Dexter went out into the hall feeling exceedingly miserable, for he had
left the occupants of the study talking about him, and, as the saying
goes, it made his ears burn. "I couldn't help it," he said dolefully:
"I did try. I'll go and tell Miss Grayson all about it, and ask her to
take my part."
He went into the drawing-room, but Helen was not there, so he ran
upstairs, and was in the act of tapping at her bedroom door, when Maria
came out of another room.
It was a curious fact, but there it was: Dexter always had the effect
upon Maria that a dog has upon a cat. The dog may be of the most
amiable disposition, and without the slightest desire to fight or worry,
but as soon as he is seen, up goes the cat's back in an arch, the tail
becomes plumose and the fur horrent, while, with dilated eyes and
displayed teeth glistening, puss indulges in the bad language peculiar
to cats.
Maria being of a different physique did not display these signs of
aggression exactly, but she invariably became vicious and metaphysically
showed her teeth.
"It's of no use your knocking there, Master Dexter. Miss Helen isn't at
home, and I'm quite sure if she was that she wouldn't approve of your
trapesing up out of the garden in your muddy and dirty shoes. I've got
enough to do here without cleaning up after you."
"But I haven't been in the garden, Maria," said Dexter, apologetically.
"I have just come out of the study."
"Don't I tell you she ain't at home," said Maria spitefully.
"Do you know when she will be back!"
"No, I don't," said Maria, and then sarcastically: "I beg your pardon,
_sir_--no I don't, _sir_."
Maria went along the passage like a roaring wind, she made so much noise
with her skirts, and then hurried downstairs, as if in great haste to
get hold of a door that she could bang; and as soon as she did reach
one, she made so much use of her opportunity that a picture in the hall
was blown sidewise, and began swinging to and fro like a great square
pendulum.
Dexter sighed, and felt very miserable as he stole downstairs again, and
past the study door, where the murmur of voices talking, as he knew,
about him made him shiver.
He was obliged to pass that door to get his cap, and then he had to pass
it again to get to the garden door.
Mr Limpney was talking, and Mr Limpney, being accustomed to lecture
and teach, spoke very loudly, so that Dexter heard him say--
"I must have more authority, sir, and--"
Dexter heard no more, for he fled into the garden, but he knew that
having authority meant the same as it meant with Mr Sibery, and it
sounded like going backwards.
He felt more miserable as he went out into the garden.
"Nobody hardly seems to like me, or care for me here," he said
dolefully; and, led by his inclination, he began to make his way down
the long green path toward the river, half fancying that Bob Dimsted
might be fishing.
But before he had gone far he saw Dan'l, who was busy doing up a bed,
and his appearance seemed to be the signal for the old man to put down
his tools and take out his great pruning-knife, as if he meant mischief,
but only to stoop from time to time to cut off a dead flower as an
excuse, so it seemed, for following Dexter wherever he went.
It was impossible to go about the garden under these circumstances, so
Dexter went down a little way, passed round a large _Wellingtonia_, and
walked slowly back toward the house, but, instead of entering, went by
the open window of the study, where the voice of Mr Limpney could still
be heard talking loudly, and, as it seemed to the listening boy,
breathing out threatenings against his peace of mind. The voice sounded
so loud as he went by that he half-expected to hear himself called in,
and in great dread he hurried on by the conservatory, and round the
house to the old stable-yard.
As he reached this he could hear a peculiar hissing noise--that which
Peter always made when he was washing the carriage, or the horses'
legs--to blow away the dust, so he said.
For a moment Dexter felt disposed to go into the new stable and talk to
Peter, but the opportunity was not tempting, and, hurrying on, the boy
reached the old buildings, looked round for a moment, and, thus
satisfied that he was not observed, he made a spring up to a little old
window, caught the sill, scrambled up directly, and, passing through,
disappeared inside.
He uttered a sigh as of relief, and crossing the damp stones of the
gloomy old place he reached a crazy flight of steps, which led up to a
loft, on either side of which were openings, through which, when the
stable had been in use, it had been customary to thrust down the
stored-up hay.
Dexter stopped here in the darkness for a few minutes listening, but no
one was following him, and he walked along to a second ladder which led
to a trap-door through which he passed, closed the trap, and then, in
the long roof a place greatly resembling in shape the triangle over
whose problem of squares he had that day stumbled, he seemed once more
himself.
His first act was to run quietly along some boards laid over the loft
ceiling, and, making a jump that would not have disgraced an acrobat, he
caught at a rope, pendent from the highest portion of the rafters,
twisted his legs about it, and swung easily to and fro.
The motion seemed to give him the greatest satisfaction, and as the
impetus given died out, he dropped one foot, and with a few vigorous
thrusts set himself going again till he was tired.
But that was not very soon, and he did not leave off till there were
sundry scratchings and squeakings, which drew his attention to his pets,
all of which were eager for food.
They were a heterogeneous collection, but, for the most part,
exceedingly tame, and ready to allow themselves to be handled, constant
familiarity with the gentle hand so often thrust into their boxes or
cages having robbed it of its terrors.
Dexter's happiest moments were passed here, saving those which Helen
continued to make pleasant to the boy; and as soon as his pets had drawn
his attention, he took off his jacket and vest, rolled up his sleeves,
and began to attend to their wants.
His rabbits--two which he had bought through Bob Dimsted, who made a
profit of a hundred per cent, by the transaction--were lifted out of the
packing-case they occupied, and in which they were kept by the lid being
closed within half an inch, by their pink ears, and immediately stood up
on their hind-legs, with drooping fore-paws, their pink noses twitching
as they smelt their owner's legs, till he gave them a couple of red
carrots, a portion of Dan'l's last year's store.
The next to be taken out was a hedgehog, a prize of his own discovering,
and captured one day asleep and tightly rolled up beneath one of the
Portugal laurels.
The minute before its box was open, the hedgehog was actively
perambulating its dark prison, but the moment it was touched it became a
ball, in which form it was rolled out on to the rough floor close to a
flower-pot saucer of bread and milk, smuggled up directly after
breakfast each morning.
Next came the large grey rat, captured originally in the steel trap, and
whose first act might have been anticipated. It did not resent its
owner's handling; but the moment it was set down it darted under the
loose boards, and remained there until tempted forth by the smell of the
bread and milk, and a tempting piece of candle-end, the former of which
it helped the hedgehog to eat.
The mice, which lived in the old cigar-box--not white mice, nor those
furry little sleepers given to hiding away in nooks and corners for
elongated naps, but the regular grey cheese-nibblers--next, after a good
deal of scratching, took Dexter's attention. As soon as the lid was
open, and the boy's hand thrust in, they ran up his fingers, and then
along his arm to his shoulder, wonderfully active and enterprising with
their sharp little noses, one even venturing right up the boy's head
after a pause by one ear, as if it looked like the cavernous entrance to
some extremely snug hiding-place.
"Quiet! Don't tickle," cried Dexter, as he gently put up one hand for
the mouse to run upon; and every movement was made so gently that the
little creatures were not alarmed, but rested gently upon the boy's
hand, as he lifted them down to where he had placed some scraps of
cheese and a biscuit, all articles of provender being derived from the
stores situated in his trousers-pockets, and that of his jacket.
The list was not yet complete, for an old wire trap had been turned into
a cage, and here dwelt Dexter's greatest favourite--about the
shabbiest-looking squirrel that ever exhibited bare patches upon its
skin, and a tail from which the plume-like hair had departed.
It cost five shillings, all the same, at a little broker's shop down in
the most poverty-stricken part of Coleby. It had been bought by the
broker at a sale in company with a parrot, a cockatoo, and a canary, all
being the property of a lady lately deceased. The canary died before he
reached home, and the parrot and cockatoo, on the strength of being able
to screech and say a few words, soon found owners, but the squirrel,
being shabby-looking, hung on hand, or rather outside the little shop,
in a canary's cage, to which it had been promoted after its own
revolving wire home had been sold, the purchaser declining to buy the
squirrel because he was so shabby.
The poor little brute did not improve afterwards, for he rubbed the hair
off his face by constantly trying to get through either the seed or
water hole, and every time he--for the sake of exercise--whisked round
the cage, it was to the disadvantage of his tail, which daily grew more
and more like that of Dexter's rat.
This little unfortunate might have been bought for a shilling by such a
boy as Bob Dimsted, but the superfine broadcloth of Dexter's jacket and
trousers sent it up to five, and pocket-money had to be saved for weeks
before it finally came into the boy's possession, to be watched with the
greatest attention to see if its hair would grow.
The squirrel's nose was thrust between the bars of the old wire
rat-trap, and when this was not the case, the active little animal
performed a kind of evolution suggestive of its trying to make the
letters SS in its prison, as skaters contrive them upon the ice, till
the wire door was open, and with one bound it was upon its owner's
shoulder, then up in the rafters, along one beam and down another, till
the first wild excitement of freedom was over, when it dropped upon the
floor, and began to forage for food.
Dexter was so truly happy among his little subjects that he sat down
upon the edge of an old box, forgetful of other claimants while he
attended to the wants of these, calling them by endearing names, giving
the rabbits oats from his pockets, a handful of which grain came now and
then from Peter.
The boy had intuitively discovered the way to tame his various pets.
Fear will accomplish a great deal with dumb animals, but the real secret
of winning their confidence is quietness, the art of never alarming
them, but by perfectly passive behaviour, and the most gentle of
movements, accustom the timid creatures to our presence. The rest was
merely habituating them to the fact that their owner was the sole source
from which food was to be obtained.
No one told Dexter all this; he learned it in his solitary communings
with the animal world. For somehow it seems to be the law of nature
that every moving thing goes about in dread of losing its life from
something else which either preys upon or persecutes it. The
house-sparrow, the most domestic of wild birds, gives a look-out for
squalls between every peck, but it will soon learn to distinguish the
person who does not molest and who feeds it, even to coming at his call,
while fish, those most cold-blooded of creatures, which in an ordinary
way go off like a silver flash at the sight of a shadow, will grow so
familiar that they will rise to the surface and touch the white
finger-tips placed level with the water.
So Dexter sat smiling and almost without movement among his subjects,
with the rabbits begging, the mice coming and going, now feeding and now
taking a friendly walk up his legs and about his chest, and the squirrel
bounding to him from time to time after nuts, which were carried up to
the beam overhead, and there rasped through with its keen teeth, the rat
the while watching it from the floor till furnished with another nut, as
it had pounced upon one the squirrel dropped.
There was yet another pet--one which had been very sluggish all through
the winter, but now in fine sunshiny days fairly active, and ready upon
this occasion to come forth and be fed.
Dexter rose very slowly, talking gently the while to the mice, which he
coaxed to his hand with a piece of cheese, and then placed them upon the
floor, while he went to a corner where, turned upside down upon a slate,
stood one of Dan'l's large flower-pots, the hole being covered with a
piece of perforated zinc.
The pot was lifted, slate and all, turned over, and the slate lifted
off, to display quite a nest of damp moss, which, as the boy watched,
seemed for a few minutes uninhabited, but all at once it began to heave
in one part; there was an increasing movement, as if something was
gliding through it, and then from among the soft moss a smooth
glistening head with two bright eyes appeared, and a curious little
tongue darted out through an opening between the tightly-closed jaws.
There was no doubt of the nature of the creature, which glided forth
more and more till it developed itself into a snake of a bright olive
green, about thirty inches long, its singular markings and mottlings
looking as bright as if it had been varnished.
Dexter watched the curious horizontal undulating movement of the little
serpent for some time before he touched it, and then taking it up very
gently, its tail hung swinging to and fro, while the front portion
curved and undulated, and searched about for a place to rest till it
found one upon the boy's arm, up which it began to glide as if the
warmth were pleasant, ending by nestling its head in the hollow of the
elbow-joint.
Meanwhile there was another rustling and movement of the moss, but
nothing showed for a time.
Dexter smoothed and stroked the snake, which seemed to be perfectly
content when it was moved, but soon after began to insinuate its blunt
rounded head here and there, as if in search of something, till its
owner bore it to a large pickle-jar standing upon a beam nearly level
with the floor, and upon his placing the reptile's head on a level with
the mouth, it glided in at once, inch by inch, over the side, and
through Dexter's hands, till it disappeared, the finely-graduated tail
passing over the edge, and it was gone, the jar being its larder, in
which were stored, ready for consumption, half a dozen of Dan'l's
greatest enemies--the slugs.
As Dexter turned to the heap of moss once more, at which one of the
rabbits was sniffing, there was another heaving movement, followed by a
sharp rap on the boards, the alarm signal of the rabbit which bounded
away, while a blunt, broad head and two glistening eyes slowly appeared;
then what looked like a short sturdy arm with outstretched fingers
pressed down the moss, then another arm began to work, and by slow
degrees a huge toad, which seemed to be as broad as it was long,
extricated itself from the soft vegetable fibre, and crept away on to
the boards, all in the most deliberate manner, as if it was too fat to
move fast.
"Hallo, Sam!" said Dexter, laughing. "Why, you've been asleep for a
month."
The toad seemed to be looking up at him in an unblinking fashion, but
did not move, and Dexter stooped down to touch it, but the moment his
hand approached, the reptile rose on its legs, arched its back, lowered
its head, swelled itself up, and uttered a low, hissing sound.
Dexter waited for a moment, and then softly began to scratch its side,
the result evidently being so satisfactory to the toad that it began by
leaning over toward the rubbing fingers, and then more and more, as if
the sensation were agreeable in the extreme.
A little coaxing then induced it to crawl slowly into its master's hand,
which it more than filled, sitting there perfectly contented till it was
placed in another pickle-jar to feed, this one being furnished with
wood-lice, pill millipedes, and other luxuries dear to a toad.
The striking of a clock roused Dexter from his communings with his pets,
and hastily restoring them to their various habitations, he resumed his
jacket, and after a quick glance round descended the steps.
"I couldn't take them with me," he said sadly, as he stood for a few
minutes in the old dark stable; "and if I left them without setting them
at liberty they would all die."