DOGTOWN
[Illustration]
[Illustration: _After the Battle._ See page 99]
DOGTOWN
BEING SOME CHAPTERS FROM THE ANNALS OF
THE WADDLES FAMILY, SET DOWN IN
THE LANGUAGE OF HOUSEPEOPLE
BY
MABEL OSGOOD WRIGHT
AUTHOR OF “TOMMY-ANNE,” “THE FRIENDSHIP OF NATURE”
“BIRDCRAFT,” ETC.
_ILLUSTRATED BY PORTRAITS FROM LIFE
BY THE AUTHOR_
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD.
1902
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT, 1902,
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Set up and electrotyped October, 1902.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith
Norwood Mass. U.S.A.
[Illustration]
“Such soft, warm bodies to cuddle,
Such queer little hearts to beat;
Such swift, round tongues to kiss,
Such sprawling, cushiony feet.
She could feel in her clasping fingers
The touch of the satiny skin,
And a cold, wet nose exploring
The dimples under her chin.”
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
This Book
is for
all those
who love
children
and dogs
[Illustration]
[Illustration: CONTENTS]
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Enter Mrs. Waddles 1
II. Miss Letty and Hamlet 28
III. Trouble Begins 60
IV. Exit Lumberlegs 81
V. Jack and Jill Waddles 104
VI. Table Boarders 138
VII. Five O’clock Teas 171
VIII. A Hen Party 201
IX. The Herb Witch 220
X. Told by the Fire 247
XI. “Over the Hills and Far Away!” 274
XII. The Sixlets 300
XIII. Ben Uncas’s Last Hunt 331
XIV. The Barbed Wire Fence 367
XV. The Wedding 399
[Illustration: _Angel Dogs._]
Illustrations
FULL PAGES
AFTER THE BATTLE _Frontispiece_
PAGE
DINAH, LARK, PHŒBE, AND BOBWHITE vii
THE MAYOR OF DOGTOWN 15
HAPPY’S FIRST VIEW OF WADDLES 22
MISS LETTY 37
TOMMY AND LUMBERLEGS 61
“HE STOOD TRANSFIXED” 79
MISS MUFFET, BROTHER, AND LUMBERLEGS 102
TOAD HUNTING 118
ANNE DREW BACK THE CURTAIN AND LOOKED OUT 134
ANNE AND TOMMY 148
WADDLES BAYING THE OWLS 163
“WADDLES DREW BACK AND EYED IT RUEFULLY” 170
“ONE LUMP OR TWO, PLEASE?” 182
THE HERB WITCH 239
MISS LETTY FEEDING THE KENNEL DOGS 272
“PULLING A BRANCH DOWN WITH HER WHIP” 278
“HE STOOD IN THE GATEWAY HOLDING HIS GUN” 285
ANTONIO AND THE YOUNG SPANIELS 292
THE SIXLETS 301
NAMING THE PUPS 317
ON GUARD 326
THE REWARD 347
BEN UNCAS 354
JIM (Seeley photo) 362
“MISS LETTY WAS WAITING WITH A SMILE” 378
TOMMY WALKED ON IN SILENCE 380
TOMMY MEETS THE RABBIT 386
IN TEXT
MRS. WADDLES 1
AUNT PRUE AND THE CAT BASKET 8
WADDLES GREETING AUNT PRUE 12
ANNE AND FOX 30
HAMLET BEGGING (Pach Photo) 43
HAMLET READING (Pach Photo) 46
MR. HUGH’S HORSE 54
“HIS HEAVY CURLS WERE A MAT OF MUD AND BURRS” 58
“THE MAIL BAG SWINGING FROM ITS GALLOWS” 64
LILY 68
THE GAME OF SNATCH BONE 71
WADDLES DETHRONED 74
LUMBERLEGS 81
WADDLES SNIFFING THE MORNING AIR 90
WHEN WADDLES WAS ILL 100
JACK AND JILL WADDLES 104
CURIOSITY 115
WRESTLING 121
“JACK WATCHED HER OUT OF THE CORNER OF ONE EYE” 127
JACK WADDLES 129
THE JAY AT BREAKFAST 154
AN OWL BABY 156
MAMMA OWL 160
THE DAYTIME PERCH 165
“BUTTER’S COME!” 178
“THEY WERE HERALDED BY MUCH CREAKING OF WHEELS” 185
WADDLES FINDS THE CAKE BASKET 199
A HEN PARTY 201
AT THE CROSS-ROADS 220
THE CHICKEN COOP 227
THE HERB WITCH’S HOME 228
“ALSO GEESE THAT MAKE GOOD GUIDE-POSTS” 246
THE KENNEL YARD 256
A BOARDER 258
THE PUPPIES’ BATH-TUB 262
IN THE KENNEL KITCHEN 263
MARTIN BAKING BREAD 266
READY FOR TRAVEL 268
FLO POINTING 281
SILVER-TONGUE 296
HAPPY AT HOME 307
BIG BROTHER 309
IN MISCHIEF 312
LEAP-FROG 322
OUT OF SCHOOL 324
“DRINK, PUPPY, DRINK!” 330
WATCHING OUT 335
QUICK 338
COLIN 344
“A GREAT OWL WITH A SMOOTH ROUND HEAD” 383
THE BRIDE 401
“TOMMY SHOUTED ‘ME!’” 402
“HE SUCCEEDED IN SITTING UPRIGHT” 404
“TIP MOUNTED GUARD UNTIL NIGHT CAME” 405
[Illustration]
DOGTOWN
CHAPTER I
ENTER MRS. WADDLES
Happy sat by the watering-trough, waiting for Baldy to come for the
milking pails and go for the cows.
[Illustration]
Waddles, lying on the sunny side of the lilac hedge, was also waiting
for this important evening happening; and though nothing in his
appearance told that he was on the watch, for his back was toward the
barn, yet he would know when Baldy crossed the yard to wash his hands
at the pump, gauge the time he took to reach the house, and, without
hurrying or looking round, be at his side the moment that the clashing
of tin told that he had really come for the pails.
Seated on the stone wall, Anne and Miss Letty were also waiting, partly
for Baldy, but chiefly to hear the evening music that would soon come
from the wooded field edge and near-by garden, for it was a lovely May
afternoon. In the morning there had been a warm rain that made worm
pulling and bug hunting a pleasure instead of labour for the birds, and
the air was full of scraps of song.
You have not met Happy before, or Miss Letty either. Happy was a beagle
hound, with long, tan-coloured ears, the daintiest bit of a nose, a
plump body marked and ticked with tan and black, and eyes of such
beseeching softness that if she but looked at you when you were eating,
you were impelled to give her the very last morsel, no matter what your
hunger might be.
Her legal name and pedigree was recorded in the Westminster Kennel
Club register as “Cadence out of Melody, by Flute, breeder J. Sanford,
Hilltop Kennels,” and really for two years of her life she had been
merely a kennel dog. Now she was a lady of distinction, a real person
beloved of Anne, Happy, of Happy Hall, mother of twin pups, Jack and
Jill, and wife of no less honourable a person than Waddles, who,
now past middle age, portly and sedate, was Mayor of Dogtown and an
undisputed authority on all matters of dog law and etiquette.
If you should look for Dogtown on the map of the county where Happy
Hall, Anne’s home, is located, you would not find it, for it is really
concealed under the pretty name of Woodlands, and was discovered quite
by accident by Anne’s Aunt Prue.
Now Aunt Prue was one of those ladies who prefer indoors to outdoors,
and cats to dogs. The “Fireside Sphinx” has many virtues, and its
rights should be respected, only it is a very strange thing that people
who love cats cannot seem to fully appreciate dogs, which of course are
the superior animals.
One day, a couple of years before this time, when Lumberlegs, the St.
Bernard, then an awkward pup, was a new arrival, and the Widow Dog
Lily, who had been rescued from starving by Miss Jule, had been adopted
by Tommy and become his guardian, Aunt Prue had come unexpectedly to
pay her brother, Anne’s father, a visit.
She had not intended to arrive unannounced, for she liked to be met
by the best go-to-meeting surrey and pair. But travelling and even
planning for it always flustered her; and when she wrote to tell of
her plans, after spoiling three sheets of paper, she directed the
letter to another brother in Texas. Consequently, when she arrived at
the Woodlands station at noon of a blazing July day,--she always took
midday trains, it’s apt to thunder in the afternoon,--there was no one
there to meet her. “No, marm, no hacks here to-day,” said the station
master in answer to her request for one; “no use in ’phoning the stable
either, all the teams here about have gone to the Sunday-school picnic,
and I reckon the only folks to home is dogs.” So saying he banged down
his office window and drifted across the road to dinner.
Aunt Prue paused and set down a stout wicker basket with an openwork
top that she carried, straightened her bonnet, felt in her glove to
be sure that her trunk check and return ticket were safe. She always
bought a return ticket as a sort of guarantee of safety, but usually
lost it before it could be used.
She looked up the hill road. There was the store and post-office, then
a quarter of a mile of open before the shade began, not a living thing
was in sight; it was too hot for even the chickens to scratch up the
dust.
The basket at her feet began to roll about uncannily, for in it was
Miss Prue’s tortoise-shell tabby cat, which she always took visiting
when she was going to stay more than two nights. In politics Miss Prue
was a stanch monarchist of the old-time, “off-with-his-head” variety.
The cat’s name was Kaiserin Augusta Victoria, and never, even in the
most informal and playful moments, was she called either Gussie or Vic.
A violent scratching in the basket was followed by a long-drawn meow!
Miss Prue took a small tin pan from her satchel and went toward the
pump to give the pet a drink; but as she only pumped a couple of
strokes, the water was tepid and not to her taste. She always gave the
cat iced water, so she put up the tin. Poor K. A. V., smothering in
the basket, would have been grateful for a lap of anything that was
wet--even puddle water or sour milk; but she was not consulted, and
her temper waxed fierce. If people could only realize that the faults
of their pets are chiefly of their own making, they would be more
careful to look at those things that concern an animal from its point
of view instead of their own.
With one more glance at the road, Miss Prue settled the basket firmly
on her arm and trudged off. Augusta Victoria was not happy and,
moreover, she was determined to get out of the basket.
For a few moments she sat in sullen silence making herself heavy,
as only an animal being moved against its will knows how to do. The
post-office was reached, and Miss Prue paused a few moments to rest
on the steps. Happy thought! There was a late morning mail; perhaps
the family had not yet called for it, as they were sure to do, for her
brother being a literary man was very particular about his letters. She
would inquire.
“Nope,” replied the girl who was tending office during the noon hour
and preparing to hie to the picnic later by taking her hair out of curl
papers and combing it into a mossy-looking bank above her freckled
forehead, “your folks live beyond a mile, and the rural delivery
fetches ’em their letters most times.”
Poor Miss Prue! She crossed over to “the leading grocer’s,” where “soft
drinks” were conspicuously advertised, and asked for a bottle of
sarsaparilla.
“Sorry, madam,” said the solitary clerk, popping up in some confusion.
He was finishing his toilet, preparatory to leaving, by shaving himself
at a scrap of mirror resting on the cash register, and he came forward
hurriedly with a billow of lather where his chin should have been.
“I very much regret to say that all our liquid refreshments except
molasses and vinegar are sold out on account of the picnic, but we
still have a few Uneeda biscuits, madam, and a small wedge of superior
extra mild cheese, if it would serve you for a luncheon. Ah, a drink!
You _don’t need_ a biscuit, not juicy enough. Ha! ha! I see,” and the
chinless gentleman retired, laughing at his own wit.
Miss Prue merely gasped and walked on without answering. K. A. V. took
a turn at scratching and lunging and then remained so passive that her
mistress began to have qualms lest she should have fainted, yet did not
dare open the basket. She leaned against the fence and listened, puss
was breathing. The few cottages along the way were closed and silent;
but as she got farther on where the larger places were scattered, her
courage arose, for she remembered that the Burgess model farm barns
were on the way, and that there was a well close by the fence.
Yes, there it was surely, with a bright clean dipper hanging by it.
[Illustration]
She put down the basket carefully, quenched her thirst, and then, after
bathing her forehead with her handkerchief, was feeling in her bag for
pussy’s dish, when a bumping sound made her drop it and turn hastily.
K. A. V. had made a sudden spring, the basket was plunging down the
bank, followed by an inquisitive fox terrier. Just as the basket
stopped rolling the cat gave a terrified yowl, and the terrier started
back, but only for a moment.
Miss Prue seized the basket and looked about, calling in vain for help,
but no one came, only more dogs, so she hurried back to the road,
closing the gate behind her in frantic haste.
But what is a bar gate to dogs? Those that could neither get under or
through, jumped over, for the dogs at the Burgess farm were always
in fine condition. A second fox terrier sprang between the bars, a
black-and-tan dachshund crawled under, while almost at the same time a
collie and a greyhound cleared the top rail.
They were polite, gentlemanly dogs, fortunately, and accustomed to the
best society. They never thought of touching Miss Prue; but in spite
of her gestures turned their attention to the basket, sniffing and
jostling it and saying things in a way to put Augusta Victoria into a
frenzy.
As the strange party went up the hill, the pioneer terrier running
ahead seemed to spread the news, for dogs of all degrees kept joining
the procession: the great woolly St. Bernard, Rex, from the doctor’s
piazza, the farrier’s mongrel black-and-tan, who happened to be coming
across lots, two loping foxhounds who belonged to Squire Burley and had
been taking a run on their own account, the minister’s water spaniel,
the schoolmistress’s pug, a white bull terrier, a comical-looking
sheep dog from the milk farm, and lastly, a fantastically arrayed black
poodle, with his wool trimmed into as many devices as the tattooing on
a Fiji Islander, a silver bangle on one leg, and a crimson satin bow on
his collar, joined the mob, in spite of the frantic calls of a maid on
the steps of the select inn, who was striving to keep him clean while
his owner was at luncheon; for this particular poodle had his teeth
cleaned every day, could not roll in the dirt, and was not as other
dogs, for which the others were doubtless thankful.
In a moment, however, he was in the middle of the fray, having the
time of his life, enveloped in a cloud of dust, uttering the shrieking
bark in which a thoroughbred poodle excels, while the farrier’s cur
promptly pulled the satin bow into a string, and the dachshund, who had
difficulty in keeping up with the rest, nipped the hairless parts of
his hind legs.
Aunt Prue’s last hope lay in the sheriff; he surely would not be at
the picnic. But he was, and his two dogs, Schnapps and Friday, dozing
on a wagon seat before the stable door, suddenly waked and joined the
procession.
Finding that gestures and threats were useless, Aunt Prue kept sturdily
on, shifting the basket from one arm to the other as its weight
increased; for Augusta Victoria, weight fifteen pounds, springing
lightly up a tree, and A. V., dashing about in the basket at the end of
a hot walk, were two wholly different cats. Under such circumstances “a
mile’s weight” should be an allowable term.
Just then she heard the rattle of a wagon coming up hill, and turned
about, hoping for relief. In this wagon was an old man on his way home
from the meadows, seated on an insecure load of salt hay, in which
he was buried almost to the shoulders, while a strip of green cotton
mosquito netting hanging from the edge of his wide hat, somewhat
obscured his view of the scenery.
To beg a ride was, under the circumstances, out of the question; but
Aunt Prue ventured to wave her satchel and to call out and ask him to
drive the dogs away. But he was deaf to her entreaties, for the reason
that he was stone deaf anyway; and as to the rest, he merely thought he
saw a vigorous, stout, middle-aged woman on her return from market with
an unusual lot of dogs, whose dinner she carried in her basket; and he
drove on, trying to reckon how much it must cost to feed thirteen dogs,
and set Aunt Prue down in his mind as “another fool woman.”
At last she saw in the distance the stone wall that surrounded Happy
Hall, and then a glimpse of the house through the trees revived her;
but as she passed in the gateless entrance, two new and strange dogs
greeted her,--Lily and Lumberlegs,--both rather objected to the
visitors, and suddenly Lily fastened her wide jaws upon the basket.
[Illustration]
Then at last poor Aunt Prue screamed loud and long, and Waddles, who
had at first discreetly surveyed the proceedings from the porch, threw
back his head and bayed. It was a very funny scene, though of course
not nice for Aunt Prue; but it often happens that funny things are
disagreeable to somebody.
At the double noise, doors flew open, Baldy ran from the stable, Anne,
her father, mother, and one of the maids from the house, while Waddles
danced about and issued dog orders with such good effect that by the
combined efforts the intruders were dispersed, Aunt Prue was ensconced
in a piazza rocker and was being fanned by her gentle sister-in-law,
Anne brought iced ginger ale, Baldy bore Augusta Victoria, basket and
all, to a retired room in the barn, where she could be fed and calm her
nerves, while the father by degrees unravelled the history of the walk.
At first Aunt Prue had cried, but now she sat bolt upright and severe
in her chair, talking between sips of ginger ale that would get into
her nose and give her a fuzziness of speech.
“Yes--a most unparalleled--experience for a lone woman--in a civilized
land--Woodlands you--call the place--faugh!--I say it’s nothing more
or less than Dogtown, and it’s lucky I bought my return ticket. Poor
Augusta Victoria’s nerves are shattered, not to speak of mine, and home
we go by evening train.”
She didn’t go, but stayed three weeks to a day, and had a very good
time; when she felt in her moist gloves for the ticket, it was gone as
usual. But her story and name of Dogtown stayed with the region, and
it tickled Miss Jule so, that the very next Christmas she gave Anne
a large wooden box shaped like a doghouse, full of note-paper with
a group of dogs’ heads and the words _Happy Hall, Dogtown_, stamped
across the top in blue and gold, which Anne always used when writing
invitations to picnics and other excursions of which she was so fond.
So in time it had come to be that Waddles was the acknowledged head of
Dogtown and its people, these same being three times the number that
had been the escort of Miss Prue and Augusta Victoria. For when people
heard of the doings of the dogs at Happy Hall, and saw the beautiful
setters, foxhounds, and field spaniels that Miss Jule raised in the
Hilltop Kennels at the horse farm, every one wanted a dog of his or her
own; and though Lily remained the only real bulldog in the community,
there were several clever bull terriers, and Miss Letty brought back
from her schooling abroad a wonderful black poodle, who understood
three languages.
[Illustration: _The Mayor of Dogtown._]
Miss Jule’s dogs did not quite belong to Dogtown as citizens, because,
being kennel dogs, they were not free to come and go and to express
their opinions like the others. They were as boarding-school
children, having fixed times for exercise and play, in comparison to
those who, after school, run free.
There are some children who, though they may have good dispositions,
can never be happy when cooped up and restrained. Tommy-Anne had
been one of these, and so when, a year before, she had seen Cadence
the beagle sitting looking mournfully through the slat door of her
kennel, where she had been shut by her trainer for being heedless and
unmanageable and not obeying his directions, her heart smote her and
she felt so intimate a kinship with the little animal with the hopeless
eyes, that she went to Miss Jule to ask the price of Cadence and if she
might pay for her by instalments.
Miss Jule loved animals dearly, was tender-hearted, and had several pet
dogs that were almost human; but the kennel dogs were raised for sale,
and must be taught the various trades that, together with their pure
breeding, made them valuable and able to earn their living.
No cruelty was allowed in the training-and-breaking-to-hunt process,
but they simply must learn. Martin, Baldy’s brother, who not only broke
colts under Miss Jule’s supervision, but trained both fox and beagle
hounds, had said of gentle Cadence: “She’s no mortal use for hunting
rabbits, she won’t mind if you chide her, unless your very eyes are
upon her, she bolts at sight of a gun, won’t heel or gather with the
others. We don’t need her for breeding, and I think she’d be better out
of the way.”
While Miss Jule was thinking over the matter, Anne had hurried home
and counted the contents of her money box replete with the results of
Christmas, a birthday, copying manuscript for her father, and various
dealings in rags, bottles, and old iron. She had been saving seriously
to buy a camera holding glass plates that she could develop herself,
and so be able to take pictures of her dear woods and flowers, the
dogs, and, best of all, of her father and mother as they walked out in
the garden together in their everyday clothes.
Thirty-seven dollars the money had footed up. The camera that she had
chosen, together with the trays, drying rack, red lantern, some plates,
etc., would be thirty dollars. Was it possible that Miss Jule would
sell a thoroughbred rabbit hound for seven dollars?
Anne knew that she had often received a hundred dollars for a
well-broken young hound; but poor Cadence did not seem to be broken at
all, except in spirit, so that might make a difference; anyway, the
camera could wait, for she kept seeing those appealing eyes, and had an
instinctive feeling that Cadence’s fate was in her hands.
“Sell Cadence to you, so she needn’t be shut up so much? What will they
say at home to another dog about? You know it was only last week that
Tommy told me that Lumberlegs and Lily grinned at each other ‘awfully,’
and that Waddles would not let either of them go to walk with him. What
will your mother say?”
Anne had not thought of this, to be sure; but no one at home had ever
objected to any animals excepting white mice, and her mother had
rebelled at having them kept in a bureau drawer, and finally put them
under ban.
As Anne grew older she was more drawn toward those of her own race
than when as Tommy-Anne she had played alone; but the birds and little
beasts were still her friends and brothers, and ever would be. She
would, if possible, get Cadence from behind the bars and risk the
consequences.
“What do you want her for? She is either stupid or sullen, and will not
even charge or come to heel; she will never learn anything.”
“Please, Miss Jule, I don’t think she is stupid or ugly, only somehow
she doesn’t understand; maybe she can’t think when she is shut up so
much. You know that when I was little I could never learn lessons in
school, but if I sat by father I couldn’t have helped learning if I had
tried.”
Miss Jule did not smile at the simple earnestness of the tall slip of
a girl with the great dark eyes that looked so pleadingly at her, for
Anne at fifteen believed as thoroughly in the brotherhood and rights of
all living things as had Tommy-Anne at five.
“Well, I’ll make a bargain with you,” she said at last; “you may
have her on a week’s trial: if you like her, you shall have her at a
reasonable price” (for Miss Jule knew that with Anne’s ideas it would
never do to offer her as a gift something she had offered to purchase);
“if you can’t manage her, you can bring her back. Perhaps Waddles may
like her for a mate.”
“Here, take a leader,” called Miss Jule, as Anne darted off full of the
new idea, “she’s as likely to bolt off to the next county as to go home
with you.”
Anne took the leather leash and hurried to open the door of the
compartment in the kennel yard where Cadence sat looking wistfully
out. After fastening the snap in the collar she tried to lead her out;
but Cadence flattened herself to the floor in an agony of fear, no
coaxing, no gentle calling of her name produced the least effect, she
squatted there motionless as a stone.
[Illustration: _Happy’s First View of Waddles._]
Anne crouched upon the door-sill quite in despair, then she saw that
Cadence’s eyes were fastened upon her face, so she smiled, chirruped to
her, and tried what patting her back and smoothing her long ears would
do.
The effect was magical; the little hound stopped cowering, looked up,
gave a spring, touching Anne’s finger-tips with her tongue, and walked
off after her new mistress without further objection.
In fact, as they took the downhill path toward home, Cadence led as
if she was quite well aware where she was going, and she tugged and
strained so on the leash when she came in sight of the house as to make
Anne fairly trot.
Then for the first time Anne thought of the objections that Waddles
might make; for though he had chummed with Lumberlegs until recently,
their relations were not wholly satisfactory, and as for Lily--well,
he never interfered with her, but then also he never asked her to walk
with him.
As it chanced Waddles was standing in the middle of the walk sniffing
the air, with a very sentimental expression on his mobile face.
Anne slipped the leash, as it does not lead to friendliness when
strange dogs meet to have one run free and the other chained. Before
Waddles fully realized what had happened, before he could give a sniff
or a growl, Cadence evidently captivated by his looks had bounded up,
given him the coyest lick on the nose and sprung back again, her tail
wagging in a complete circle and an unmistakable smile on her face.
Thus taken by surprise Waddles surrendered, and by way of making the
newcomer feel at home he raised his head, gave a bay, and then putting
his nose to the ground found the trail he had been trying to locate,
gave a short bark and started off in full cry, Cadence following and
yelping madly.
“She knows how to pick up a trail if she is stupid,” said Anne to
herself; “but I wonder if she will come back here or go up to the
Kennels. I think I will just go in and explain about her to mother
while she has her run.”
The explanation was fortunately satisfactory; but then Anne’s father
and mother seldom objected to anything unless it was unkind, dangerous,
or too expensive.
In a quarter of an hour or so back came the pair, evidently the best
of friends, Waddles allowing Cadence not only to drink from his dish,
but to take a nicely ripened beef bone that he had partly buried under
the big apple tree. This was a wonderful bit of condescension, as it is
against the rules of Dogtown to dig up another’s bone, at least when
the other is looking, and the offence is punishable with a ki-yi-ing
and a real bite.
“Mistress,” said Waddles, behind his paw as it were, “that is a very
beautiful young lady; I will gladly share my bones with her, and that
is something that I have never done before,” which was perfectly true;
for Waddles, besides being very strict about food etiquette, thought a
good deal about what he ate.
The next morning when Anne came downstairs Cadence was lying on the
steps with her back to the house. Anne called her and clapped her hands
together, but she did not stir, yet the moment Anne’s footsteps jarred
the boards Cadence turned and came to her side.
Then the truth flashed upon Anne, the little hound was neither stupid
nor disobedient, but almost stone deaf. She could not hear the voice,
but felt the sound as it were from the footstep.
“There, I told Miss Jule that you weren’t wicked, but that you couldn’t
understand all that shouting and to-heeling, you dear little abused
thing. Now I’ll know exactly how to treat you and what to expect.” And
Anne held the pretty, soft paws in one hand while she lifted the dog’s
face so that it might _see_ what she said.
Truly, then, Cadence understood once and for all, and when puzzled
always looked in her mistress’s face.
When Miss Jule heard the story, she questioned all at the Horse Farm
and about the Kennels closely, and found that once, when Cadence was a
pup of less than a year, a gun had burst quite close to her head.
“Now,” said Anne, triumphantly, “you see why she was gun shy, and deaf,
and everything. You know, Miss Jule, animals are hardly ever bad; it’s
mostly something what we’ve done ourselves, and it’s being a kennel
dog, too. You see you can never be really intimate with them, and know
their troubles as I do Waddles.”
Miss Jule sighed, for she knew it was true.
* * * * *
From that day onward Cadence was a new dog, no longer sad eyed, though
she knew mighty well how to plead for what she wanted with those golden
brown eyes, but the most joyous thing alive.
She was pleased if she had a bone, or equally pleased with a dog
biscuit, happy to go to walk, happy to stay at home; her face wore a
perpetual smile, and her tail a ceaseless wag.
“Let us call her something different from that old kennel name, even if
she can’t hear it,” said Anne, one day six months later, as they stood
watching Cadence tending her first children, the fascinating twins,
Jack and Jill, and teaching them to lap milk.
“Yes,” assented Tommy, who stood by, pondering as to how soon the pups
might be harnessed to a toy cart; “let’s call her _Happy_, she is
always _so_ glad.” And Happy it is--Mrs. Happy Waddles of Happy Hall.
“Now there’s something else between us besides not understanding things
when we are shut up,” said Anne, making the hound stand up and put both
paws in her lap. “We are both named one thing and called another; for
you probably don’t know, my dear, unless Waddles has told you, that my
true name is Diana, after the hunting lady, and really I think some
night this fall I’ll live up to it and go out with you and Waddles to
hunt rabbits.”
So this is the annal of the coming of Happy, wife of Waddles, Mayor of
Dogtown.