the neighbourhood and the wild tribe, and if, as happened but
very rarely, in the heat of the run they made a mistake, after one
experience and its punishment they never again bore the victim home as
a trophy, as they would a woodchuck, muskrat, or weasel, but hid it
carefully in bushes or tall grass, and pretended that the chase was
a failure. But when the kill was satisfactory, no matter who was the
catcher, Mr. Wolf always took it home to Miss Jule, who rewarded the
hunters with petting and a plate of tidbits.

Their hunting methods were also peculiar to themselves, and the
labours were divided quite equally among the six.

Waddles and Tip, the little spaniel, had the keenest noses and the best
minds for planning strategy. Quick, the fox terrier, who was all that
his name implied, added to the endurance and bound of a collection
of steel springs, was the explorer of small holes and the pioneer of
attacks upon burrows that must be dug out or chinks between rocks that
must be explored.

[Illustration]

It was Quick, also, who spurred the flagging energy of the larger dogs
in tiresome runs, though often to their hurt, as will be seen, and had
generally managed to lead his friends into the few misdeeds of which
they were guilty. Though Mr. Wolf appeared to be the leader because
of his size and heavy weight, he was really quite subject to Quick’s
commands, and the most confiding and intimate relations existed between
the pair. They shared both bed and board, and it was a study in dog
love to see the expression of impertinence that Quick usually wore
change to one of complete adoration as he gazed up in the face of his
big friend, standing on tiptoe to lick his nose.

As to Colin, the big, blundering red setter, with the beautiful eyes
and the silky hair, his use was as general encourager when the hunt
flagged; for though in the course of a long life, and he lived into
his fifteenth year, he never caught anything wilder than a frightened
chicken or disabled rabbit, yet he was never discouraged, starting off
each day with the joy of first experience, and if the party caught
nothing, he would retrieve a stick of decayed wood, a bit of old
leather, or even a spruce cone and carry it to Miss Jule on his own
account.

Upon one occasion, being left in the rear by the others, he came upon
a wood-duck that had lain dead for some time in the pond meadow. After
rolling on it very thoroughly in the manner of dogs and wolves, to
identify themselves with their finds in the noses of other dogs, he
succeeded, after much difficulty, in bearing it home and into the
dining room during a company tea, where he laid it at Miss Jule’s
feet. He had such an expression of bringing a gift worth having upon
his face, that also wore a broad grin, that no one, even among the
guests, had the heart to scold him, but politely held their breaths and
noses while Miss Jule called Colin “a good fellow,” and escorted him
out, accompanied by the duck in a dust-pan. She also allowed him the
crowning joy of burying it, which he did as a matter of course, instead
of casting it ignobly on the refuse heap, which would have not only
hurt his feelings, but have given him the extra trouble of retrieving
it a second time, and so prolonged the odour.

When Ben Uncas & Co. hunted ground beasts their methods were wholly
different from their pursuit of tree climbers. Of ground beasts the
woodchuck and muskrat seemed the most interesting quarry, and of
climbers the breed of vagrant wildcats and the coons of Pine Ridge were
the favourites. The native tailless bob-cat or red lynx was now so rare
as to be, like the rattlesnake, almost a hearsay beast of imagination,
seen only by the people who, carrying brown jugs, took a short cut
through the Den woods on their way home from the cider-mill, and
paused to rest on the way.

There were many old fields and orchards between Happy Hall and the
Hilltop Kennels, and when Ben Uncas & Co. organized for hunting, three
years before this time, there was barely a five-acre lot without its
woodchuck family, while Waddles’s old bugaboo, the skunk, called scent
cat by its comrades through fearsome politeness, inhabited stone fences
and tumble-down cellars at will. In fact, one pair were so bold as to
raise a litter under the henhouse at Pinkie Scott’s, in order to be
conveniently near a poultry and egg market, while Pinkie petted and fed
the little things, mistaking them for queer black and white kittens,
until one evening, when Hans Sachs was with her, their mother came
back and objected. Then Pinkie’s illusion and the skunk family were
dispelled together.

Of course people trapped skunks, and they were more or less hunted by
other dogs, but to the method of Ben Uncas & Co. belonged the honour
of having freed the entire hillside of the pests, even though as
individuals they had often been obliged to retire to private life in
consequence.

Anne and Tommy had never been able to follow a skunk hunt closely
enough to see exactly how it began, but one thing was certain, it was
always Quick who, jumping upon the animal’s back, gave the sudden shake
to the neck that settled the question just as he did with a rat, at the
same time taking extra care not to be bitten; for to be bitten by a
skunk is one of the “mustn’t be’s” of dog law, and a calamity they are
careful to avoid, while they are quite reckless about the more powerful
chisel teeth of both woodchuck and muskrat.

The woodchucks were less easily exterminated even though they are
more abroad by day, for not only are their homes more difficult to
reach, but when living in a colony they usually post sentinels at the
entrances of their burrows. Several times, when the settlements in the
old fields and orchards had been scattered, new families from other
places seemed to move into the empty burrows. Then again woodchucks
hole up in middle autumn and stay wholly out of reach until spring, so
they are never driven to take the risks during the hard winter months
that drive so many of the wood fourfoots recklessly into the open for
food.

A wily old woodchuck is a hard animal to chase, clumsy though it is,
it knows so many twists and turns and paths back to its burrow. It is
a still harder one for a small dog to kill, owing to the toughness of
its skin, the layer of fat that covers its vital parts at most seasons,
and the ferocity of its attack when at bay and thoroughly aroused, its
nose being really its most vulnerable spot.

The tactics of Ben Uncas & Co. were these,--when the party started out
at random the conditions of the day for sport were usually left for
Waddles and Tip to decide, as they had the most discriminating noses of
the lot. Mr. Wolf knew the scent of wild beasts on general principles,
and Quick had cat on the brain to such an extent that if a trail ran
anywhere near a tree he would jump at conclusions, and so often went
astray.

A woodchuck chase belongs chiefly to still hunting, and requires
waiting ability. After the dogs agreed together that the scent said,
for instance, that in the upper orchard, where there was but a single
family, the old folks were out foraging, they divided, Mr. Wolf and
Quick following the trail of the elders, in a silent, leisurely way,
while Waddles, Tip, and, during the last few months, Hamlet, would
sit motionless and wait well back of the burrow openings, Waddles
generally choosing the main entrance, while Colin roved about afield,
sniffing here and there, chasing grasshoppers and playing the part of
unconcerned idler to perfection, because that was what he really was.
To Colin the hunting meant play, but to the others it was as serious a
business as if their food depended on it; hence it will be seen that
they were true sportsmen.

[Illustration: _Colin._]

If things combined rightly, after a time the more or less young cubs of
the year in the burrow would wake from their nap, and after the manner
of young things, finding their parents absent, would set about to
explore, one by one cautious heads appearing above ground. Woodchucks
are very clever about making the entrances to their homes. They are
seldom in perfectly level ground, but are protected on one side by a
hillock, old corn hill, stone heap, or at least by the mound of earth
thrown from the burrow itself, so that when the animal peers out it
cannot at once be seen from the rear.

No sooner did the young woodchucks get their heads fairly above ground,
than, spying Colin skirting the field in his gambols, their attention
was riveted and their curiosity aroused, for with these, as with many
wild things, it is difficult to say which is the stronger instinct,
caution or curiosity. In a moment more two, three, or oftentimes four
young woodchucks would be seen seated sometimes a foot away from the
hole, all backed toward it as for protection, their eyes fastened upon
the distant dog.

Often at this critical moment the old ones, sniffing danger in the
wind, would start to return, only to be met by Mr. Wolf and Quick
waiting in some likely nook, who, though they could not altogether
conquer the experienced pair, would manage to hold them at bay and make
them very late in getting home.

Meanwhile Waddles waited at his post, alert, one paw raised like his
attitude before the spring and rapid digging in mole hunting. As soon
as the cubs were well clear of the burrow, he pounced upon the bunch,
trying to land between them and the opening, giving a call to his
comrades that evidently told them what to do, for sometimes they came
tumbling up, and a general scrimmage ensued at close quarters, and at
others the bunch would scatter over the field, followed by Waddles,
while the other dogs did not come to the attack until the woodchucks
had doubled and were on the home stretch. In such cases the results
were usually two victims, one of which was generally either buried for
future use or left on the field for a second trip, while the other
was borne proudly home intact by Mr. Wolf, with head held high and
important, ambling gate. In fact, no less strong a dog could carry even
a two-months-old woodchuck, sometimes a full mile over stone fences and
other obstruction, without at least partly dragging it along the ground.

After the kill Tip, Hamlet, and Colin often lost interest and
skirmished about on their own account for a while before returning; but
Waddles and Quick invariably followed Mr. Wolf, and shared Miss Jule’s
praise, and the plate of tidbits that were a part of it.

* * * * *

[Illustration: _The Reward._]

When, however, a tree animal was scented, the hunt was both noisy
and rapid. Either Waddles or Quick would pick up the trail of one of
the bandit cats, and give tongue according to their vocal abilities,
Quick’s being a most piercing and unearthly scream. Then the oddly
assorted pack would start off, noses to the ground, barking, baying,
yelping as if Dogtown itself was hunting the great phantom cat of whom
all naughty puppies live in dread, whose grin is sometimes seen on the
full moon on foggy nights, and whose trail always either leads to water
or rises in the air.

If the cat thus pursued should happen to be at rest when the trail is
discovered, it is soon on foot again, spurred by the approaching noise.
If in the open, it makes for the nearest trees; for cats are poor long
distance runners, their specialties being leaping and climbing.

A cat of experience and steady nerve, having gained a medium-sized
tree, will retreat to the upper branches, secure a good perch, and
there sit and wait indefinitely _without looking down_, for the cat who
looks down upon a pack of jumping, yelping dogs is lost, being either
confused into letting go her grip and dropping, or else startled into
jumping squirrel-like for the branches of an adjoining tree which may
bend to the earth with her weight.

If the cat, when treed, does neither of these things, then the hunters
divide forces and prepare to wait. Mr. Wolf, seating himself a few feet
from the tree, where he can see well up into the branches (for in tree
work sight supplements scent in a great degree) begins a monotonous
and incessant barking. Quick going backward a couple of yards makes
rapid runs at the tree-trunk, managing to scramble up six or eight feet
before dropping back, or sometimes, if the branches are thick and low,
landing securely upon one of them. Tip and Hamlet wait at a little
distance in case the cat tries a long leap and run, while Waddles turns
strategist and disappears, that is, as far as the cat is concerned.
Really he is crouching close against the tree-trunk directly under the
cat’s perch, silent, with glistening eyes, and, in spite of rheumatism,
all his catapult force gathered in the muscles of his back like a bent
bow, for in every chase Waddles lives over his youth and his feud with
the miller’s cat.

On goes Mr. Wolf’s hypnotic chanting, echoed occasionally by Tip or
carried into a banshee scream by Hamlet, who finds time hanging heavy
to his impatient feet. At last the cat looks down, hesitates whether
to climb higher or risk a long jump; confused by the noise, it does
half of each, and as a result drops directly at the root of the tree.
Waddles’s back straightens,--there is one bandit cat the less. Then
the good news is passed quickly on by the gossips of Birdland, all
a-twitter in the neighbouring trees.

* * * * *

Such hunting was wearing to a heavy dog past middle age like Mr. Wolf,
and after each run that season he rested longer, and felt less appetite
for his good dinner and go-to-bed bone.

In dog friendships, like those of people, there should be a certain
amount of physical as well as mental equality, or one will lead the
other beyond his strength, and this is what Quick did to his dear
friends, as both Mr. Wolf and Waddles would often have continued to
doze under the stone wall, and let certain signs of game pass unnoticed
if Quick had not literally burrowed them out and nagged them into
action, saying, both Miss Jule and Anne suspected, many taunting things
that no old dog likes to hear from his juniors.

Miss Jule noticed that Mr. Wolf was growing rather thin, and she
tried to keep him more with her, coaxing him to lie in the hall of
afternoons, or by her desk, as he used to even in his youth, before
Quick had come to win his friendship and urge him to the hunting for
which he was not intended. But the nervous, tireless fox terrier was so
persistent, crawling and fawning before the St. Bernard, or even pawing
him awake when he slept, that the poor old fellow had little peace.
Finally Miss Jule resolved to give Quick to some children living away
in another county, who wanted exactly such an active pet, but, as it
chanced, she had put it off over long.

Early in October a heavy rain flooded the low, river meadows, and
turned the muskrat hunting-grounds of Ben Uncas and Co., that before
had been merely wet here and there, into a wide pool, where the dogs
shorter of leg than Mr. Wolf and Colin were obliged to paddle along.
There were already one or two of the muskrats’ winter homes in these
meadows. These huts looked like low stacks of coarse hay and reeds, and
the odour of the builders was sufficient to provoke the dogs to attack
them, even though the entrances ran under ground for some way before
opening under water in the river bank, something after the manner of
beaver runs, though the beaver’s house is in the water itself, not on
partly submerged meadow land. Because the muskrat is a poor runner,
it trusts itself on dry land as little as possible, and the dogs hunted
it either by digging it from its burrows, the only way in which they
had real success, or by swimming after it. This last might do well
enough as sport for water dogs on summer evenings, but it was poor work
for elderly Mr. Wolf and Colin, with the autumn chill in the air. As
for Waddles, he was wise in his own generation, and would no longer
even cross a brook where he was obliged to wet more than the tips of
his toes, and even did that with a very staccato tread. So when the
others spent afternoons splashing about the muskrats’ huts, he, dry and
comfortable, merely sat upon a low bridge close by, talked to himself,
and occasionally bayed advice. But then, Waddles was a genius.

[Illustration: _Ben Uncas._]

Miss Jule was away the first day of this unwise hunting. When she came
home she found Mr. Wolf more tired still, and she was fairly shocked to
see how lean his body was, now that the thick, long hair that had given
it bulk was pasted close by mud and water.

She had him carefully dried by the kitchen fire, well brushed out, fed
him herself with warm stew, and put him to bed in a box stall deep
with straw covered with a horse blanket for a bed, thinking to keep
him prisoner a few days for his own good and give him the necessary
exercise herself.

The next day was bright and warm for the season, and Miss Jule thought
that a sun bath on the south piazza would do Ben worlds of good. When
she went for him he whined with joy, licked her hands, and looked into
her face with old-time fervour; but when they started together toward
the house, he lagged behind, took a few steps, lay down, then struggled
to his feet and seemed to force himself to cover the distance, sinking
down on the mat his mistress placed in the porch corner with a sigh,
and closed his eyes. Miss Jule plainly saw that Ben Uncas was very ill,
and wishing to take no risks, she telephoned for a skilled veterinarian
from the town half a dozen miles away. In another hour the quick trot
of his horses’ hoofs sounded on the drive. A good veterinary surgeon
who loves his work, always comes quickly, for he knows the sorrow of
helplessly watching the pain of an animal who cannot put his needs into
the words House People can understand.

He took temperature and pulse, felt here and listened there, and said
poor Ben had distemper from wasted strength and drinking ditch water
when on the run. He said Mr. Wolf was very ill, but not, he thought,
past help. He must go back to the box stall where he could have both
air and shelter, and leaving medicine to be faithfully given, he went
away, promising to come again at night.

For a time Ben seemed brighter and walked back to the stable without
resting on the way, took a long drink of water, swallowed his medicine
without a struggle, and fell into a doze.

In the afternoon he waked, tried to drink the soup Miss Jule brought
him, and could not, neither could he swallow water, though he
gratefully licked a bit of ice his mistress gave him. Then when pain
seized him and his sunken eyes told of suffering, she put hot cloths
upon his stomach and gently rubbed his head which laid in her lap.

The surgeon came at evening, looked sober, but said to keep on with the
medicine, and that Ben would probably improve the next morning.

That night the horses in the stable saw an odd sight--fat, middle-aged
Miss Jule, buttoned to the chin in an old ulster with a crimson wool
Tam O’ Shanter cap of Letty’s fastened on askew, was sitting on an
upturned pail in the box stall beside her sick friend, while for
company, Martin, the reliable, slept on a heap of hay in a distant
corner, wrapped in a carriage robe.

Mr. Hugh had offered to stay with Ben in Miss Jule’s place and Letty to
watch with her, but a grim “No” had been her answer.

In the middle of the night Ben grew worse, and in spite of his courage
he groaned with pain, and stretched his paws to his mistress as if for
help, but could not otherwise move. She roused Martin and sent him to
telephone the doctor, but the answer came that he was out and might not
return until morning.

Miss Jule had felt from the first that Ben was fatally ill; now she
questioned herself as to how far she should allow him to suffer under
the chance that he might recover for a time, and thus spare her pain.

More time passed, again he stretched out his paws and turned a pitiful
look upon her that said, “Help me, mistress, I cannot bear the pain.”

“Yes, old fellow, missy will help you. Put your head down and I will
rub it--so. Martin, go to my locked closet and bring me the bottle
labelled chloroform. Yes, that is right; now that horse sponge there
and the bit of newspaper.” She took the bottle with a hand that shook,
poured some upon the sponge that she had thrust in a cone made of
twisted paper. Then she raised the feverish nose resting upon her knee
and gently covered it saying softly, “Good-by my Ben, good-by dear Mr.
Wolf.” That was all.

A healthy animal often struggles at the scent of chloroform, but
to the very ill it brings swift peace. Ben Uncas was in the happy
hunting-grounds which were not far away. Then brave Miss Jule broke
down and laid her head upon the tawny one and sobbed aloud. She was
sitting thus when the doctor, having received her summons on his tardy
return home, crossed the floor with rapid tread.

At first the doctor said that she should have had patience and given
the medicine a longer chance to work. But later, that she had done well
in stopping useless pain, for the sickness was typhoid distemper, and
nothing could have saved old Ben.

“I suppose that you are laughing to yourself, and thinking what an old
fool I am to care so,” said Miss Jule, leaning wearily against the door
post, a wild object with straws sticking in her hair, red-eyed and
dishevelled in the dawning light.

“I laugh at grief for a dog?” answered the doctor. “Possibly once but
not now, or ever again. Look at this,” and opening his watch he showed
her the miniature of a dog painted on the inside cover. It was the head
of a finely bred bull terrier with soft brown and white markings, and
a broad browed face, for the technical term muzzle could not be applied
to one having all the thoughtful intelligence of a human being.

“That is Jim,” said the doctor, speaking slowly, and fixing his eyes
upon the picture.

“Oh, yes, I remember him,” said Miss Jule; “he was rather small for his
breed, and lame in his left hind leg, but compact and alert. He always
used to ride about with you, and when you went indoors would sit and
wait with an expression of patience in his eyes that seemed to say that
he knew just what you were about, and that of course he expected you to
take your time, do your work thoroughly, and not hurry; but you’ve not
brought him this season, have you?”

The doctor shook his head, still keeping his eyes upon the miniature
and continued: “I reared Jim from a pup, and it seems as if there never
was a time that he was so young but what he understood what I said
almost before I spoke the words; he travelled everywhere with me, and
was a companion for work as well as play. If I went to a hotel, in a
day he knew at which floor our room was, and where the elevator should
stop. He knew my telephone call, and would bark at me when the bell
rang it. If I was at the office, he at home, I could call him to come
to me if some one lowered the receiver to his range. He could carry
numbers in his head, too, that is, as far as four; above that he was
uncertain.

[Illustration: _Jim_ (_Seeley photo_).]

“One day, three years or so ago, while I was waiting at a railway
station not far from Boston, in some strange way a train struck Jim
and hurled him upon a bank above. It may be that he refused the train
right of way; however it was, the crowd that gathered said he was done
for, and should be put out of misery. But bruised, his leg broken at
the hip, and maimed though he was when I picked him up, Jim looked at
me and I at him, and we agreed to make a fight for it. I took him into
Boston to the hospital. We won; his leg was set, and for a time it did
well, and we went about in company once more; but the fracture join was
brittle, it soon broke again, and was united with silver wire. For a
couple of years he went about, a cheerful cripple,--but at that, worth
all the other dogs in Christendom to me, and seeming to grow keener
witted as his body was more dependent.

“Then the leg began to bother him, and I tried every known expedient
short of amputation. If I had done that in time he might have lived
longer, but I hesitated, and Jim died, conscious and knowing me.

“That was more than a year ago, but I have not forgotten. There never
was but one Jim, and no other dog can be the same to me. One thing,
though, Jim has done for his fellows,--he has made me think of and
treat all dogs differently for his sake, and remembering him and what
he was, knocking about as I do, I’m fast getting to believe that dogs
are almost the only friends one has that can be quite trusted. If a man
is old or young, rich or poor, a dog sees no fault in his master.”

A man seldom has the relief of tears that helps a woman, but instead,
sorrow grasps his throat and chokes him, and there were tears in the
doctor’s voice as he closed his watch on Jim’s portrait.

* * * * *

“Do have a cup of coffee, Miss Jule, dear. You must be done up,” said
Anna Maria, who also looked awry and as if she had been up all night,
as she bustled into the stable with coffee-pot and cups on a tray,
which she set on top of the nearest feed-bin, while Martin emerged from
below, where he had been ducking his head in a pail of water in order
to appear fully awake. “And the doctor here, too; he must be faintin’,
for he was the fore half of the night at the Ridge with Squire
Burley’s old mare, the drivin’ boy says,” she added, hurrying back to
the house.

Miss Jule filled two cups, and handed one to the doctor. Anna Maria had
forgotten the spoons, so they stirred the coffee with stout straws.

Miss Jule raised the cup to her lips, and then paused, saying, “To the
friendship of two faithful dogs, Ben Uncas and Jim,” and they drank the
coffee slowly and in silence.

* * * * *

Quick was to have gone to his youthful new owners that same day, and
Mr. Hugh thoughtfully slipped over and took him away before Miss Jule
awoke from her belated sleep, so that two members of the hunting club
vanished at the same time, and it disbanded as if by mutual consent;
for Waddles and Tip at least seemed to comprehend what had happened,
and Colin, who was himself growing old, became more reliable, and
seldom left his mistress.

“Let’s go up and hug Miss Jule and tell her how sorry we are, and lend
her the sixlets for a week to ’muse her,” said tender-hearted Tommy,
when he heard the news.

“Better not,” said Anne, who understood; “if it was Waddles, I would
rather be let alone.” And when she, turning quickly, asked Waddles
the familiar question, “Where is Ben? where is Mr. Wolf?” instead of
cheering and trotting off toward the gate as usual, to meet his friend,
he never stirred, but gave her a reproachful look, and throwing back
his head, bayed dismally.

CHAPTER XIV

THE BARBED WIRE FENCE

Mr. Hugh’s promised field day with supper at Robin Hood’s Inn had, for
various reasons, been postponed so often that, as Anne remarked, “first
it was to have been a hazel-nut party, then a hunt for hickory and
chestnuts, but now both are over, so if it doesn’t happen soon, it will
have to be a skating party, which won’t be a bit of fun for the dogs.”

The delay was nobody’s fault, however, for it had taken some time to
clear the old farm and woodlots of briers and thorny bushes, so that it
was fit for people to explore either afoot or on horseback. Then Mr.
Hugh had to go away to meet some other wise chemists who also spent
their time, as Anne once said of her friend, “in mixing queer things
together that were of no use to make something that was,” and tell them
of a perfectly new smell he had discovered.

Next, Tommy had a bad sore throat, which, knowing they usually lasted a
week, he concealed for two days, though swallowing hurt him pitifully,
lest he should be housed and so miss the festivity, and if Mr. Hugh
himself had not discovered the state of the case, he might have been
very ill indeed.

It was toward afternoon of the second day of the discomfort that Mr.
Hugh, riding slowly up the road, was stopped by Tommy, who came out of
the back gate, looking anxiously behind him, as if he was afraid of
being followed. Mr. Hugh halted with a half amused, half questioning
expression on his face, well knowing that Tommy wanted something of
him, and called, “What’s up, little chap?” by way of greeting.

Tommy clung to a leather stirrup and rested his cheek against it, for
his legs were beginning to feel tired to the bone, which is one of the
many bad things that a sore throat does to people, and asked in a voice
that was so hoarse that it instantly attracted Mr. Hugh’s attention,
“Please, if Miss Letty is hurt or sick Saturday, will you have the
riding and the clay pigeon shoot and all the rest of the party?”

“No, of course not. Has anything happened to her?” asked Mr. Hugh,
anxiously.

“No, not _yet_; but there may, you see, ’cause this is only Tuesday.”

“Nonsense!” ejaculated Mr. Hugh, feeling astonished at the sense of
relief that came over him; for, without realizing it, he was depending
more and more upon the companionship of Miss Jule’s pretty niece, in
spite of the fact that as he ceased teasing her and treating her like
a child, she was taking her revenge, and had turned tables by always
laughing at him and never seeming serious for a moment.

“If--if Anne was sick, would you wait for her?” continued Tommy, more
slowly.

“Of course I would.”

“Well, if I was sick, really, truly sick, with a lumpy sore throat, I
suppose--you wouldn’t stop the party for only me?” There was a quaver
to the last words, and though the child kept his face hidden, Mr. Hugh
noticed for the first time that his cheeks were flushed, and the whole
thing flashed across him.

“Of course I’ll wait,” he said heartily. “It would never do to have the
party a man short; besides, what would your sweetheart, Miss Letty, do?
You know you promised to show her how to shoot, and lend her your gun.
Is the poor throat very sore? Come up here and we will have a ride home
round through the front gate, and tell that nice mother of ours all
about it, and have it cured.”

“Yes, it’s sore, and it’s getting pretty tight, too, and I’m dreffle
sleepy,” said Tommy, falling unconsciously into the trap, and leaning
comfortably against Mr. Hugh, who had pulled him on to the saddle
before him. But his anxiety had passed, so long as he did not miss the
party; a sore throat, in the nice sunny room that had been the nursery
and was now set apart for illness, with a big open fire to watch,
picture books, mother to sit by and read, or father to make up stories,
and a dog or two for company when they went away, was indeed luxury.

This, however, was the last delay, and the black frost kindly kept
away, leaving the last week in October as beautiful and suitable as
heart could desire.

Beside the Hilltop and Happy Hall people, who were all intimate
friends, Mr. Hugh had invited some of his own and Squire Burley’s men
friends, also a handful of the village young people. In addition there
was a Miss Varley stopping at the Scotts’. Her brother was a college
chum of Pinkie’s big brother, and they were all three invited, as they
were fond of sport, and good riders.

The Varleys, who came from the south, where they hunt foxes altogether
on horseback, suggested to Mr. Hugh that he should put corn-stalk or
brush hurdles in some of the gateless gaps in his tumble-down stone
fences, and have a drag-hunt over the course to break in the young
hounds, who all told numbered a pack of twenty.

Squire Burley was one of the few Hillside folk who owned a hunter,
because in this section all the fox-hunting was a necessity, done in
earnest, and afoot, with a swift death by bullet for the hen-roost
robbers. The Squire opened his land for the drag-hunt, likewise Miss
Jule and several small farmers, for all the crops were in but the
stacks of corn stalks. A drag-hunt, as Anne explained to Miss Letty,
“is when you put seeds that smell like a fox in a bag and drag it round
early in the morning when the dew is heavy and holds the scent down.
Then the dogs think it is a fox trail, and run like anything, and never
find that there isn’t any fox until it’s too late to back out, and
before the next time they forget all about how they were cheated.”

“You will be the only woman to follow,” Mr. Hugh had said to Miss
Varley, when the arrangements were completed. “Only two or three of our
girls ride, and they never take fences, though Diana here is beginning
to train for a huntress.”

Anne had laughed softly at this, and glanced slyly at Miss Letty,
for Mr. Hugh had caught them one morning when Anne was trying to coax
her father’s horse, Tom, over an improvised hurdle composed of a rake
handle set upon two small boxes, which collapsed upon the slightest
provocation; but he had not come in time to observe that Miss Letty,
who was mounted on Miss Jule’s Brown Kate, could handle a horse very
well, and already managed three of the four pasture bars; neither did
he know that several years back, when at school in England, she had
spent her holidays with the daughters of a farming squire to whom
cross-country riding was as familiar a doing as eating breakfast.

When the time was finally set, it chanced to fall upon the very last
day of October.

“Surely, the night is Hallowe’en, and so we can have apple and nut
sports, and the like,” exclaimed Mrs. Carr, when Mr. Hugh went up to
make the arrangements for the supper party which would fill two long
tables, one in the dining room and another in the kitchen, making it
necessary that one of Mr. Hugh’s maids as well as Mary Anne and Miss
Jule’s Anna Maria should help the old lady.

Mr. Hugh’s brake and the bus from the village were to transport the
people to and fro, and there would be a picnic lunch on the rocks by
the old mill-dam at noon; one of Mr. Hugh’s first improvements having
been to repair the broken-down wall, so that the pond would be in good
condition for skating, and he had, likewise, put up a small log shelter
for the skaters.

Tommy was the only small child invited; but Mr. Hugh knew that he could
be trusted to amuse himself and curl up in any corner and go to sleep
if he grew weary before going-home time came. Likewise, as such a field
day was almost as rare as Christmas that “comes but once a year,” his
mother said that he might stay up with the others--that is, if he was
able.

When the day came, it was one of those wonderful forerunners of Indian
summer; cool in the morning, warm, with a light breeze at noon, and at
night clear with a piercing electric brightness rayed from the north.

Most of the trees in the woods were bare, except a few oaks, the dead
leaves were crisp to the tread, and witch hazel was in its strange
yellow bloom in the hollows, but the leaves still clung in the
orchards, and the honeysuckles on farmhouse porches were green and
showed sprays of flowers.

Anne and Tommy went to Hilltop with the very first load, which was
compounded partly of dogs and partly of the “extras” that Mrs. Carr
needed. Neither, of course, were to follow the drag-hunt, but they
wanted to be on the spot, and Mr. Hugh had solemnly promised Tommy
that if he followed a certain safe wood-path leading round about in
a circle, that he should meet a rabbit face to face. While Anne, who
delighted in Mrs. Carr’s kitchen, was to have the honour of making a
batch of the celebrated seed cakes all by herself. Waddles, his wife,
and his son Jack, leashed together for a wonder, rode up with their
mistress, for it was not thought best to let them take their chances so
early in the day with the rough-and-ready foxhounds; but as they were
leaving the brake, Jack Waddles managed to slip loose and bolted off,
much to Anne’s worriment.

Tommy shielded his pockets carefully that morning, for in them was
concealed a secret that made him feel alternately important and
then very guilty; for he had a bag full of shot in each pocket, the
blacksmith’s boy not only having shown him how to use it, but supplied
him with it as well, in return for two enormous pumpkins that he had
coveted for lantern making.

When Anne went indoors, Mr. Hugh, who was riding about collecting
forces and telling Martin, who had volunteered, exactly where to trail
the drag, passed down the road on his way to meet the Varleys and show
them the cut to Squire Burley’s, for the hounds were gathered there, as
the start was to be from his orchard.

Miss Varley certainly looked very well on a horse, and was perfectly
aware of it. She wore a black skirt, a tight-fitting red coat and a
small continental hat looped up with a cockade--a costume in which
artists and illustrators had painted or sketched her; and she kept
her horse continually curvetting and champing at the bit, as she made
somewhat cutting remarks about what she termed “mere baby business,”
and derided the local habit of shooting foxes, in contrast to the
cross-country riding to which she was accustomed.

As Mr. Hugh was explaining that the animals were so plentiful in
this country of rocky caves that the farmers must keep them down in
the easiest way, by locating the runs with the hounds and following
afoot,--he glanced a bit ahead and saw, to his astonishment, Miss Letty
mounted upon Brown Kate, waiting quietly opposite Squire Burley’s, Jack
Waddles standing sentinel beside her; and as he came near, she greeted
him with an amused sort of smile, as if such things as following a drag
were of daily occurrence.

Mr. Hugh felt angry, and rather showed it; but it was really a form
that worry takes with some quite nice men. He was at heart afraid that
she did not know how to ride, and might come to grief. He cared a great
deal, but merely said, as if she had been fifteen: “What! are you
going? Was your aunt willing? I thought you and Anne would keep each
other company until luncheon.”

“Certainly, I am going,” she answered, flushing painfully at having
what both she and Miss Jule had meant for a surprise taken in such a
way; and added quickly, and rather at random: “Have you had that old
barbed wire fence taken down in the middle lot? You asked me to remind
you of it, but I quite forgot until this morning; and it may cripple
some of the dogs.”

“It’s rather late now,” said Mr. Hugh, annoyed to realize that he too
had forgotten. “But no one with common sense need go anywhere near it,
and if they do, they must take their chances.”

[Illustration: “_Miss Letty was waiting with a smile._”]

At this moment the hounds were put on the trail, and the party started
off, Miss Letty, who looked very girlish in the white cloth shirt waist
and white felt sailor hat that replaced the linen and straw of summer,
rode with Pinkie Scott’s brother, who admired her exceedingly.
“Follow me, and we will show them steel heels,” he said under his
breath, cutting across the orchard, and Miss Letty, holding a firm rein
and leaning slightly forward, followed.

Meanwhile Tommy and Waddles, whom, after much difficulty, he had coaxed
to follow him, started from Robin Hood’s Inn to hunt on their own
account, the way indicated by Mr. Hugh being very plain, and through
the part of the land where the drag-hunt was not.

[Illustration: _Tommy walked on in Silence._]

At first Waddles moved about here and there, treeing squirrels, digging
spasmodically for ground mice, who were travelling in the burrows of
moles, while Tommy wandered down the bed of a dried-up brook, his gun
held in a sportsmanlike grip, and his eyes searching the trees for the
big owl he promised himself that he would shoot, and ask Baldy to stuff
as full as life to grace the top of Miss Letty’s desk.

But it often happens, when one goes a-hunting, that the birds, beasts,
and fishes have engagements elsewhere. A hawk soared over toward the
river, and crows were quarrelling up in their roost in the cedars, but
the only birds that came near were a downy woodpecker, a nuthatch,
and a chickadee, and Anne’s brother would not think of even aiming at
these.

Tommy walked on in silence, a state to which he was quite a stranger,
until he began to feel that not to speak even to a dog gave one a
queer, chilly feeling; then he noticed that he had wandered out of the
beaten path, and he stopped to look about, and whistled for Waddles.
He was not afraid, for he was quite accustomed to taking care of
himself, but he was disappointed about the rabbit, and angry with
Waddles because he had gone off without finding a trail. Then he spied
a quantity of hickory nuts lying on the rocks where a squirrel had
evidently collected them, and he began to crack them with a stone, and
pick out the meats very deliberately, which showed that Tommy was tired.

Presently he heard a sound close behind that reminded him of the noise
the mother screech-owl had made when she snapped her beak. Getting
up cautiously he looked about. There, in deep shade, perched on the
gnarled root of a hickory tree that overlapped the rock, was a great
owl with a smooth, round head, blue-black eyes, and brown, barred
feathers. The bird sat still without blinking, watching a small hole
under the root. Tommy stood still, scarcely breathing, in his wonder at
the bird, hoping that it would not see him and flap in his face as the
screech-owl had in Anne’s.

Suddenly a young chipmunk, with back and tail striped like a garter
snake’s, ran out of the hole. One of the hooked claws made a grab, snap
went the beak, the little animal was secured, and the owl, spreading
its broad wings, flew into a hemlock, where it began to eat at its
leisure. Then only did Tommy remember his gun, and about his promise to
Miss Letty.

[Illustration]

“Never mind,” he said to himself; “father says owls are usefuller than
most things they eat, and that they oughtn’t to be killed, so I’m glad
I let him go; but rabbits eat lots of our garden things every year. I
must look for that bunny, because it’s here somewhere, for when Mr.
Hugh says so, it always happens.”

Tommy found his way back to the path, and met Waddles hurrying along;
he also had found poor hunting, and was now willing to follow. After
walking some distance, and having several false alarms (for when
on the watch a couple of beech leaves or a tuft of wild grass take
fanciful shapes), Tommy actually saw a pair of long ears held erect,
and a pair of bright eyes glistening around the corner of a rock just
before him. His first fear was that Waddles should see the prize and
chase it away before he had a chance to aim and cock his trigger, which
was quite a feat, the spring was so strong. For once, Waddles neither
scented nor suspected anything, but kept close to Tommy’s heels, nosing
about in the moss.

One step more, the child raised his gun, shut his eyes, and fired, and
then a reaction came, and he didn’t like to open them again, so sure he
was of having killed the pretty creature. Finally he peeped a little,
then stared, for there sat the rabbit as round-eyed and placid as
before; it had not even moved!

Tommy’s impulse to fire again was stopped by the thought that it would
be very mean to shoot such a tame animal, and that it must be some
one’s pet, though it was not Pinkie Scott’s, for everybody in Dogtown
knew her rabbits by heart, they had carried them home to her so many
times, when they had strayed off gardening on their own hook.

[Illustration: _Tommy meets the Rabbit._]

Waddles sauntered slowly forward, saw the rabbit, and making a spring,
knocked it over with one blow of his paw; but still it did not
move. Then Tommy saw that it was a stuffed beast mounted on a little
wooden platform, to which moss and dead leaves were glued. When he had
recovered from his astonishment he was ready to cry with rage. “It was
too mean of Mr. Hugh,” he muttered. “He promised--he promised, and then
he didn’t do it.” Then the exact words of the promise came to him; it
was that he was to “meet a rabbit face to face.” “I s’pose I have,” he
continued; “only he didn’t say its insides would be stuffing instead of
real.” But when he picked up his gun, which he had dropped, and looked
it over, and felt the bag which sagged his pocket, he remembered that
he had forgotten to put any shot in the gun. Then he walked along,
leaving the poor stuffed rabbit resting on one ear, wondering which
was the worst, to have shot at a real rabbit with no shot, or to have
been fooled by a stuffed one, and at the moment that he made up his
mind that the first would be the most aggravating, he turned into the
low meadow that was divided from its neighbour by the old barbed wire
fence, and from which the lane led to Robin Hood’s Inn.

A yelping of dogs sounded afar off in the rear, with straggling cries
on both sides of him and in front. Off started Waddles, quickly
disappearing in the bushes, and Tommy followed as fast as his legs
could carry him, for he heard a voice and the trampling of hoofs, and
if the run was over, it must be luncheon time.

All unknown to him the drag-hunt had split in two, deaf Mrs. Happy
being the innocent first cause. She had gone to Robin Hood’s Inn with
Anne, and had curled up contentedly in the sunny porch in company with
old Laddie, when presently an odour reached her nose that caused her to
spring up, sniff the air, and start headlong down the lane to the road,
where, on crossing the stone fence, she struck the trail of a skunk,
startled from his daytime lodging by the hounds who had recently passed
close by. Nose to ground, she gave tongue and followed the skunk, who
had zigzagged about the fences for a time before making off to another
hiding-place he had by the river. Further down, the hounds in doubling
crossed this new trail, and some of the young ones, hearing Happy’s
cry, were drawn off upon it, part of the riders following, only to come
upon impassable rocks by the river cut.

* * * * *

The barking came nearer, and Happy, Waddles, and Jack dashed past Tommy
and up the lane; at the same time he saw a riderless horse in the
outer field, and something seemed to move near the barbed wire fence
that ran between.

“It’s one of those poor hounds, and that wicked wire has caught him,”
cried Tommy, running toward the spot with his eyes flashing and his
little fists doubled up, for, like Anne, he could not bear to have
animals suffer pain.

But when he got near he saw that it was not a hound that was caught by
the wire, but Mr. Hugh! For an instant Tommy was frightened, but as
soon as he saw that his friend was not hurt, but merely held fast by
the clothes in a dozen places, the fun of the situation struck him, and
he capered about shouting, and making comments, and asking questions,
all in one breath.

“Ah, Mr. Hugh, you do look so funny! If only Anne were here with her
camera to take a picture! If you’ll wait long enough, I’ll go fetch
her, for you’re hooked up just like when Pinkie Scott reached after
lilies and fell in the pond, and they pulled her out from behind with
the hay-fork. Did the horse tumble you in like that?”

The truth was that Mr. Hugh had dismounted to let down some bars for
the people who had gone astray, and his horse, feeling fresh, galloped
off. In trying to head him off by a short cut, Mr. Hugh had met the
barbed wire fence, seen a gap between the strands, dashed at it, only
to be caught by a couple of slack wires when halfway through, in such
a position that if he let go the only hold he had upon a half rotten
post, he must fall upon a rusty coil that guarded the tumble-down stone
fence below. Barbed wire at best is cruel stuff, and when it is old and
rusty every scratch it gives means danger.

“Stop bawling so, for pity’s sake, and see if you can help me out of
this mess before the others come; try to pry the wire with a stick,”
said Mr. Hugh, in so hoarse a whisper that Tommy instantly obeyed,
or rather tried to, but the sticks at hand were either too small or
rotten, and at every twist the poor man made the hooked wire seemed to
take new hold.

At this moment the snapping of twigs and the padding sound of hoofs on
grass made Mr. Hugh give a painful writhe to look over his shoulder;
his discomfiture was complete, for there was Miss Letty.

She slipped quickly to the ground, and tethering Brown Kate to a
branch, came forward, looking, as Tommy told Anne that night in the
privacy of his little bed, “the colour you feel when you’ve waited too
long for your breakfast.”

Seeing that Mr. Hugh had not been thrown, but was merely snared,
she pulled herself together and hesitated for a moment; while he,
putting on an air of bravado which was very funny under the cramped
circumstances, said: “Yes, here I am, and having parted with my common
sense I’m taking the consequences, and you have your revenge. When all
the party have had a good look at me, I suppose some one will help me
out.”

Miss Letty did not answer though she was afraid he would hear her heart
beat it was thumping so loudly, but looking about with a swift glance
spied Tommy’s gun that had fallen unnoticed in the grass. Seizing it,
she slipped it between the two furthest apart wires, managing to catch
a barb in the muzzle, and pried, while with the handle of her riding
crop she pulled back the two loose strands with all her strength.
There was a sound of tearing cloth, a pocket burst open, throwing its
contents in among the leaves, and Mr. Hugh crawled out on his hands
and knees, literally at Miss Letty’s feet. Just as she stretched out
her hand to help him, lest he slip backward, one of the papers that
Tommy was cramming back into the letter-case caught her eye; it was the
picture of herself that Anne had taken, and which had disappeared as
if by magic. Mr. Hugh, if it was possible, turned redder than he was
before he was released; but Letty, with quiet tact, quickly unfastened
Brown Kate and, scrambling into the saddle by the aid of a stone at
the fence corner, cantered off in the opposite direction to where Mr.
Hugh’s horse was now quietly grazing.

For a minute the big man and the little one stood eying each other
curiously. Then Tommy broke the pause: “Now isn’t Miss Letty common
sensible and useful enough to be your sweetheart, Mr. Hugh, even if she
is pretty? And wouldn’t that red and black girl have shouted if she’d
seen you in the fence?”

“Yes, Tommy,” said Mr. Hugh, quietly; “you are a better judge than I
was; but Miss Letty does not wish to be the sweetheart of an old bear
like me.”

“No,” said Tommy, candidly, “I guess not, for I’ve heard her say you
were a bear, and so has Anne.” And though Tommy handed back the letter
book containing the picture without further comment, he had seen, and
when one has seen a thing, one can hardly unsee it again. Mr. Hugh
secured his horse and regained the road, Tommy riding in front of him,
before he overtook the others; and the beseeching look that the big
man gave the little one as he swung him to the ground kept him quiet
concerning the barbed wire episode, at least for some hours.

* * * * *

At the end of an afternoon spent in archery, and shooting clay pigeons,
winding up with a great game of hide and seek, in which old and young,
men and women, joined, the last one to be found receiving a prize of
the beautifully painted head of a foxhound, supper and the fire warmth
made the party good-naturedly drowsy.

Miss Varley, who won the prize, had hidden herself beyond finding by
dropping into the hollow trunk of an old chestnut tree; but the agility
that took her in did not get her out again, which was only accomplished
by a long, strong pull by two of the most muscular men of the party,
engineered by Mr. Hugh. This, however, did not count, and being much
elated and in high spirits, she gradually stirred the company into
story-telling, camp-fire fashion, with the difference that no one was
to talk for a longer time than the faggot he or she threw on the flames
should burn. This caused more than one tale to break off before the
climax, and the guessing and merriment that ensued soon made every
one wide awake again, with the exception of Tommy, who was destined to
finish the evening under the blue and white curtains of Mrs. Carr’s
ample four poster. So, as he said he had a story to tell, he was given
the next turn. Liking quick results, he picked a handful of white pine
cones from the basket instead of a stick, and as they flashed into a
juicy flame began deliberately:--

“Once there was a barbed wire fence on top of a stone wall. It ought to
have been taken down, ’cause it was rusty and wicked, but it wasn’t,
’cause somebody forgot.”--Seeing signs of agitated interest in at least
two of his audience, Tommy spoke faster--“This old fence was very
cruel indeed, and it caught things tighter than spiders and flies,
but the things were bigger. First it caught a dear little dog named
Jill, and Mrs. Carr, when she was the Herb Witch, pulled her out and
mended her. The next thing that barbed wire fence caught was bigger
and funnier--a--great--big--” “Time’s up,” called Mr. Hugh, before
Tommy could say another word, at the moment that the blaze vanished in
blackness, after the fashion of pine-cone fires; and if you said even a
single word after time was called, you must pay a fine.

However, as Anne led Tommy away, fairly stumbling with the sleep that
was in his heels if not in his head, he turned, hung back, and said
to Mr. Hugh, in a piping voice that could be heard above all the
babble, “You needn’t have looked so scared, I wasn’t going to tell
it just _zackly_ the way it was--nor about that picture Anne took
of Miss Letty--nor--” but the closing door kindly shut Tommy off,
and though the entire party suspected a joke of some kind, only one
beside the conscious pair saw through the whole affair. This was Miss
Jule, who had seen Mr. Hugh slip the photograph into his pocket that
afternoon long ago, before the sixlets were born. She had also chanced
to see from a distance the barbed wire fence episode, and for some
reason known to herself a motherly smile of content lighted her plain
features, until Letty, glancing shyly at her aunt, wondered why she had
never before thought her fine looking.

Mrs. Carr’s various combinations of apples, nuts, candles, rings,
flour, and pails of water, that go to make up Hallowe’en tricks,
produced more good-natured fun, especially when Miss Letty, after
swinging it thrice over her head, threw the apple paring over her left
shoulder, causing Anne to exclaim at the initial it made, which was
promptly eaten by Tip, who loved fruit, before any one else could
decipher it.

Then the stage and brake came up, and there was a search for wraps,
while Anne was astounded and mystified to find Miss Letty hugging
poor Happy and stuffing her with cold chicken. She had been shut up
supperless in a back passageway because she had been disobedient and
spoiled the hunt, and had also gone too near the skunk.

Mr. Hugh’s horse had been put up in Miss Jule’s stable, so he rode
that far in the brake with the others, and stopped off to get him. As
there was no reason why he should wait outside in the cold, he went in
with Miss Jule, who hurried off to make some coffee (Anna Maria having
retired), as she said, to “settle their wits, after too much supper
and too much laughter,” leaving the two standing before the hall fire,
feeling equally awkward. Colin and Hamlet, who had stayed at home,
hearing voices, came racing from the kitchen hall and greeted Letty
with an unfeigned joy that tumbled her hair down on her shoulders,
while Tip, not to be outdone, sprang upon the back of a near-by chair
and, paws on her shoulder, gave her a kiss on the tip of the nose.

“Love me, love my dog,” quoted Miss Letty, struggling with her
pets, and, after the fashion of flustered people, meaning nothing in
particular by her words.

“I do,” answered Mr. Hugh, promptly, having found himself at last.

“Ah!” was what Miss Jule said, when she returned with the coffee
fifteen minutes later.

That night Miss Letty wrote a long letter to her Aunt Marie, telling
her that she liked American customs so much that she had decided
to remain in the country. The letter also said other things which
prevented Aunt Marie from accusing Aunt Jule of unfair influence, which
was quite fortunate.

Before the week was over everybody had heard the news, and everybody
was glad, which was quite wonderful, and Tommy had the honour of being
the messenger. This office he filled most thoroughly, adding details
from time to time to entertain his hearers, that were certainly not a
part of his commission.

Presently, one rainy day, Miss Letty herself came down, as Anne said,
for a good talk, and before seating herself with the children and dogs
on the hearth rug, she pulled a round bundle from her ulster pocket
and tossed it to Anne, who exclaimed upon opening it, for out fell two
beautiful silver bands, lined with chamois, upon which letters were
engraved.

“Why, they are dog collars! Who are they for?” she exclaimed, holding
them toward the light to read the letters.

“For Mr. and Mrs. Waddles, and they are from _us_, because,--because,
you see, we think that if Happy had not mixed up the drag-hunt we might
have kept on misunderstanding and wandering around Robin Hood’s barn
always.”

“They are perfectly lovely, and too good for every day,” said Anne,
fastening one on Happy, but having to coax Waddles, who was always
suspicious of new-fangled things. “But don’t you really, truly think,
dear Miss Letty, that the poor old barbed wire fence deserves a silver
collar, too?”

CHAPTER XV

THE WEDDING

The wedding was in May, exactly a year from the day of the poison ivy
luncheon. All Dogtown was invited, and filled the gray stone church on
the hillside to overflowing, even though the dogs attended by proxy,
except in a few rare cases. Laddie was one of these, for Mrs. Carr
never went without him, and he sat quietly beside her like a little old
man, with bent head and silvery locks.

Mrs. Carr herself was resplendent in a new black cloak, and a close
silk bonnet of the bride’s making took the place of the old pointed
hood. Her gift was her precious old Lowestoft teaset. “I’ve had my
pride o’ it,” she said, when Miss Jule had remonstrated with her, “and
when I gie a gift I like it o’ gude stuff.”

Anne was maid of honour, and Tommy wept bitterly because he could not
be best man. However, he managed to be quite prominent as it was.

The day was perfect, and both the church and the quaint, low-studded
rooms at the Hilltop Farm were turned into gardens by the great sprays
and wreaths of white lilacs and dogwood with which Miss Jule and the
Happy Hall people had covered even the walls.

The dogs of all three families had been brushed, and their collars
decorated with immense bows of white ribbon; but they were carefully
locked up during the ceremony, to be ready to appear at the breakfast,
for if Waddles had gone near enough to the church to have heard the
organ play, his baying would have certainly brought the wedding march
to an untimely end.

As it was, all promised well, and as Miss Letty crossed the vine-draped
church porch, the people who watched thought that never had there been
a sweeter girl bride. On the side nearest to Anne a dimple that would
come and go, and threatened to end in a smile, broke the seriousness of
her face, and the cause of it was at first hidden by the folds of her
veil and train. It was Tip, the devoted spaniel, who, climbing out of
the window of the room where he was prisoned, had dropped first to the
porch and then the ground, and caught up with the procession just in
time to slip into the church unnoticed, except by her he was following.

[Illustration]

However, he behaved like a gentleman, and sat sedately on the top
step during the ceremony. This, together with the white bow he wore,
caused some of the village gossips, who were not invited, to say that
the whole thing was planned, and was a disgrace to the town; but wise
people know that such remarks are as much a part of a wedding as the
ring and veil.

[Illustration]

Tommy, who with his mother and father occupied one of the front pews,
crept out and drew gradually nearer to where stood the family lawyer
and friend, on whose arm the bride had entered. In another moment
he had climbed into a chancel chair that was partly concealed by a
column; from this place he had an unimpeded view. It was the first time
that the child had ever been to a wedding, and the doings had all the
fascination of entire novelty.

So when the clergyman, looking up, asked distinctly, “Who giveth this
woman to be married to this man?” Tommy shouted “Me!” without the
slightest suspicion that it was not what was expected of him, adding
indignantly to an usher who made haste to lift him down, amid the
natural ripple of laughter, “I had to, of course, ’cause she’d rather,
and now she isn’t my sweetheart any more.”

The wedding breakfast was very jolly, at least everybody said so, and
all sorts of jokes were mingled with the congratulations. The minister,
who was very bashful, astonished himself by saying that he was glad
that they had finished with all the barbed wires of life before the
wedding, and then suddenly kissed the bride, amid general applause.

The wedding cake boxes were white with initials, and a dog’s head,
Miss Jule’s crest, in silver. And the gossips had a second spasm when
they learned beyond dispute that there were souvenirs, of Miss Letty’s
invention, for all who owned dogs--small-sized Bologna sausages wrapped
in silver foil, and tied with white.

After it was all over,--and the bride had gone away, and the last shoe
been thrown, while Miss Jule was removing rice from her neck, saying to
a rather mournful relative, “Of course they will be happy, they can’t
help it, for they not only like but dislike the same things,”--Tip
appeared from upstairs with a crestfallen air, and in his mouth a white
slipper, one that his idol had just discarded, which had dropped to the
floor of her room.

Coming out on the porch, after several efforts he succeeded in
sitting upright, a trick Letty had taught him in imitation of Hamlet,
supporting his unsteady spine against the post. Then, as no Miss Letty
came to applaud him, he dropped the slipper on the step as a challenge,
and mounted guard over it until night came, when he carried it with him
to bed unchidden.

[Illustration]

* * * * *

“Mistress,” said Waddles, as he sat watching her that night while she
put away her trinkets, and brushed and braided her hair, “I wish that I
hadn’t eaten so much of that round black lumpy cheese that Miss Letty
cut with the great knife.”

“So do I,” said Anne, with a sigh; “but then, Waddlekins, you see Mr.
Hugh and Miss Letty will never be married to each other again, and
we must be willing to bear a little pain inside for the sake of our
friends!”

Then the Mayor of Dogtown and Diana his mistress slept the sleep of
wedding cake, which is heavy with dreams!

[Illustration]

Here end the Annals.

Four-Footed Americans and Their Kin

BY MABEL OSGOOD WRIGHT

Edited by FRANK M. CHAPMAN. Illustrated by ERNEST SETON-THOMPSON

Cloth. Crown 8vo. $1.50, net

“It deserves commendation for its fascinating style, and for the
fund of information which it contains regarding the familiar and
many unfamiliar animals of this country. It is an ideal book for
children, and doubtless older folk will find in its pages much of
interest.”--_The Dial._

“Books like this are cups of delight to wide-awake and inquisitive
girls and boys. Here is a gossipy history of American quadrupeds,
bright, entertaining, and thoroughly instructive. The text, by Mrs.
Wright, has all the fascination that distinguishes her other outdoor
books.”--_The Independent._

Citizen Bird

_Scenes from Bird-life in Plain English for a Beginner_

BY MABEL O. WRIGHT and DR. ELLIOTT COUES

Profusely illustrated by LOUIS AGASSIZ FUERTES

Cloth. Crown 8vo. $1.50, net

“When two writers of marked ability in both literature and natural
history write to produce a work giving scope to their special
talents, the public has reason to expect a masterpiece of its kind.
In the ‘Citizen Bird,’ by MABEL O. WRIGHT and Dr. ELLIOT COUES, this
expectation is realized--seldom is the plan of a book so admirably
conceived, and in every detail so excellently fulfilled.”--_The Dial._

“There is no other book in existence so well fitted for arousing
and directing the interest that all children feel toward the
birds.”--_Tribune_, Chicago.

Birdcraft

_A Field-Book of Two Hundred Song, Game, and Water Birds_

BY MABEL OSGOOD WRIGHT

With eighty full-page plates by _Louis Agassiz Fuertes_

“One of the best books that amateurs in the study of ornithology can
find ... direct, forcible, plain, and pleasing.”--_Chautauquan._

“Of books on birds there are many, all more or less valuable, but
‘Birdcraft,’ by MABEL O. WRIGHT, has peculiar merits that will
endear it to amateur ornithologists.... A large number of excellent
illustrations throw light on the text and help to make a book that
will arouse the delight and win the gratitude of every lover of
birds.”--_Saturday Evening Gazette_, Boston.

Tommy-Anne and the Three Hearts

BY MABEL OSGOOD WRIGHT

With many illustrations by ALBERT D. BLASHFIELD

Cloth. Crown 8vo. $1.50

“This book is calculated to interest children in nature, and grown
folks, too, will find themselves catching the author’s enthusiasm.
As for Tommy-Anne herself, she is bound to make friends wherever
she is known. The more of such books as these, the better for the
children. One Tommy-Anne is worth a whole shelf of the average juvenile
literature.”--_The Critic._

Wabeno, the Magician

_The Sequel to Tommy-Anne and the Three Hearts_

BY MABEL OSGOOD WRIGHT

Fully illustrated by _Joseph M. Gleeson_

Cloth. Crown 8vo. $1.50

“Mrs. Wright’s book teaches her young readers to use their eyes and
ears, but it does more in that it cultivates in them a genuine love for
nature and for every member of the animal kingdom. The best of the book
is that it is never dull.”--_Boston Budget._

The Dream Fox Story Book

BY MABEL OSGOOD WRIGHT

With eighty drawings by OLIVER HERFORD

Cloth. Small quarto. $1.50, net

Mrs. Wright’s new book for young people recounts the marvellous
adventures of Billy Benton, his acquaintance with the Dream Fox and the
Night Mare, and what came of it. It differs from the author’s previous
stories, as it is purely imaginative and somewhat similar to “Alice in
Wonderland.”

There are eight full-page illustrations, showing Billy at moments of
greatest interest, and also seventy drawings scattered throughout
the text. These illustrations are by Oliver Herford, who has entered
thoroughly into the spirit of the text, so that the pictures seem an
integral part of the story.

Flowers and Ferns in Their Haunts

BY MABEL OSGOOD WRIGHT

With illustrations from photographs by the author and J. HORACE
MCFARLAND

Cloth, 12mo. $2.50, net

“The reader of Mrs. Wright’s handsome volume will wend his way into a
fairy world of loveliness, and find not only serious wildwood lore, but
poetry also, and sentiment and pictures of the pen that will stay with
him through winter days of snow and ice.... A careful and interesting
companion, its many illustrations being particularly useful.”--_New York
Tribune._

“There is no question that this is a book in which you must be examined
before you are fit to pass into the country.”--_New York Sun._

“The illustrations are altogether worthy of the text ... a series of
exquisite pictures of flowers and ferns.”--_London Daily News._

The Friendship of Nature

_A New England Chronicle of Birds and Flowers_

BY MABEL OSGOOD WRIGHT

18mo. Cloth, 75 cts. Large Paper, $3.00

“A dainty little volume, exhaling the perfume and radiating the hues
of both cultivated and wild flowers, echoing the songs of birds, and
illustrated with exquisite pen pictures of bits of garden, field, and
woodland scenery. The author is an intimate of nature. She relishes its
beauties with the keenest delight, and describes them with a musical
flow of language that carries us along from a ‘May Day’ to a ‘Winter
Mood’ in a thoroughly sustained effort; and as we drift with the
current of her fancy and her tribute to nature, we gather much that is
informatory, for she has made a close study of the habits of birds and
the legendry of flowers.”--_Richmond Dispatch._

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

Several of the page numbers in the original list of illustrations
are incorrect. Page numbers have been updated to reflect the correct
page numbers for this eBook.

*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Dogtown - Being Some Chapters from the Annals of the Waddles Family - Set Down in the Language of Housepeople" ***

Home