HIPPITY-HOP
The loving care given Jan by the captain for eight months made him well
and happy, and above all brought back his lost faith in people, so that
he became the gentle, affectionate dog that he used to be before he knew
what cruelty meant.
One of Jan's ancestors had been a Newfoundland dog. These are very large
dogs with long, silky black and white hair. Though not so large as the
St. Bernards, they resemble them in build and show the same
intelligence, loyalty, and kind disposition. Newfoundland dogs are
wonderful swimmers and do not have to be trained to go out and rescue
people who are drowning. So it was very natural for Prince Jan to enjoy
swimming.
The old poundmaster and Jan walked on the beach nearly every day, and if
the dog saw a bit of driftwood near the shore, he would swim out and
get it. His master then put the wood in a basket so it could be taken
home to burn in the fireplace on cool nights. Often when Jan was alone
on the beach and spied floating wood, he dashed through the surf for it,
and, if it were not too heavy, dragged it to the bungalow. Whenever he
did this, he was petted and praised by the old man. Then Jan felt very
proud because he was helping his master.
One day as he wandered alone on the shore he saw a lot of wood floating
on the waves. Though it was quite a distance he did not hesitate to
plunge after it. The salt water splashed over his head; sometimes he was
completely under big waves, and once a high curling breaker caught and
turned him over and over, while his legs stuck up from the peak of the
wave, but Jan thought it all great sport. He shook his big head so that
his long ears flapped, and his strong paws sent him into deeper water
where the waves rolled in long lines but did not curl up and break so
roughly as nearer the shore.
The boards were fastened together, and Jan saw this was a much harder
task than he had ever attempted before. He grabbed the edge of a plank
in his powerful jaws and twisting sharply, struck back, for land.
Several times the force of the water and the weight of the little raft
made him let go, but each time he caught the driftwood and fought his
way toward the beach. Land was still quite distant when he heard a faint
noise, and then he saw that a tiny grey kitten was clinging to the
boards.
"Hold on," called Jan, but the kitten did not seem to hear him. It lay
perfectly still.
He tried to swim faster, fearing the waves might wash the little
creature off, for at times the water covered the raft and Jan's head,
too. He gained the shore and dragged the wreckage far back to safety.
Jan sniffed at the kitten. Its eyes were shut and it did not move. He
knew that most cats are afraid of dogs, so he went off a little way and
sat down, waiting patiently for it to wake up.
After many minutes Jan went over and pushed it gently with his nose. It
did not stir. Then he sat down and looked at it thoughtfully,
remembering that when the dogs of the Hospice found a traveller in the
snow whom they could not waken, they hurried for help. His mother and
Bruno had told him that, and Jan had never forgotten those lessons, nor
the days he and Rollo had been trained by Brother Antoine.
His tongue licked the wet fur, but the kitten's eyes stayed shut. Jan
lifted his head, gave a loud bark and raced away through the sand,
kicking it with his fast-flying feet so that it formed tiny, yellow
clouds.
Into the little sitting-room he rushed, leaving a damp trail across the
floor. The captain looked up in surprise and stopped lighting his pipe
when the dog, dripping wet, stood in front of him and barked loudly.
"What's the matter, Jan?" he questioned. "I never saw you so fussed up!
And you're dripping wet, too!"
Jan danced around, barking, then dashed to the gate but there he stopped
and looked back, wagging his tail.
"Do you want me to go with you?" asked the old man, rising slowly.
The dog leaped against the gate, shoving it open, then ran ahead, only
to return and bark again.
"All right," the poundmaster picked up his cap, and when he followed,
Jan's delight could not have been misunderstood by any one.
"Woof! Woof!" he kept shouting back, and in dog-talk that meant,
"Hurry! Hurry!"
And Captain Smith did hurry as fast as he could, but Jan reached the
driftwood long before the old man. The kitten was in the same place,
just as he had left it.
"Why, it's a kitten!" cried Jan's master, as he, too, reached the spot.
"Poor little thing!"
He stooped down and picked up the tiny, limp body. "I think it's dead,
Jan, but you did your best to save it. Didn't you?"
The dog watched intently, his tail waved slowly and his nose touched the
hand that was gently rubbing the wet fur. Then, without any warning, the
kitten's eyes opened and blinked and it uttered a faint mew.
"Well! I declare, it's alive after all!" the captain exclaimed. "It must
have been washed ashore from some wrecked boat, judging from that
driftwood raft. Looks most starved to death, Jan. If there's any truth
that cats have nine lives, this little thing must have used up a good
many of its lives getting to land. Come along, Jan! We'll try to save
what's left, anyway."
The dog scampered toward the bungalow, running back at times to leap
about the old man. Jan was so happy that he had saved the poor little
thing. It was only a little, grey kitten, and at the Hospice, of course,
the dogs saved people; but that was in a place where there was snow.
When they all reached the kitchen, Jan crowded against the captain, who
rubbed the shivering little cat with an old towel. Then it was placed on
the floor with a saucer of milk. As the milk disappeared, the dog in his
delight, moved closer, but the frightened animal humped up its back,
fuzzed its thin tail and spit at him.
Of course, it did not know that Jan had saved its life, or that he did
not want to hurt it, now. He moved away and sat down quietly to watch
it. The saucer was filled with milk a second time, and the kitten's
tongue lapped as fast as it could go. Its sides bulged out from its
scrawny body when it had emptied the saucer and moved across the room.
"You poor little thing!" cried the old man, picking it up gently. "It's
only got three legs, Jan!"
The poundmaster fixed his glasses and examined a hind leg which had no
foot. "I guess it was born that way," he spoke. "Must have been taken
on some boat as a mascot. Well, it doesn't matter what has happened to
it, just so it's comfortable now, Jan!"
The kitten went back to the empty saucer, and sniffed at it, then with a
funny little hop and jump, it came back and rubbed, purring, against the
old man's leg, but it kept a sharp watch on the big dog.
"We'll call it Hippity-Hop," decided Captain Smith, and as neither the
kitten nor Jan suggested a better name, that settled it.
Hippity-Hop was really quite a nice little kitten, even if she did not
have as many legs as most cats have. Her fur was dark grey, a white
breast and ring around her neck looked as though she had put on a clean
shirt and collar, while every one of her three paws was snow-white, like
nice white gloves. She spent a great deal of her time washing her fur
with her tongue.
For many days Hippity-Hop was afraid of Jan, who was big enough to
swallow her at one gulp; but when she learned that he stood back and let
her eat first from his dish, although she had just cleaned her own
plate, she lost her fear and grew to love him. Each night after supper
she crawled between his paws and went to sleep, while he lay very
still, that he might not waken his little friend.
Jan was very sure that Hippity-Hop was the nicest little kitten in the
world, after she had learned one thing:
When first she went to live with the captain and Jan and had seen
Cheepsie walking around on the floor, Hippity-Hop's green eyes
glistened. Then her claws reached out from the fur that hid them and her
tail twitched and jerked as she crouched to spring on the little yellow
bird that was paying no attention to the kitten. But, just as she was
ready to jump, there was a terrible roar behind her and she was grabbed
by Jan's big jaws.
Hippity-Hop gave a yowl of fear, and twisted to scratch Jan's eyes, but
he gripped her firmly, though his teeth did not hurt her. Captain Smith,
hearing the commotion ran into the room and understood at once what had
happened. He took the kitten from Jan, and though Hippity-Hop spit and
scratched and yowled, the old man dipped her several times in a tub of
water. Cats hate water, and Hippity-Hop hated water more than most
cats, for it made her think of the time she had been almost drowned in
the ocean.
"You've got to learn to be kind to Cheepsie, or else you can't live here
with us," the old man said as he set the kitten on the porch floor.
The kitten began to lick her wet fur, but she was badly frightened and
very sure that if Jan did not eat her up, the captain would put her back
in the ocean again. So she resolved never to bother Cheepsie after that
one time.
The bird seemed to understand, too, for it was not long after this that
Hippity-Hop, Jan and Cheepsie ate out of the same dish. At times the
bird would perch on the dog's head and sing to them all. Jan always sat
as still as he could, until the song ended and Cheepsie had flown over
to the captain's shoulder. Often the old man took his violin from the
corner, and as he played he whistled or sang in a quavering voice, Jan's
tail beat time on the floor, Hippity-Hop joined with a song of her own,
though it was only a loud purr, while Cheepsie, perched on their loved
master's shoulder, sang and trilled as loudly as he could, trying to
make more music than the bird that lived in the violin.
"It's a fine old world, Jan!" the poundmaster would say, as he put the
violin away in its box.
Then Hippity-Hop and Jan knew it was time for bed, and Cheepsie hurried
to his cage and tucked his little head under his yellow wing.