TIPPY GOES VISITING
Mother was quite right in saying that Tippy knew he had been a naughty
little dog. When he rolled his eye up at the porch and saw Mother with
the broom in her hand, Tippy knew that it was time for him to drop
Tilly Maud and to keep out of sight for a while.
So with a jump, and a whirl, and a push through the hedge Tippy dashed
across Aunt Bee’s garden, round the corner, and up the narrow, crooked
street.
Tippy felt lively this morning, as we already know. The wind blew his
ears back flat against his head. His glistening little black nose
smelled all kinds of sweet odors--flower gardens, wet grass, damp
sticks and leaves. His shining brown eyes saw many sights--puddles,
and men, a lady or two, birds catching worms, a butcher’s boy, with a
basket, whistling a tune.
Though the ground was wet and the sky was still gray, to Tippy it was
the gayest kind of a morning.
‘I could run and run and run forever,’ said Tippy to himself.
And that is just what he did do, run and run and run, until at last,
when Tippy stopped to draw a long breath, he stood in a strange street
where he had never been before. He didn’t know in the least where he
was nor how to get home to Sally’s house again.
But Tippy didn’t mean to go home for a long, long while. He meant to
stay away until Sally had forgotten all about Tilly Maud or until he
had forgotten about Tilly Maud himself.
At any rate he meant to stay just where he was until he found out what
was the matter with the little boy who at this moment flung open the
door of the house before which Tippy was standing and ran with a scream
straight down the path to the street.
The little boy’s face was red and he flung his arms about as he ran,
and when he reached the street he turned around and ran right back to
the porch steps again. There he jumped up and down, screaming all the
while, and ran his fingers through his hair until it stood out all
round about his head.
This was a tantrum, Tippy knew, because Sally sometimes had them, just
like this. She, too, screamed and jumped up and down and even ran her
fingers through her hair.
‘I shan’t leave here until I find out what this tantrum is about,’
thought curious little Tip.
And slowly, very slowly, he crept through the half-open gate and over
the grass toward the wide porch steps.
Now the little boy’s mother had come out to him, and in the doorway,
half hiding behind the door, there stood a tall, tall man.
‘Andy, stop crying and let me speak to you,’ said the little boy’s
mother.
But Andy only screamed the louder and began to whirl himself round like
a top.
‘Oh, Andy, stop, stop,’ said the little boy’s mother again. ‘Oh, what
shall I do with you?’
Tippy knew very well what Sally’s mother would have done, but he
wouldn’t have told, if he could. He didn’t want to see Andy whisked off
to bed, even though it would have cured the tantrum in a trice.
But just then Andy found his voice.
‘I won’t be sick!’ shouted Andy, still flinging his arms about. ‘I
won’t go to bed! I won’t take medicine! I won’t! I won’t! I won’t!’
When he heard this, the man behind the door poked his head out and
spoke to Andy’s mother.
‘Tell him he won’t have to go to bed,’ he called in a loud voice. ‘Tell
him that he won’t have to take medicine, and that he won’t be sick.’
‘There, Andy, listen to what the Doctor says,’ said Andy’s mother. ‘You
won’t have to go to bed, you won’t have to take medicine, and you won’t
be sick.’
At this good news Andy stood still and stopped screaming.
In the quiet the Doctor called again, ‘Keep him away from other
children for a few days and tell him to forget that he has chicken-pox.
Tell him to play with that nice little dog standing there at his feet.’
Then the Doctor disappeared, and Andy’s mother followed him into the
house.
Andy looked down at Tippy and Tippy looked up at Andy, and that is how
Andy and Tippy knew one another.
Next, Andy sat down on the steps, and after Tippy had barked two or
three times just to show that he was friendly, he snuggled up close to
Andy’s side.
‘Good doggie!’ said Andy, patting Tip. ‘Good doggie! Good dog!’
This was very pleasant for Tip to hear. Sally surely would not call him
‘good doggie’ this morning, if he were at home.
So wagging his tail as hard as ever he could, Tip made up his mind
that he would pay Andy a little visit.
‘I won’t stay too long,’ thought Tip to himself, ‘just long enough to
make Sally glad to see me when I do go home.’
Now Tippy meant only to spend the afternoon. He didn’t have a notion,
I am sure, of staying all night and sleeping out of his little basket,
lined with a shawl, that stood on Sally’s back porch. If you had told
him that it would be four whole days before he would see Sally’s
friendly, rosy little face again, he would have been the most surprised
little brown dog that ever wagged a tail.
But this is how it happened. To begin with, as they sat on the porch
steps, Andy told Tippy why he had had a tantrum. And when Tip knew all
about it, he wagged his tail and looked up into Andy’s face as if he
would say that really you could scarcely blame Andy after all.
‘We came here to the country yesterday,’ said Andy, gently pulling
Tip’s ears, ‘and I have a pail and shovel, and a bathing-suit,
blue-and-white. I am all ready to play and dig in the sand. Mother and
I were going down to the beach this morning the very first thing. But
when I woke up I was covered with little red spots like this.’
Sure enough, there were the red spots, ever so many of them. Andy eyed
them rather proudly and then went on with his story.
‘So Mother sent for the doctor, and when he said I had chicken-pox I
just couldn’t stand going to bed now when I want to play. But if I
don’t have to go to bed you and I can have some fun together, Bounce. I
am going to call you Bounce. Perhaps we can go to the beach. Let’s go
and ask Mother. Here, Bounce! Here, Bounce!’
And Andy and Tip, who didn’t at all mind being called Bounce, ran into
the house to see whether they might not go down to the beach.
But though Andy need not go to bed and might play as much as he wished
all day long he was not permitted to leave his own front yard. And as
Andy would not allow Tippy out of his sight, it followed that Tippy
was forced to stay inside the front yard, too. There was a tall, white
fence all about the yard, over which Tippy could not jump, and at night
he slept on the floor beside Andy’s bed.
He did not forget Sally. Oh, no! But the days slipped by as he romped
and played and tumbled about with Andy, who would never have known that
he was ill with chicken-pox if it had not been for the little red spots.
But now the red spots were disappearing fast, and one morning Andy’s
mother, whose name was Mrs. Thomas, said that Andy might leave the
front yard and go down into the town with her if he liked.
‘And Bounce? Bounce must come, too.’
So Bounce, or Tippy, was fastened to a string, and pulling and tugging
in a way that made Andy run far more than he walked, the little brown
dog led the way down into the town. For as soon as Tippy had walked
along a street or two, he knew where he was and felt at home. And the
farther they walked and the nearer they drew to Sally’s house, the more
at home he felt. Until, as Andy and his mother and Tip were walking
through a quiet, narrow little street, Tip began to run and jump and
pull at his string so that Andy could scarcely hold him back. Then,
suddenly, he halted, with a jerk, before a gray house that stood on the
side of the hill in the midst of a gay flower garden, and opened his
mouth in the loudest, sharpest bark that Andy had ever heard him give.
‘I have come home,’ is what Tippy’s bark said, though no one understood
him at the time.
And the next moment Tippy was racing around the house to the back porch
and then to the front of the house again, barking all the while.
‘It is Tippy! It is Tippy come home! Mother, here is Tippy come home!’
cried Sally, flinging open the front door and darting down the steps
only to bump into Andy, who had run all the way round the house after
Tip, as fast as he could run.
But Sally was too excited to notice a bump. She sat flat on the ground
and took Tip into her lap for one great hug. Tilly Maud was completely
forgotten. No one gave her a thought.
Then Sally stood up and looked at Andy, and Andy looked at her, while
Tip jumped about and barked and rushed at Sally to lick her hands and
then at Andy to lick his hands.
‘I do hope you will be friends,’ was what Tippy’s face said as he
jumped from one to the other and barked and barked again.
Sally didn’t understand it. She only knew that Tip had come home. Andy
didn’t understand it. He only saw that the little brown dog, of whom he
was so fond, now found himself among old friends.
But as Mrs. Waters and Mrs. Thomas talked together, they understood
what had happened without any trouble at all.
Poor Andy! His face grew doleful as his mother explained that Tip was
Sally’s dog. He winked and blinked and swallowed hard.
But a moment later he was able to say quite cheerfully, ‘Anyway, my
spots are gone and I am going to the beach this afternoon.’
‘So am I,’ cried Sally, ‘so am I. Mother said so. Didn’t you, Mother?
Bring your pail, Andy, and we will dig together in the sand.’
‘I will. I will bring my pail and shovel,’ promised Andy.
‘Perhaps Tippy will come with us, too,’ called Sally, as Andy and his
mother started down the path.
And from the back garden, where he was joyfully digging up an old bone,
Tippy answered for himself.
‘Bow-wow-wow!’ said Tippy.