In spite of our snug little home in Lemonville, we never felt quite
settled there. We were not built for village life. Country life is good,
and city life is good; but in a village one has all the drawbacks of
both, with the rewards of neither. So it was not long before we resolved
on another change.
We sold our little home furnished, packed up our books, with a few other
personal belongings, and turned our faces towards St. Augustine, to
investigate several openings there, of which we had chanced to hear. We
were so fortunate as to be able to rent a small cottage, and at once
took possession, furnishing it from our trunks, only buying a few
necessary articles of the plainest kind.
Just as we had settled ourselves in these temporary quarters, a matter
of business came up, making necessary a return to Lemonville for a day
or two. The trip was both tedious and expensive, so after some
discussion we decided that Bruno and I should stay and keep house,
while Julius made the trip alone "light weight."
I had some trouble in persuading Julius that I should be perfectly safe
in Bruno's care. He wished us to close the cottage, and go to some one
of the many pleasant boarding-places, where we had friends or
acquaintances stopping. This I should certainly have done, had I been
alone; but I reminded Julius how more than able Bruno was to take care
of me, and how much trouble he always gave in a strange house. So he was
finally persuaded that it would be best for us to stay in the cottage.
Julius left on a noon train, carrying only a small hand-bag. When he
said good-by to us, he impressed this on Bruno's mind,--"Take good care
of Judith."
Bruno stood at the door with me, watching him out of sight, then
breathed a deep sigh, and crept off under the bed to have it out with
himself alone and unseen. I busied myself picking up the articles which
had been scattered in the confusion of packing, then sat down to drown
thought in a book.
Towards evening I had a caller. One of our friends, who had seen Julius,
bag in hand, at the station, and had thus learned that I was alone,
sent a message by her little son that I was to "come right around" to
their house for the night. I sent our thanks, with further message that
Bruno and I had agreed to take care of each other. The child went home;
then his mother came. She thought I "must be crazy" to think of staying
alone. She "wouldn't do it for any money." I assured her I was not
staying alone, and had some trouble to convince her that I could not
possibly be more safely guarded than by Bruno. I assured her, further,
that nothing would now induce me to lock up the house and leave it, for
it would be impossible to know just when Julius would return; he would
be sure to catch the first boat and train after his business was
finished, and I would not for anything have him return to find his nest
deserted.
I succeeded, at last, in quieting all of her kind objections, and was
left in peace.
Darkness came on, and then Bruno lost courage. As I was preparing his
evening meal, he ran to meet me as I crossed the room, and raising
himself to an upright position, he rested his paws on my shoulders and
gazed with mournful questioning into my eyes. I knew what he would say,
and sitting down, I drew his head to my knee, and told him all about
it,--that Julius would only stay a "little, little while," then he would
come back and "stay--stay--stay always with us." His ears rose and fell,
his forehead wrinkled and unwrinkled as I talked to him. Then he seemed
comforted, and ate a good supper.
I sat reading far into the night, until the letters began to blur. Bruno
sat beside me, sometimes with his head on my knee while I stroked his
silken ears,--which always suggested the wavy locks of a red-haired
girl,--and sometimes he lay at full length on the floor, with his head
against my feet.
As midnight tolled, I closed my book, covered up the fire, and tried to
go to sleep, with Bruno lying on the rug beside my bed. Whenever I
stirred, he got up, and putting his forefeet on the side of the bed,
reached his head over for me to stroke it. It was the first time I had
ever spent a night in a house with no other humans, and Bruno seemed to
enter thoroughly into my feelings.
I lay listening to the breakers booming on the outer bar, wondering how
far on his journey Julius could be.
Dawn looked in at me before I fell asleep; then I knew nothing until
aroused by Bruno's barks, to find that some one was rapping on the front
door.
After hastily putting on a dressing-gown, I investigated through a crack
made by holding the door slightly ajar, and found that the same kind
friends had sent to see how I had spent the night. I gave a glowing
account of our comfort and security, for my morning nap had thoroughly
rested and refreshed me; then I hastened to prepare some breakfast for
Bruno, meanwhile letting him out for a run in the lot.
After the small household duties were attended to, I had sat down to
finish some souvenirs I was painting for one of the shops, when I heard
a great din and clatter outside. Bruno, who was sitting beside me,
gravely watching my work, while now and then he gave a disgusted snort
as he got a good whiff of the turpentine I was using to thin my paints,
started up, barking and bounding towards the closed door. I sprang to
open it, and was met on the very threshold by a trembling, half-grown
deer. The gate was open, showing how it had entered, and there,
hesitating at the sight of Bruno and me, was a motley crowd of boys and
dogs. I at once grasped the situation. Many people in St. Augustine had
such pets, and I was sure this one must have escaped from the grounds of
its owner, to fall into the hands of the rabble.
I hurried out to shut the gate. Most boys are more or less cruel; but
Spanish boys are intensely so. When I returned to the porch, Bruno and
the deer were regarding each other with mutual doubts. I settled Bruno's
at once by laying my hand on his head while I stroked our gentle
visitor, saying,--
"Pretty deer, Boonie mustn't hurt it!"
The deer seemed satisfied too, and to feel that danger was past. I
brought water, and everything I could think of to offer it to eat. It
was too warm with running to want food, though, and only took a few
swallows of water. Its lovely, deep eyes suggested all sorts of romantic
thoughts. Of course I quoted, "Come rest in this bosom," and "I never
nursed a dear gazelle." I was sure its name should be Juanita, after the
girl in the sweet Spanish song.
All day the pretty creature roamed about our little enclosure, Bruno and
I attending to its wants as best we could, having had no experience in
catering for such guests.
It turned quite chilly towards evening. When I had shut all the doors
and built up the fire, I heard a clatter of small hoofs on the
porch-floor, and there stood Juanita, looking wistfully in through the
window. Bruno and I looked at each other, thoroughly perplexed. We were
not prepared for such a hint. I thought afterwards it must have been
taken as a baby-deer, and raised in-doors "by hand."
We went out and prepared a warm bed for it in the wood-shed back of the
house. It seemed quite satisfied with this arrangement, and settled down
cosily as we left it and returned to our fireside. We spent this evening
and night as we had the previous one, and were aroused very early in the
morning by the sound of Juanita's impatient little hoofs on the porch
floor. I had just finished feeding her and Bruno, when I heard the
gate-latch click. I looked out. A colored girl was coming up the walk.
"Mawnin', Lady," she said; "ole Miss hyud our deer was hyuh. _Dah_ you
is, you good-f'-nuffin' ole runaway! Thanky, Lady. Come on, Billy!" And
hitting _him_ a resounding slap on the back, she went off, accompanied
by our romantic Juanita, transformed into meek and prosy Billy.
Thus perish our illusions!
Bruno was inclined to resent this unceremonious taking off of our pet,
and began to growl; but as soon as I recovered from the mingled emotions
which at first had rendered me speechless, I realized from Billy's
actions that he and the colored girl were old friends; so I silenced him
by saying,--
"Never mind, Boonie, it wasn't our deer; it only came for a little
visit, and now it's going home." Then we stood watching graceful Billy
and his uncouth companion till they disappeared through the old City
Gates.
Late that evening, Bruno having had his supper, I sat by the fire
sipping a cup of chocolate, and thinking those tender, half-melancholy
thoughts we are apt to have at twilight when separated from those
beloved.
All at once I heard the gate click. Bruno sprang up, thrilled and alert.
A footstep on the walk--ah, Bruno knew it, even before I did, and was so
eager to get out that he almost held the door shut in his excitement. We
finally got it open, and there, weary, eager, and travel-stained, was
Julius! Before his lips reached my face, I mentally exclaimed,--
"How glad I am that Bruno and I have stayed here, instead of leaving a
shut-up house, where he would have to drop his bag and start out to look
for us!"
That moment, when I felt his arms around me and heard his words of joy
mingled with Bruno's ecstatic yelps, paid for all of our endless, lonely
hours. I dare say there was not in all the world a happier group of
three than sat before our open fire that night.
Every time Bruno dozed, he would awaken with a start, and go to sniff
and paw at Julius to make sure it wasn't a dream, that he really had
come back to us.
Julius reported his business successfully concluded; a change in one of
the time-tables had enabled him to get back sooner than we had dared to
hope.
The next day I received his letter, telling me to look for him by the
train on which he had come the night before!
In those days our mail not infrequently took an ocean voyage on its way
from one Florida town to another quite near by, so we were never
surprised at anything in the mail line,--except a prompt delivery!