Several years ago the beautiful Shenandoah valley in West Virginia was
the scene of a great freshet. The river overflowed its banks, and the
usually placid stream became a mighty torrent, rushing along with
frightful velocity, carrying away houses, barns and cattle. Buildings
were washed from their foundations by the resistless current, and sent
whirling down the stream with the terrified occupants clinging to the
roofs. They had not had timely warning, and many perished, while whole
flocks of sheep, and hundreds of cows, horses and oxen were drowned.
The writer visited the valley several years afterward, and could see
articles of clothing and even furniture still lodged in the branches
of trees, they had been caught and lodged by the receding waters,
twenty feet from the ground.
During this visit a most interesting story was told of a poor little
kitten who lost home and friends, and was carried by the surging flood
far away to find a new home and a genuine lover. It is a true romance
of the flood, and it has never been told in print so far. For all
gentle lovers of animals, this beautiful romance of Woggy and Waif is
given to the world.
In this beautiful valley there lived a lovely family, consisting of
father, mother and two children. Edwin was a tall and manly lad of
sixteen, and Florence was one year younger. They were children of
refined and cultivated parents, and the members of this little home
circle displayed such charming affection and thoughtfulness in their
intercourse with each other, that it was beautiful to behold. Edwin
was passionately fond of out-of-door sports, and Florence had deep
love for all that was beautiful and interesting in nature. She loved
animals, birds and flowers, and it was her delight to ramble with her
brother through the woods, gathering the modest wild flowers, or the
delicate maiden hair ferns. She took great delight in pets of all
kinds, and had numerous rabbits, birds and squirrels that her brother
had trapped; she made them all love her; even the tiniest bird or
animal can appreciate tenderness and kindness; and Florence's pure
little heart was overflowing with love and kindness toward all God's
dumb creatures.
The constant companion of the brother and sister in their rambles was
a very frolicsome and handsome dog, which was so remarkable for
sagacity and intelligence, that he was known through all the
countryside; he was devoted to his young mistress, and, though he was
not a very large animal; he had enough of the Shepherd's breed in him
to make him very fierce and courageous in her defense whenever she
seemed to need it.
At the time of the great freshet, a homeless family, whose house had
been swept away by the flood, had been harbored at Florence's home.
Her time and mind was fully occupied by her additional home duties,
which to her gentle nature, were labors of love, even if the
overflowed valley had prevented her accustomed excursions; but not so
with Woggy, he had no duties to keep him, and no wet ground or body of
water could keep him from taking his usual runs about the country. For
several days after the great flood, he was noticed to leave the house
regularly in the morning and not return until evening. This was
something unusual; generally his runs were finished in one or two
hours; but when he was observed one day to take in his mouth the best
part of his breakfast and trot off with it, Edwin's curiosity was
excited, and he resolved to unravel the mystery of Woggy's regular
absences; he followed his tracks over the wet ground for nearly two
miles, until he came to a good sized pond left by the receding waters
in a hollow near the river. The first thing that attracted his
attention was a partially submerged fir tree near the center of the
ford, and lodged against it was a chicken coop. Were there chickens in
it, do you ask? No; if there had been when the angry waves picked it
up there were none now, but instead, the sweetest little _kitten_ you
ever saw; and crouched down on the trunk of the tree, with his
aristocratic paws resting on the end of the coop, was the mysterious
Woggy, gravely contemplating the kitten, as it minced at the food the
generous dog had brought it. How proud Edwin felt of Woggy as he
looked and understood the scene. How Woggy, in his solitary rambles,
must have discovered the forlorn kitten, who had been suddenly torn
from her home, far up the valley perhaps, and borne, half drowned and
thoroughly frightened, on the rushing torrent, until her box, in which
the rising waters had found her taking her afternoon nap, had lodged
against the tree. Edwin wanted to rescue her, and take her home. This
was his first impulse, but how? The pond was wide and deep, and he had
no boat, nor any other means of reaching her; so he decided to wait
until the water got lower, until he could devise some plan. He
returned home in great amazement, and told the story of Woggy's
wonderful doings. Florence was all excitement and sympathy in a
moment, and wanted to go at once but could not. But what a delicious
hugging and petting Woggy got when he returned home that night. When
Edwin found them, the kitten was snuggled up as close to her brute
protector as the slats would allow; she would put her tongue through
and lick his paws, which process seemed to give him the liveliest
satisfaction. Edwin whistled to him to come home with him, but he only
wagged his bushy tail and looked at his frail charge as much as to
say, "I can't go just now." Just think of the idea of protection
entering the head of a dog! but it did. Some animals seem almost to
reason. We all know a perfect horror of water all cats have, they will
not go into water voluntarily. This poor little thing, surrounded by
water, must have died of starvation had not kind-hearted Woggy found
and cared for her.
The next day, Edwin, provided with a long board and other means of
rescuing the distressed stranger, started for the pond. Just as he
left the house, with Florence calling out from the porch some parting
injunctions of carefulness, what was their astonishment to see Woggy
coming along the road with the kitten in his mouth; the sagacious dog
had evidently thought that his keepless little charge needed more care
than he could give her, and brought her unharmed to his mistress. When
he had deposited the kitten at her feet, he looked up in her eyes as
though he wanted to tell her something, and he really looked as if he
could almost talk. When Florence took up the pretty thing she
exclaimed, "You poor little waif! Where did you come from?" The little
waif could not tell, but looked as if she wanted to. She was pure
white in color, with a water-stained ribbon and tiny silver bell
around her neck. Edwin said she should be called Waif, and Waif she
was ever after called in that house.
"MAY I GO WITH YOU?"
"May I go with you, Auntie?"
"No, Jo, I do not wish for any company this morning; here's a kiss,
and you may feed my poodle if you like." So saying, Aunt Millie, who
was spending her vacation at the farm, tied on her garden hat, and
sallied forth for a walk, leaving behind her a very disappointed
little swain, for Jo generally accompanied her in her rambles, and he
and Aunt Millie were sworn allies. Lately she had run off several
times without him, and he certainly felt quite disconsolate to-day.
But he could not doubt her love and goodness, so he whistled away his
blues.
[Illustration: {PORTRAIT OF A CHILD.}]
Jo was only five years old, and it is no wonder he soon forgot his
grievances. About lunch-time he thought he would go down in the
meadow, to see if the first strawberries were ripening, as he intended
them for mamma's birthday.
Threading his way carefully through the tall grass and nodding
daisies, he suddenly came upon the queerest looking "machine"--as he
called it--in front of which sat Auntie.
"Why, Jo!"
"Aunt Millie, what _are_ you doing?" as he caught sight of a
photograph of himself, and a large copy on the easel.
"I am crayoning--and" (this last a trifle averse) "I _had_ intended it
as a surprise for mamma, to-morrow."
The big blue eyes raised to hers had a suspicion of tears in them--she
bent down quickly and gathered the little fellow in her arms.
"Never mind, pet! I was a bit vexed, that you had discovered my
secret."
"Is it a _secret_?" in an awed tone; "well, I'll _keep_ it."
"Do you think you really can, Jo?"
"Yes," he said; "and _you_ can keep my strawberries," forgetting he
had told her a dozen times before.
"Well, I'll trust you."
Would you believe it, the child _did_ keep his word, although burning
many times to tell; and he succeeded in surprising Aunt Millie, as
much as he did mamma.