"Reason raise o'er instinct as you can--
In this 'tis Heaven directs, in that 'tis man."
If ever two days passed by without my seeing the portly form of my
friend Captain D--, that is Frank, heaving in sight about twelve o'clock
noon, round the corner of the road that led towards our cottage, then I
at once concluded that Frank either had the gout or was gardening, and
whether it were the fit of the gout or merely a fit of gardening, I felt
it incumbent upon me to walk over to his house, a distance of little
more than two miles, and see him.
Welcome? Yes; I never saw the man yet who could give one a heartier
welcome than poor Frank did. He was passionately fond of my two dogs,
Nero and Aileen Aroon, and the love was mutual.
But Frank had a dog of his own, "Meg Merrilees" to name, a beautiful and
kind-hearted Scotch collie. Most jealous though she was of her master's
affections, she never begrudged the pat and the caress Nero and Aileen
had, and, indeed, she used to bound across the lawn to meet and be the
first to welcome the three of us.
On the occasion of my visits to Frank, I always stopped and dined with
him, spending the evening in merry chatter, and tales of "auld lang
syne," until it was time for me to start off on the return journey.
When I had written anything for the magazines during the day, I made a
practice of taking it with me, and reading over the manuscript to my
friend, and a most attentive and amused listener he used to be. The
following is a little _jeu d'esprit_ which I insert here, for no other
reason in the world than that Frank liked it, so I think there _must_ be
a little, _little_ bit of humour in it. It is, as will be readily seen,
a kind of burlesque upon the show-points and properties of the
Skye-terrier. I called the sketch--
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"THAT SKYE-TERRIER."--A BURLESQUE.
"He's a good bred 'un, sir." This is the somewhat unclassical English
with which "Wasp's" Yorkshire master introduced the puppy to me as he
consigned it to my care, in return for which I crossed his hand five
times with yellow gold. "And," he added, "he's a game 'un besides."
I knew the former of these statements was quite correct from young
Wasp's pedigree, and of the latter I was so convinced, before a week was
over, that I consented to sell him to a parson for the same money I gave
for him--and glad enough to get rid of him even then. At this time the
youthful Wasp was a mere bundle of black fluff, with wicked blue eyes,
and flashing teeth of unusually piercing properties. He dwelt in a
distant corner of the parson's kitchen, in a little square basket or
creel, and a servant was told off to attend upon him; and, indeed, that
servant had about enough to do. Wasp seemed to know that Annie was his
own particular "slavey," and insisted on her being constantly within
hail of him. If she dared to go upstairs, or even to attend the
door-bell, Wasp let all the house hear of it, and the poor good-natured
girl was glad to run back for peace' sake. Another thing he insisted on
was being conveyed, basket and all, to Annie's bedroom when she retired
for the night. He also intimated to her that he preferred eating the
first of his breakfasts at three o'clock every morning sharp, upon pain
of waking the parson; his second at four; third at five, and so on until
further notice.