It was a hurried departure and an anxious journey. We arrived late in
the evening at my father's house. He came to meet us at the gate, tall
and solemn, his white hair stirred by the wind. He kissed me without
speaking and laid his hand on Tioka's head.
"Mother--?" I scarcely dared to inquire.
"Better. She is better. She has improved greatly since she knew you were
coming."
Tioka had hurriedly kissed his grandfather's hand, and now was hastening
up the great staircase to see his grandmother, to whom he was
passionately attached. Soon his rippling laughter and his nimble
footsteps could be heard all over the house, and my mother said that the
happiness of it had well-nigh cured her.
It was scarcely daybreak next morning when Tioka came to call me to go
down with him into the garden.
The great garden at Otrada--the garden of my girlhood--glowed in all its
summer splendor, and Tioka ran before me with cries of joy at everything
he saw.
"Look at the water! Look at the little bridge! Did you play here when
you were little? Were you ever really little?" He looked at me
doubtfully. "I mean really quite little--like Tania."
The mention of his sister's name was like a blow to my heart. But Tioka
was already flying across the lawn.
"Oh," he cried. "There's the swing! I had forgotten there was a swing!
Hurrah!"
"Hush, hush, dearest," I warned; "don't disturb grandmama who is ill."
He swung backwards and forwards, careless and handsome, shaking his
blond hair in the wind.
"Grandmama cannot hear me; she is fast asleep still. And besides she is
not ill any more now that we are here; otherwise grandpapa would not
have gone to Kieff to-day." Tioka jumped down from the swing and raised
his face to me with adorable seriousness. "Tell me, mother, when one is
ill with nervousness doesn't that mean that you want something you
haven't got? Then if you get it you are well again, aren't you?
Grandmama wanted us. We came. And now she is cured." After a pause he
went on: "I think I am ill with nervousness too. I am nervous for a bowl
of goldfish; and for a hunting dog like that one," he added, indicating
a large setter lying stretched in the sun with his muzzle on his paws.
"Why, that is Bear!" I cried, "our old Bear." I bent down to caress him.
"Dear Bear, good Bear! Don't you recognize me?"
Bear raised his languid, blood-shot eyes, but did not stir.
"How sad he looks," I said, touching his muzzle to see whether his nose
was hot. "Perhaps he is ill."
"Perhaps he is nervous, too," said Tioka. "Very likely he is nervous
because he wants a bone." And the child broke into a peal of shrill,
merry laughter.
In an instant the great dog had turned and leaped upon him. Snarling and
growling he tore at his clothes, covering his shoulders and breast with
blood-stained foam.
Tioka fell shrieking to the ground. I flung myself upon the frenzied
animal, seizing him by the collar, by the ears, and striving to drag him
back; but with hoarse growls and snappish barks the dog kept biting and
tearing the child's garments as he lay prostrate and inert on the
gravel. With one hand I clutched the neck of the dog, while with the
other I picked up a stone and beat him on the head with it until the
blood ran.
With a roar like that of a tiger, the animal turned and sprang upon me.
I felt the sting of his fang as it bit into my arm, and I struck his
nose with the stone which was already covered with blood. With a cry of
pain that had almost a human sound, the dog released his hold, turned
and went off.
I saw him trotting away along the path, surly and dreadful, with his
tail hanging down and his wounded head showing red in the sunshine.