It is hard to remember just when we first began to talk Florida. Then a
neighbor went down there on a prospecting tour, and returned bringing
enthusiastic accounts of the climate and opportunities. We were greatly
interested, and at once sent off for various Florida papers, pamphlets,
and books.
Julius had always dreaded the bleak northern winters, having some
chronic troubles,--a legacy of the Civil War. It is only in literature
that a delicate man is interesting; practically, it subjects him to
endless trials and humiliations, so we never gave his state of health as
a reason for the proposed change. Instead, we flourished my tender
throat. A woman may be an invalid without loss of prestige, so not one
of our friends suspected that our proposed change of climate was not
solely on my account.
We decided that as soon as our northern property could be disposed of,
we would turn our faces southward and try pioneering.
Some children in a neighboring family had formed an enthusiastic
friendship with Bruno, and as soon as our plans were announced, their
parents asked us to give him to them when we were ready to start South.
In spite of our former experience in giving him away, this seemed
entirely feasible to us.
In the first place, we thought it would be utterly impossible to take
him with us to Florida. Then he was really and truly attached to the
children who wanted him; so we readily consented; and we encouraged them
to monopolize him as much as possible, so that we might see him
comfortably settled before we started. They lived next door to us, and
Bruno was always ready to join them in a game of romps. He even ate from
their hands. It seemed a perfect arrangement.
Our pretty little home was soon sold and dismantled, and we went to
board in another part of town while preparing for the long journey,
which then seemed almost as difficult as a trip to the moon. We locked
up the empty house and slipped away to our boarding-place, while Bruno,
all unconscious of what was going on, was barking and tearing about in a
game of tag on the other side of our neighbor's large grounds.
Old Aunt Nancy, a colored woman who had belonged to one of my aunts
before the war, and who had been our stand-by in domestic emergencies,
had taken Rebecca and her family, promising them "Jes' as good a home as
I can gib'm, Miss Judith." It was a sad breaking up, but we felt that
our pets were well provided for, and that we should feel worse for
leaving them than they would at being left.
Vain thought!
Two evenings after leaving our home, while I was busy in our room,
making ready to begin packing, I heard Julius's step on the stairs,
accompanied by a familiar clatter that made my heart stand still. The
door burst open, and, before I could rise from my kneeling position,
surrounded by piles of folded things, I was knocked over sideways by a
rapturous onslaught from Bruno.
"What does this mean!" I exclaimed, as soon as I could speak.
"I don't know," answered Julius. "I found him waiting for me at the
office door when I came out. He seemed half wild with delight at seeing
me again. I rather think it is a repetition of the Nimrod experiment."
"Poor old fellow!" I cried. "See how his sides have fallen in just in
these two days! He has been starving again, and we have nothing to give
him!"
"That's so," said Julius. "I'd better go and get something for him,
hadn't I?"
"Yes, indeed," I answered. "At once, poor old doggie!"
So they went clattering down the stairs again, and soon returned with
some promising-looking paper bags.
We spread a newspaper on the hearth to receive his feast, then sat
watching him and returning his glances of affection while he ate. When
he had eaten to his satisfaction and dropped into a happy snooze, Julius
said,--
"Well, I suppose I might as well try to find out if it would be possible
to take him with us. I'll see the agent to-morrow. We must either take
him, or have him killed; for I see plainly that it won't do at all to
try to leave him."
"If we could just have him go along in the car with us, it would be all
right," answered I. "He is such a knowing old fellow he would understand
things perfectly."
"That's impossible, I know," cried Julius. "If he goes at all, he must
ride in baggage-cars, and we'll be in a sleeper. I don't see how we can
manage it."
I began to think that a way would open, and my heart felt lighter than
it had at any time since we first began to talk Florida. If we could
have Bruno with us, I no longer dreaded going to a land which, in my
imaginings, had appeared to be teeming with unknown dangers.
The next morning Julius went promptly to interview the agent, and found
that, after all, it would be possible to take Bruno with us to Florida.
It would be some trouble and some expense. Besides his passage as
baggage, the porters in each car must be feed; and while we in the
sleeper should be in a through car, he would have a number of changes to
make,--one of them at early dawn, and another in the night. It would be
necessary for Julius to see to these changes in person, in case Bruno
proved to be unruly, which was quite probable. We decided to undertake
it, and Bruno's outfit for the journey was at once purchased. This
consisted of a strong new collar and chain, with a big tin cup fastened
to the chain for plenty of drinks, and a lunch-basket full of biscuit.
The memorable day came, and we were escorted to the train by kind
neighbors and friends full of good-byes and good wishes for us all,
Bruno receiving a full share of their attentions.
We knew well that they considered the whole affair to be a wild-goose
chase, and that they expected to see us return, sadder and wiser, in a
year at furthest.
As soon as the train was under way, Julius went forward to see how Bruno
was taking it. He found him in a state of the utmost excitement, howling
and dragging at his chain, probably remembering his other journey on the
cars, when he had left his first home to come alone to us in his
puppyhood. When he saw Julius and realized that we were with him, his
joy and relief were touching. Julius stayed awhile with him, and got him
some water,--he was always thirsty after "crying,"--then came back to
report to me.
I felt so relieved to know that we had really got off with Bruno in good
shape, it almost made me forget a small ache in the corner of my heart
for something that had happened a day or two before. I had gone up by
the old home to say good-by to an invalid neighbor, and there, on the
sidewalk, by the gate, sat Rebecca. Thin, scrawny, and alert, she sat
watching for somebody,--easy to guess what "somebody." How glad she was
to see me!
I sat down on the gate-step, and took her in my arms, wishing with all
my heart that we could take her with us too. Still, I knew we couldn't.
She, a sober, middle-aged cat, to be carried all those many miles! Then
it might be weeks after we reached Florida before we decided where to
settle. A dog, once there, could trot around after us, but what could we
do with a cat? She had never learned to follow for any distance, and she
was always nervous about being carried.
No, it wasn't to be thought of.
I stayed, petting her as long as I could; then, after urging her to go
back and be contented with Aunt Nancy, I bade her a tearful good-by, and
carried away an ache in my heart that I sometimes feel yet.
Dear old Rebecca!
Some day I hope to go across into cat-heaven and hunt her up. Then she
can be made to understand why I was seemingly so hard-hearted as to go
off and leave her looking mournfully after me on that sad day so long
ago. Maybe she knows now; I hope she does.