It must have been almost midnight when our hearts were made to beat in our
throats by such an uproar in the scullery, as seemed to cleave the darkness
like a thunderbolt. Giftie appeared to be choking in her effort to unloose,
all at once, a torrent of ferocious barks. A window shook, glass broke, a
shutter slammed. Then followed a moment of awful silence before she settled
down to a methodical yapping. We heard Mary Ellen run down the back stairs.
We clambered out of bed, and tumbled into the hall. Mrs. Handsomebody was
there before us, a gigantic shadow of her thrown on the walls by a candle
she held unsteadily in her hand.
"Merciful Heaven!" she was saying under her breath. "What can have
happened!" She motioned us to fall in behind her, and it was plain that,
crippled as she was, she intended to interpose her body, in its flannel
nightgown, between us and whatever danger lurked below. She made the
descent clinging to the bannister, the three of us jostling each other in
the rear, and, once, nearly precipitated on her back by a caper of Angel's
on the edge of a step.
Mary Ellen met us in the dining-room, her face pale with excitement.
"It was a burglar in the scullery, ma'am," she burst out, never looking at
us. "It's a mercy we wasn't all murthered in our beds this night--the
windy's broke, an' the shutter's pried loose, and a bag full av all the
things off the sideboard is settin' on the flure. Sure, I heard the steps
av him runnin' full lick down the lane--"
Mrs. Handsomebody looked at her bereft sideboard, and dropped into a chair
with a gasp.
"Are you _sure_ he's gone?"
"Yes'm. I stuck me head out the windy and seen him."
"You're a brave girl. Get me the bitters. Yes, and lock the door into the
scullery--stay, what dog was it that barked?"
Mary Ellen hung her head. "The dawg the little boys have been keepin' this
bit while. It does no harm at all."
Mrs. Handsomebody's face was a mask. She said composedly: "Well, get the
bitters and then bring in the dog."
Mary Ellen did as she was bid.
Enter now Giftie, tail up, ears pricked, the picture of conscious
well-doing. She went straight to Mrs. Handsomebody, sniffed her ankles;
wagged her tail in appreciation of the odour of the liniment that emanated
from the injured lady; and finally sat up before her with an ingratiating
paddling of the forepaws.
Mrs. Handsomebody regarded her sombrely. "May I ask how long you have
harboured this stray?"
"Just since the day ye fell, ma'am, and I was that upset that I was scarce
in me right moind, and indade, it's hersilf has saved us from robbery and
mebbe murther this night wid her barkin'."
Giftie, tired of sitting up without reward or encouragement, had trotted
quietly out of the room. She now came back waddling with importance, a pup
in her mouth. She laid it at the feet of our governess as though to
say--"There now, what do you make of that?"
"Horrors!" cried Mrs. Handsomebody, drawing back, as though the puppy were
a serpent.
With a joyful kick of the heels, Giftie was off again. In breathless
silence we waited. The second puppy, sleepy and squirming, was laid beside
its brother.
"I presume you have another?" said Mrs. Handsomebody in a controlled voice
but gripping the arms of her chair.
Giftie brought the other.
"Oh, Mrs. Handsomebody!" I implored, "please, please, let us keep them!
They're as good as gold, and they'd guard the house and everything--and
maybe save you from drowning some time. Don't take them from us, pl-ease!"
The Seraph, in sympathy, began to cry. Angel picked up his pup and held it
against his breast.
"Silence!" rapped out Mrs. Handsomebody. "Mary Ellen, fetch _The Times_.
And just look in the scullery to see that all is quiet there. Fetch the bag
left by the robber."
Mrs. Handsomebody sipped her bitters while Mary Ellen did her behests. Each
of us cuddled his own puppy, and Giftie began an energetic search for a
flea.
Had our hearts not been in the grip of apprehension we should have laughed
at the figure cut by Mary Ellen, panting under the sack of plate. Mr.
Watlin's burglar had done his job well, and Mrs. Handsomebody groaned when
she saw her most cherished possessions tumbled in such a reckless fashion.
But not a thing was missing, and when they had been replaced on the
sideboard, she turned briskly to _The Times_. She ran a long white finger
down the Lost column.
"Ah, here we are--" she announced, complacently--"Pay attention, boys," and
she read:
"_Reward_ for information leading to the recovery of Scottish terrier,
female, wearing silver collar engraved, Giftie, stolen or strayed from
5 Argyle Road, on November third. Anyone detaining after this notice
will be prosecuted."
"You see," exclaimed Mrs. Handsomebody, triumphantly, "you have made
yourselves liable to a heavy fine, or even imprisonment, by detaining what
is, I presume, a very valuable beast. Argyle Road--a very good locality--is
not too great a distance for you to walk. In the morning, we shall return
that dog and her--er--young, and I see nothing amiss in your accepting a
suitable reward. Not a word now! No insubordination, mind. I won't have it.
David, John, Alexander, listen--I am in no mood to be trifled with. Put
down those squirming creatures and march to your bed!"
Giftie's hour had struck. It was no use rebelling. With bitter composure,
we carried our beloved to the scullery, and laid them on the mat beside
their mother. It was not until we were safe in bed that our pent up fury
broke loose; and we pounded the pillows, and cursed the name of womankind.
Women! Tyrants! Mischievous busybodies!
"When I'm a man," said Angel, suddenly, "I'll marry a woman, and I'll beat
her every day."
"Me too!" cried The Seraph, stoutly, "I'll mawy two--fat ones--an' beat 'em
bofe."
For myself, I was inclined for an unhampered bachelorhood, but it soothed
my wounded spirit to picture these three hapless females in the grip of
Angel and The Seraph, and the music of their outcries lulled me fast
asleep.