"The exuberance of great `Oscar's' joy when out with his master for a
walk was very comical to witness. Out for a _walk_ did I say? Nay,
that word but poorly expresses the nature of Oscar's pedal progression.
It was not a walk, but a glorious compound of dance, scamper, race,
gallop, and gambol. Had you been ever so old it would have made you
feel young again to behold him. He knew while Allan was dressing that
he meant to go out, and began at once to exhibit signs of impatience.
He would yawn and stretch himself, and wriggle and shake; then he would
open his mouth, and try to round a sentence in real verbal English, and
tailing in this, fall back upon dog language, pure and simple, or he
would stand looking at Allan with his beautiful head turned on one side,
and his mouth a little open, just sufficiently so to show the tip of his
bright pink tongue, and his brown eyes would speak to his master.
`Couldn't you,' the dog would seem to ask--`couldn't you get on your
coat a little--oh, _ever_ so little--faster? What can you want with a
muffler? _I_ don't wear a muffler. And now you are looking for your
fur cap, and there it is right before your very eyes!'
"`And,' the dog would add, `I daresay we are off at last,' and he would
hardly give his master time to open the companion door for him.
"But once over the side, `Hurrah!' he would seem to say, then away he
would bound, and away, and away, and away, straight ahead as crow could
fly, through the snow and through the snow, which rose around him in
feathery clouds, till he appeared but a little dark speck in the
distance. This race straight ahead was meant to get rid of his
super-extra steam. Having expended this, back he would come with a
rush, and a run, make pretence to jump his master down, but dive past
him at the last moment. Then he would gambol in front of his master in
such a daft and comical fashion that made Allan laugh aloud; and, seeing
his master laughing, Oscar would laugh too, showing such a double
regiment of white, flashing, pearly teeth, that, with the quickness of
the dog's motions, they seemed to begin at his lips and go right away
down both sides of him as far as the tail.
"Hurroosh! hurroosh! Each exclamation, reader, is meant to represent a
kind of a double-somersault, which I verily believe Oscar invented
himself. He performed it by leaping off the ground, bending sideways,
and going right round like a top, without touching the snow, with a
spring like that of a five-year-old salmon getting over a weir.
"Hurroosh! hurroosh!
"Then Allan would make a grab at his tail.
"`Oh, that's your game!' Oscar would say; `then down _you_ go!'
"And down Allan would roll, half buried in the powdery snow, and not be
able to get up again for laughing; then away Oscar would rush wildly
round and round in a complete circle, having a radius of some fifty
yards, with Allan McGregor on his broad back for a centre."
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Theodore Nero was as full of sauciness and _chique_ as ever was an Eton
boy home for the holidays, or a midshipman on shore for a cruise. The
following anecdote will illustrate his merry sauciness and Aileen's
good-natured simplicity at the same time.
Nero was much quicker in all his motions than Aileen, so that although
she never failed to run after my walking-stick, she was never quick
enough to find first. Now one day in throwing my stick it fell among a
bed of nettles. Nero sprang after it as light as a cork, and brought it
out; but having done so, he was fain to put it down on the road till he
should rub his nose and sneeze, for the nettles had stung him in a
tender part. To see what he would do, I threw the stick again among the
nettles. But mark the slyness of the dog: he pretended not to see where
it had fallen, and to look for it in quite another place, until poor
simple Aileen had found it and fetched it. As soon as she got on to the
road she must needs put down the stick to rub her nose, when, laughing
all over, he bounded on it and brought it back to me. I repeated the
experiment several times, with precisely the same result. Aileen was
too simple and too good-natured to refuse to fetch the stick from the
nettle-bed.
About five minutes afterwards the fun was over. Nero happened to look
at Aileen, who had stopped once more to rub her still stinging nose.
Then the whole humour of the joke seemed to burst upon his imagination.
Simply to smile was not enough; he must needs burst through a hedge, and
get into a field, and it took ten minutes good racing round and round,
as hard as his four legs could carry him, to restore this saucy rascal's
mental equilibrium.
Aileen Aroon was as fond of the lower animals, pet mice, cats, and rats,
as any dog could be. Our pet rats used to eat out of her dish, run all
over her, sit on her head while washing their faces, and go asleep under
her chin.
I saw her one day looking quite unhappy. She wanted to get up from the
place where she was lying, but two piebald rats had gone to sleep in the
bend of her forearm, and she was afraid to move, either for fear of
hurting the little pets or of offending me.
Seeing the situation, I at once took the rats away and put them in the
cage; then Aileen got up, made a low and grateful bow, and walked out.
The following is the life-story of one of Aileen's especial
favourites:--
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"FAIRY MARY."
My Mary is a rat. It is just as well to state this much at the outset.
Candour, indeed, necessitates my doing so, because I know the very name
of "rat" carries with it feelings which are far from pleasing to many.
And now, having broken the ice, I may tell you that Mary is not an
ordinary black or brown rat, but a rat of high, high caste indeed,
having come from a far-away Oriental clime--Java, to wit. If you had
never seen one of the same breed before, you would hardly take Mary to
be a rat at all. Children are exceedingly fond of her; gentlemen admire
her; old ladies dote on her, and young ones love her. I think even my
black tom-cat is especially fond of her, judging from the notice he
takes of her; he will sit for hours, and hardly ever take his green eyes
off her cage.
Black Tom once paid Mary a domiciliary visit, by way of appearing
neighbourly. It was a grand spring, but missed by an inch, so Tom
returned, looking inglorious.
Having so far introduced my Mary, and confident you will like her better
as you read on, let me try to describe the winsome wee thing. Mary--my
rodent, let me call her--is smaller than a rat, and not quite the same
in shape, for Mary's symmetry is elegance itself. Her eyes round,
protrusive, but loving withal, are living burning garnets--garnets that
speak. Her whole body is covered with long snowy fur, far richer than
the finest ermine, and with an almost imperceptible golden tint at the
tips, this tint being only seen in certain lights. Her tail is perhaps
one of her principal points of beauty--long, sweeping, and graceful; she
positively seems to talk with it. The forearms are very short and
delicate, the hind-legs strong and muscular. Sitting on one end is
Mary's almost constant position--kangaroo-like; then she holds up her
little hands beseechingly before her. These latter are almost human in
shape, and when she gives you her delicate, cold, transparent paw, you
might easily fancy you were shaking hands with a fairy; and thus she is
often called "Fairy Mary." Mary's hands are bare and pink, and the
wrists are covered with very short downy fur, after which the coat
suddenly elongates, so much so, that when she stands on end to watch a
fly on the ceiling, you would imagine she wore a gown tight at the
wrist, and with drooping sleeves.
Now Mary is not only beautiful, but she is winning and graceful as well,
for every one says so who sees her. And in under her soft fur Mary's
skin is as clean and white and pure as mother-of-pearl. It only remains
to say of this little pet, that in all her ways and manners she is as
cleanly as the best-bred Persian cat, and her fur has not the faintest
odour, musky or otherwise.
Fairy Mary was originally one of three which came to me as a present.
Alas for the fate of Mary's twin sister and only brother! A vagrant cat
one evening in summer, while I was absent, entered by the open window,
broke into the cage, and Mary alone was left alive. For a long time
after this Mary was missing. She was seen at times, of an evening,
flitting ghost-like across the kitchen floor, but she persistently
refused to return to her desolated cage-home. She much preferred
leading a free and easy vagrant kind of life between the cellar, the
pantry, and the kitchen. She came out at times, however, and took her
food when she thought nobody was looking, and she was known to have
taken up her abode in one corner of the pantry, where once a mouse had
lived. When she took this new house, I suppose she found it hardly
large enough for her needs, because she speedily took to cleaning it
out, and judging from the shovelfuls of rags, paper, shavings, and
litter of all sorts, very industrious indeed must have been the lives of
the "wee, tim'rous, cowerin' beasties" who formerly lived there. Then
Mary built unto herself a new home in that sweet retirement, and very
happy she seemed to be.
Not happening to possess a cat just then, the mice had it all their own
way; they increased and multiplied, if they didn't replenish the
kitchen, and Mary reigned among them--a Bohemian princess, a gipsy
queen. I used to leave a lamp burning in the kitchen on purpose to
watch their antics, and before going to bed, and when all the house was
still, I used to go and peep carefully through a little hole in the
door. And there Fairy Mary would be, sure enough, racing round and
round the kitchen like a mad thing, chased by at least a dozen mice, and
every one of them squeaking with glee. But if I did but laugh--which,
for the life of me, I could not sometimes help--off bolted the mice,
leaving Fairy Mary to do an attitude wherever she might be. Then Mary
would sniff the air, and listen, and so, scenting danger, hop off,
kangaroo fashion, to her home in the pantry corner.
It really did seem a pity to break up this pleasant existence of Mary's,
but it had to be done. Mice eat so much, and destroy more. My mice,
with Mary at their head, were perfect sappers and miners. They thought
nothing of gutting a loaf one night, and holding a ball in it the next.
So, eventually, Mary was captured, and once more confined to her cage,
which she insisted upon having hung up in our sitting-room, where she
could see all that went on. Here she never attempted, even once, to
nibble her cage, but if hung out in the kitchen nothing could keep her
in.
At this stage of her existence, the arrangements for Mary's comfort were
as follows: she dwelt in a nice roomy cage, with two perches in it,
which she very much enjoyed. She had a glass dish for her food, and
another for her milk, and the floor of the cage was covered with pine
shavings, regularly changed once in two days, and among which Mary built
her nest.
Now, Fairy Mary has a very strong resemblance to a miniature polar bear,
that is, she has all the motions of one, and does all his attitudes--in
fact, acts the part of Bruin to perfection. This first gave me the
notion--which I can highly recommend to the reader--of making Mary not
only amusing, but ornamental to our sitting-room as well, for it must be
confessed that a plain wooden cage in one's room is neither graceful nor
pretty, however lovely the inmate may be. And here is how I managed it.
At the back of our sitting-room is the kitchen, the two apartments
being separated by a brick wall. Right through this wall a hole or
tunnel was drilled big enough for Mary to run through with ease. The
kitchen end of this tunnel was closed by means of a little door, which
was so constructed that by merely touching an unseen spring in the
sitting-room, it could be opened at will. Against the kitchen end of
the tunnel a cage for Mary was hung. This was to be her dining-room,
her nest, and sleeping-berth. Now, for the sitting-room end of the
tunnel, I had a painting made on a sheet of glass, over two feet long by
eighteen inches high. The scene represented is from a sketch in North
Greenland, which I myself had made, a scene in the frozen sea--the usual
blue sky which you always find over the ice, an expanse of snow, a bear
in the distance, and a ship frozen in and lying nearly on her beam ends.
A dreary enough look-out, in all conscience, but true to nature.
There was a hole cut in the lower end of this glass picture, to match
the diameter of the tunnel, and the picture was then fastened close
against the wall. So far you will have followed me. The next thing was
to frame this glass picture in a kind of cage, nine inches deep; the
peculiarity of this cage being, that the front of it was a sheet of
clear white glass, the sides only being of brass wire; the floor and top
were of wood, the former being painted white, like the snow, and the
latter blue, to form a continuation of the sky; a few imitation icebergs
were glued on here and there, and one of these completely hides the
entrance to the tunnel, forming a kind of rude cave--Fairy Mary's cave.
In the centre of this cage was raised a small bear's pole steps and all
complete. We call it the North Pole. The whole forms a very pretty
ornament indeed, especially when Mary is acting on this little Greenland
stage.
Mary knows her name, and never fails to come to call, and indeed she
knows a very great deal that is said to her. Whenever she pops through
her tunnel, the little door at the kitchen end closes behind her, and
she is a prisoner in Greenland until I choose to send her off. If she
is in her kitchen cage, and I wish her to come north, and disport
herself to the amusement of myself or friends--one touch to the spring,
one cabalistic word, and there comes the little performer, all alive and
full of fun.
Now I wish the reader to remember that Fairy Mary is not only the very
essence of cleanliness, but the pink of politeness as well. Hence, Mary
is sometimes permitted to come to table. And Mary is an honest rat.
She has been taught to look at everything, but handle nothing.
Therefore there cannot be the slightest possible objection to her either
sitting on my shoulder on one end, and gazing wonderingly around her, or
examining my ear, or making a nest of my beard, or running down my arm,
and having a dance over the tablecloth. I think I said Mary was an
honest rat, but she has just one tiny failing in the way of honesty,
which, as her biographer, I am bound to mention. She can't quite resist
the temptation of a bit of butter. But she helps herself to just one
little handful, and does it, too, with such a graceful air, that, for
the life of me, I couldn't be angry with her.
Well, except a morsel of butter, Mary will touch nothing on the table,
nor will she take anything from your hand, if you offer it to her ever
so coaxingly. She prefers to eat her meals in Greenland, or on the
North Pole itself.
Mary's tastes as regards food are various. She is partial to a bit of
cheese, but would not touch bacon for the world. This is rather
strange, because it was exactly the other way with her brother and
sister.
The great treat of the twenty-four hours with Mary is to get down in the
evening, when the lamps are lighted, to have a scamper on the table.
Her cage is brought in from the kitchen, and set down, and the door of
it thrown open. This cage thus becomes Mary's harbour of refuge, from
which she can sally forth and play tricks. Anything you place on the
table is seized forthwith, and carried inside. She will carry an apple
nearly as big as herself, and there will not be much of it left in the
morning; for one of Mary's chief delights is to have a little feast all
to herself, when the lights are out. Lettuce leaves she is partial to,
and will carry them to her cage as fast as you can throw them down to
her. She rummages the work-basket, and hops off with every thimble she
can find.
After Fairy Mary's private establishment was broken up in the kitchen,
it became necessary to clean up the corner of the pantry where she had
dwelt. Then was Mary's frugality and prudence as a housewife made clear
to the light of day I could hardly be supposed to tell you everything
she had stored up, but I remember there were crusts of bread, bits of
cheese, lumps of dog-biscuit, halves of apples, small potatoes, and
crumbs of sugar, and candle ends, and bones and herrings' heads, besides
one pair of gold sleeve-links, an odd shirt-stud, a glass stopper from a
scent-bottle, brass buttons, and, to crown the lot, one silver
threepenny-piece of the sterling coin of the realm.
And that is the story of my rat; and I'm sure if you knew her you, too,
would like her. She is such a funny, wee, sweet little _mite_ of a
Mary.
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Note 1. "The Cruise of the _Snowbird_" published by Messrs. Hodder and
Stoughton, Paternoster Row.