VAN IN DISGRACE
Van never forgot anything that he wanted to remember. Away back in the
time of his puppyhood Betsy had laughed when he had chased an old hen.
When the cats were pretty well thinned out, he, in his solitary
excursions, chanced on some half-grown chickens. He chased them a
little, and they fluttered and scrambled awkwardly away from him.
Now anything that runs is to be chased. Van always chased Betsy when
she ran with him on the lawn; yes, and he would growl and shake her
skirts. It would be good fun to see what these ungainly birds would do.
So he went for them, and they came right up to his expectations; they
plunged across the road, squawking and crying.
This was delightful! He would try nipping them.
That was still better fun. Pretty soon he caught one, gave it a little
shaking up, and it lay quite still and limp. He turned to find a
livelier one, but just then the mistress of the house where he was
trespassing, saw him, and he received a good banging over the head with
a broom.
He concluded that he had had enough sport for one day, and went home.
An hour later a boy from the house where the chickens lived, went to
Dr. Johns’ office with a dead chicken in his hand, for which Dr. Johns
promptly paid. It appears that chickens have a market value which cats
have not, and one may not destroy them so freely.
To punish Van away from the game would have been useless. Dr. Johns
gave forth the order that he must be kept at home, and not allowed out
except on a chain.
This was terrible. Van’s life had been one long joy, with no
confinement whatever, except in those early mad-dog days. The whole
world had been his, and now it was taken away from him--from him,
Prince Vanart VI.!
But alack and alas! this did not cure him. One morning he slipped out
through a carelessly unlatched door, and was off down the hill as fast
as his little legs could carry him.
By some luck--hard luck for Vanny-Boy--Betsy saw him and started after
him at the top of her speed, stopping only long enough to take the
whip. At the foot of the hill stood a house with a chicken-yard behind
it. A few stately old biddies were stalking around the lawn after worms
and insects, while a still statelier old rooster strutted up and down
importantly.
Van saw them and turned in. He must make the most of his liberty, and
no time was to be lost. He grabbed at an old white hen, but she was
too heavy for him. He turned away with his mouth full of feathers and
tackled another with the same result. By this time the whole lawn was
in an uproar, and had it not been so early in the morning some one
from the house must certainly have seen him.
Betsy was on the way, however, and she advanced to the rescue of old
hen number three. Van was very busy indeed, but these hens were all too
big. He gripped another, with one eye on the rooster;----
Down came the whip over his back, just missing him, for he was now
on his way to the chicken-yard, where the birds were smaller. Betsy
followed, and just as he made a dash for a nice broiler, she stepped
inside and closed the gate behind her.
The instant Van heard the click of the gate he knew that the jig was
up. He stood still, took in the situation, saw that there was no hope,
and came straight to his mistress. Down at her feet he lay, ready for
the inevitable whipping.
Oh, valiant little sinner! Why did you always make it so hard for those
who had to punish you? One may whip a coward, and feel that he deserves
it, but with two brave eyes looking up, not even begging for mercy, a
white body that will quiver, but not cringe under the lash, with no
sound of protest--how can one do it? Betsy needed all her own courage
for the task.
Without a whimper the plucky little dog went back to the house on
his chain, and care was redoubled to keep him at home. He showed no
remorse. He had had his fun and taken his punishment. Chickens were
decidedly the best sport yet, and his blood continued to leap at the
sight of a feathered temptation.
Poor Betsy! She was at her wits’ end. What could she do? The neighbors
would not stand for this sort of thing, and the day would come when
some one would kill him, and no one could blame the doer of the deed.
It could not matter to strangers what an adorable bit he was in his own
home. Indoors he obeyed like an angel, out-of-doors he tossed his head
and went his wicked ways.
Here was a problem that Betsy could not solve. The small sinner
knew very well that he was doing wrong, and he knew that punishment
followed, if he was caught. But he knew also that whippings do not last
forever, and while the chase was on, he could not think of what was
to follow--only a savage red triumph filled his brain. Nothing else
mattered for the moment. Those days with the Hospital attendants were
having their effect.
What should she do?
Once more Betsy tried him. She took him walking off the chain, but with
the whip in her hand. It made no difference. He turned in at the first
gate where his little nose said, “Chicken!” and this time he left four
half-grown victims dead on the field, and got clean away, without the
whip’s once touching him.
The owner of the chickens came over and displayed the results of Van’s
foray to Dr. Johns. He paid for the chickens, but he looked very grave,
and Betsy trembled.
Then the Johns family sat in judgment on the culprit. Something must
be done. Punishment had no effect on that proud spirit. Somehow they
must shame him. Dr. Johns had heard it said that if one hung the dead
chicken on the collar of the dog, it would cure him of killing. At
least the thing could be tried. With tears Betsy heard the verdict.
A red pullet was selected from the day’s kill, and tied to Van’s
collar, like the albatross around the neck of the Ancient Mariner, and
thus he was chained on the lawn near the house.
And why this was done Van did not understand. That was the worst
of it. Possibly, had the chicken been tied to him at the moment of
the killing, he would have known it to be a just punishment for his
slaughter of the innocent. But as it was he did not recognize in that
dead, limp Thing, the flapping, squawking broiler he had so gayly
murdered. When life had passed from his game he had no more use for it.
How could he understand?
But there it was, and he could not get away from it. Furtively he tried
to move off where he could not see it; it moved with him. He went to
the length of his chain in one direction, then the other; still it
followed, dragging grewsomely at his side. Turn as he would, there was
the Thing, feathered and awful, close to him, hanging to him! Oh, the
shame of it! He suffered as bitterly as if he were the first in all the
wide world to be so punished.
And misery upon misery! this debasement was public, for all the world
to see; and people came and looked at him, and talked about his
sinfulness, and he knew they were talking about him. Even Dr. Peters,
his friend, came across the lawn to see how he took it. Van slunk away
to the end of his tether, and tried to hide, oh, anywhere. There was
nothing to hide behind but the hated chicken, and he put his head under
that. He would not look up, no matter how kindly Dr. Peters spoke.
The fat young doctor came and looked at him, and the black-bearded
young doctor came and looked at him. Did they have no hearts? Could
they not see that all he wanted was to get down into the bottomless pit
of oblivion, where there were no curious eyes to pierce him through and
through?
Then Betsy came, and she sent the curious ones to the right-about. She
sat down by him, and looked sorrowfully at him, and he gazed up at her
with his pitiful brown eyes, and saw that his dear mistress understood.
He knew that there must be some reason why she could not set him free
from his loathsome burden. He hid his head in her skirts and whined.
“Vanny-Boy, Vanny-Boy,” she said, “it has to be. When we’re bad or
ign’rant we have to learn. It’s just like when Aunt Kate put those
black spots on my nails. I was as ’shamed as ’shamed. But it made me
remember.”
But Van would not be comforted, for he did not really understand. All
day he neither ate nor drank, although there was a bowl of water placed
for him, and a plate of most delectable viands prepared especially
by Mary. At nightfall Betsy came again, and he lay still, without a
sound, as if the fountains of grief had dried up within him. Betsy held
a bowl of cool water to his lips, and from her hands for the first
time he drank thirstily. He even tried to swallow a few morsels of
food that she gave to him. But he felt no hunger, only a gnawing shame
for something he did not comprehend, and his only comfort was Betsy’s
sympathy. Her he could always trust, for _she knew_, and whether he was
glad or sorry, triumphant or remorseful, defiant or humble, always she
knew the fine, brave, fearless, loving little heart that lay beneath
all his deeds or misdeeds, and she did not sit in judgment without
sweet Charity at her side.
When the dew fell she led him into the cellar, for with his “Albatross”
he might not sleep in his cosy basket. A soft bed was made for him in
the furnace room; he sidled into it, and lay down, without a sound.
All night he crouched there in the dark with that awful thing beside
him; moving when he moved, motionless when he lay still. Sleep did not
come to his eyes. His fearsome companion lay so stark and stiff, his
companion that he could not get away from. It destroyed all thought of
rest, and filled him with a wide-eyed horror; it was a long, lonesome,
terrible night.
Early in the morning his mistress came down with a delicious breakfast,
but he would not touch it. He looked up at her with great eyes hollow
with suffering, and made one pitiful little moan, so low that she could
scarcely hear it, and laid his nose on her knee with a long shudder.
Betsy could bear it no longer. She had slept no more than had the
culprit. She dashed upstairs for a knife with which to cut the hateful
burden loose; she tried to lead him up the stairs, but the ordeal had
so shaken his nerves that he could not mount the steps.
Then she carried him up in her arms; she gave him a warm bath, and laid
him on her own bed. He was mutely grateful, but his shame and disgrace
had laid him low.
For three days Van was very ill. Whether it was the shock of the
dreadful punishment, or of knowing that his loved ones could treat him
so--for still he did not understand--who can tell?
“If he kills all the chickens in the world, I’ll earn the money to pay
for them myself,” cried Betsy. “But I can’t stand that look in his poor
eyes!”
And there was no one in the whole family but felt that a mistake had
been made, that all this had been for nothing. And it was even so. Van
was up and around again soon, bright and winsome as ever, but Betsy and
Dr. and Mrs. Johns never forgave themselves. Somehow the punishment,
terrible as it was, did not bring home its lesson, and in spite of all
the suffering, it did not one particle of good. The love of battle,
murder, and sudden death was in his blood, and his first training had
been all wrong.
The Johns family held another meeting to which Van was not invited, and
in it they came to this decision:
That: whereas they could not themselves make a good dog of Vanart VI.,
he must be sent away to a trainer--to a kind of college where dogs are
taught their manners, their tricks, and their duties; and where, if it
is not too late, they may unlearn their bad habits and wicked ways.
On that last night before he went away, Mary cooked for Van the most
wonderful supper. He reveled in the tid-bits that he coaxed from every
one at the dinner table. Best of all, he was permitted to sleep on the
foot of Betsy’s bed. He did not know the reason for all this extra
indulgence, but he joyfully took the goods the gods provided.
“Kate,” said Dr. Johns, when Betsy had said good-night, and gone to
her room, “there’s another letter from that scoundrel. He takes quite
a threatening attitude, plays the high and mighty, says we are keeping
his child away from him unlawfully. The fond parent wants his beloved
child, etc. It is sickening, when we know what he really wants her for,
and that she would probably be abused and starved again. He might try
to get her in some way. I thought I’d better tell you, so we can be on
our guard.”
“What could he do?”
“Everything, unless the courts decide in our favor. I’ve arranged for
the earliest possible hearing. It may not be until spring, however, but
we can easily prove him incompetent as a father. Betsy has no love for
him, and would certainly choose us, and that would help. And when we
are assured that we have the custody of the child, we’ll adopt little
Betsy, regularly and in order. What do you say, Kate?”
For answer Kate put her arms around her husband, and kissed him
tenderly.
Late that evening, as Aunt Kate was going the rounds of the house, she
stopped at Betsy’s door and listened. The sound of a long-drawn gasping
breath met her ears, and she opened the door softly and went in.
The dim light of the moon shone in at the southern window, and Betsy
lay at the foot of her couch with one arm tightly around Van. The
little Knave of Hearts slept as soundly as if he had been a good,
obedient dog all his life.
Aunt Kate sat down beside the little maid, and Betsy’s free hand stole
into hers.
“Don’t cry, Betsy dear. He’ll come back all right, and be a good dog
forever after.”
“It doesn’t seem--it doesn’t seem,” sobbed Betsy, “as if I could
possibly live without him.”
“Betsy mine,” Aunt Kate squeezed the little hand tighter, “do you know
how we have grown to love you? I haven’t wanted to force you; I wanted
you to come to me of your own free will, but I must say just this; when
you get big enough to understand, you will know that Uncle Ben and Aunt
Kate never had any little children, and they wanted them; and there’s a
place all ready in their hearts. And when little Betsy is ready she can
crawl right in and stay there.”
One great sob burst from Betsy, a sob that seemed to break open the
very flood-gates of life. She lifted both arms and put them tightly
around Aunt Kate’s neck.
“Auntie Kate, Auntie Kate,” she whispered, and in the dark she was not
ashamed. “I do love you and I love Uncle Ben. I wouldn’t ever want
anybody better in the whole wide world.”
“Then I shall be the happiest woman on the Hill-Top, and with a little
girl of my own to love me.”
“And when Vanny-Boy comes back,” said Betsy, “we’ll be the very
happiest family that ever was.”