'I MADE SURE OF THAT,' SAID ROLF
We _heard_ it--the surprise I mean--almost before we heard the wheels of
the fly from Kirke, bringing the visitor that _was_ expected. For the
drive from the lodge is on well-rolled gravel, and as there had been a
few showers lately, it was soft, and you scarcely hear a carriage coming
in that case.
But what we did hear, as we stood about waiting to welcome Rolf
cordially, was a sharp, clear little voice, not talking, but--barking,
and then, almost at the same moment, we caught sight of the fly, as it
reached the turn at which anything coming up the drive could be seen
from the Hut.
'I do believe,' I exclaimed, turning to Taisy,--'I do believe he has got
a dog!'
Taisy shook her head.
'I don't know of it if he has,' she said; 'and I don't think he would
have brought one without asking if he might.'
Taisy looked a little frightened. She felt somehow as if she were rather
responsible for Rolf, especially on account of the gypsy affair!
'It may be a dog belonging to the flyman,' I went on; 'though in that
case it would probably be running alongside, and it doesn't sound as if
it were.'
Our doubts were soon set at rest.
When the fly drew up, not at the front--there was no place for carriages
there, but on a piece of level ground a little towards the back on one
side--out sprang our visitor--a tall, fair boy, a good bit taller than
Geordie, with nice blue eyes and a very sunny look about him,
altogether. And--in his arms he held--as if very much afraid of losing
it--the dearest, duckiest, little rough-haired terrier you ever saw!
Rolf--for of course it was Rolf--looking just a trifle shy, for which
we--Geordie and I--liked him all the better--turned at once to Taisy, as
if to a sort of protector. But he could not hold out his hand, as it was
all he could do with both hands to keep the frightened doggie from
escaping there and then from his grasp.
'How funny!' I thought. 'Why doesn't he let him go? He wouldn't want to
run away from his own master!'
'I can't shake hands, Taisy--but how are you?' Rolf by this time was
saying: 'Will you introduce me to your cousins? This little beggar--I
declare he's as slippery as an eel, in spite of his coat.'
We needed no introduction--we all pressed round him to look at the
terrier.
'Is he so nervous?' said Taisy. 'Has the railway frightened him?'
'Oh no, I don't think so. He was just as bad before we got into the
train. It's just strangeness' was the rather puzzling reply.
'"Strangeness,"' Taisy repeated, while Geordie and I looked up in
surprise,--'strangeness, with his own master holding him?'
Rolf gave a funny little laugh, and grew rather red.
'Oh, but,' he said, 'you see, he doesn't know I'm his master, and I
don't want him to. It isn't worth while. I--I only bought him this
morning from the keeper at Millings--you know Millings?'--Taisy nodded;
it was a place near Lady Emmeline's. 'I asked him to be on the lookout
for one as soon as I knew about coming here. I thought he'd suit Miss
Lanark, as you once said something about her wanting a really nice
little dog,' and he smiled at me in his frank, boyish way.
It was quite true! Rolf must have a good memory, for it was fully six
months ago that I had once said in writing to Taisy that papa had given
me leave to have a dog of my very own if I could get a good-tempered,
well-bred one, and that she must let me know if she came across a
personage of the kind. For, though it seems odd that, living in the
country, we had never had a pet of the kind, it was the case. I think
papa and mamma had rather discouraged it, till we were old enough to
treat a dog well and not to risk being ill-treated by him!
Since getting papa's leave to have one of my own I had almost forgotten
about it, so many important things and changes had happened.
But for a moment or two I forgot everything but my delight. The wee
doggie was so sweet--so just exactly what I had pictured to myself as
the perfection of a pet.
'Oh, thank you, thank you!' I exclaimed, holding out my arms, in which
Rolf carefully deposited the little creature, not very sorry, I fancy,
at the bottom of his heart to make him over to me, for he must have been
rather a tiresome travelling companion.
'He's a young dog, but full-grown,' Rolf said; 'and very affectionate
and good-tempered. I made sure of that. And he's really a lady's
dog--his mother belonged to a lady near Millings, and that has been his
home. She only sold him because she couldn't keep so many. He's a bit
timid, they say, or rather nervous--but plucky too; if any one tried to
hurt you he'd go for them, the keeper said. But it may take him a day or
two to settle down.'
It scarcely looked like it--already the little round, rough head was
nestling against me, and the nice little cold, black nose rubbing my
fingers approvingly, while Taisy and George pressed up to me to see him.
'What's his name, Rolf?' asked the former. Geordie did not speak; I
think for a minute or two he was feeling just a little jealous--or
envious rather of Rolf--as _he_ had not been able to give me a dog, when
he saw how delighted I was. But he was too good and unselfish to let
this feeling last, and when the terrier gave him a friendly lick in
return for a patronising little pat, Dods's kind heart was completely
won.
'His name,' Rolf repeated thoughtfully; 'I'm afraid I forgot to ask. But
he'll soon get used to any name. It's often more the tone than the
actual sound that a dog notices.'
'I know,' said Taisy in her quick way; 'call him "Rough." It's not very
uncommon perhaps, but it would suit him--his coat--so well, and it is
rather like "Rolf" too.'
We had just decided this when mamma's voice, coming towards us from the
Hut, made us turn round.
'What are you all about?' she asked. 'I heard the fly come some minutes
ago. Welcome to Eastercove, Rolf,' she went on, holding out her hand,
which our visitor was now able to take. 'I hope you have had a pleas----
Oh! so you have brought your dog,' and she looked a very little
startled; 'take care, Ida. Is he quite good with strangers?'
'Oh, but,' I began, and then I suddenly remembered that without mamma's
leave I had no right to accept Rolf's gift. 'He's mine--my own dog,' I
went on; 'that's to say if you will let me have him. You know papa said
I might have a dog,' I added pleadingly; 'though of course it is
different now. And he is quite good-tempered and gentle.'
'Yes,' Rolf repeated; 'I made sure of that.'
They were the first words mamma had heard him speak. He had not had a
chance of thanking her for her 'welcome,' nor she of finishing her
sentence about his journey, so taken up had we all been by Master Rough!
But at least it had had the good effect of setting us all at our ease.
Then I went on to explain about Rolf's having remembered what Taisy had
told him ever so long ago about my wish to have a dog--by the bye, it
was lucky that I had not already got one! That possibility had never
struck Rolf; he had only been turning over in his mind what he could do
to please us, whom he thought very kind to 'take him in,' and mamma
turned to him in the pretty way she does, which always makes people like
her.
'It was very good of you,' she said,--'very good and thoughtful,' and
she too patted the new pet--_very_ gently; mamma is a little afraid,
perhaps wisely so, of strange dogs--so that in her case he thought a wag
of his tail sufficient notice of her attention instead of a lick, for
which omission, if mamma had known of it, she would have been grateful!
'Do you think,' she went on, turning to us three, 'that among you, you
can look after him properly and prevent his getting into any trouble,
or straying away in the woods?'
'And getting shot by mistake for a rabbit?' said Geordie. 'He is so like
one!'
We all laughed at this; for nothing in dog shape, _little_ dog shape, at
least, could be less like a bunny than Rough, though perhaps it was not
_very_ respectful of Dods to joke at mamma's fears. But she did not
mind, and by this time we were all feeling quite at home with Rolf, and
he with us. So we went in together to tea, where he and the two little
ones had to be introduced to each other, and Rough exhibited to Denzil
and Esme's admiring eyes. He had fallen asleep in my arms, feeling happy
and comfortable again, and probably thinking I was his old mistress
restored to him after some dreadful doggie nightmare of separation.
'Mamma need not say, "_Among_ you, will he be looked after?"' I thought
to myself. 'The darling will have looking after enough from his
owner--myself. I only hope the little ones won't tease him, or interfere
with him, even out of kindness.'
That first evening of Rolf's visit left a very pleasant remembrance, and
it was only a beginning of many happy days.
He seemed to bring with him just what we needed (though Taisy had done a
good deal, rather of the same kind). It prevented our getting too much
taken up with our own affairs, or becoming too 'old-fashioned,'--Geordie
and I especially--as Hoskins called it, and I don't know that there is a
better word to express what I mean.
He was so thoroughly a boy, though the very nicest kind of boy--not
ashamed of being a 'gentleman,' too, in lots of little ways, which many
boys either despise, or are too awkward and shy to attend to. I don't
mean to say that he was the least bit of a prig--just the opposite. He
often forgot about wiping his feet, and was rather particularly clever
at tearing his clothes, but never forgot to open the door for mamma and
us girls, or to tug at his old straw hat or cap when he met us! Or more
important things in a sense--such as settling mamma's 'boudoir,' as we
got into the habit of calling Miss Trevor's present, in the best place;
and seeing that her letters were taken in good time to the lodge for the
postman, and things like that.
And looking back upon those days now that I am so much older, I can see
that he must have had a good deal of 'tact' of the truest kind, as
mamma says it really means care for other people's feelings, not to
make dear old Geordie at all jealous,--actually, indeed, to take away
the touch of it which Dods did feel at the beginning.
Before a couple of days had passed, all the boys were the best of
friends. Of course, I made Rolf leave off calling me anything but 'Ida,'
and to Esme he was quite a slave. Rather too much so. He spoilt her, and
it was the only thing Taisy and I were not quite pleased with him for,
as it did make her much more troublesome again at her lessons.
But there came a day when even he got very, very vexed with Esme. I
think I must tell the story. She won't mind even if she ever reads this,
for she is _much_ more sensible now, and often says she wonders how we
all had patience with her.
It had to do with Rough, my doggie.
Dogs, as I daresay you, whoever you are, know, if you have had much to
do with them, are not always fond of children, or perhaps I should say,
are not fond of _all_ children. They hate fidgety, teasing ones, who
will pull and pinch them for the fun of making them snap and snarl, or
who _won't_ let them have a peaceful snooze on the hearthrug, if they
themselves--the tiresome children, I mean--are inclined for noisy
romping. If I were a dog, I should do more than snap and snarl in such a
case, I know!
Esme was not as bad as that. She was a kind-hearted little girl, and
never meant to hurt or worry any one. But she was a terrible fidget, and
very mischievous and thoughtless. It would have been better for her
perhaps to have had a rather less free life than ours at the Hut was.
There was no one whose regular business it was to look after her. Out of
lesson hours she might do pretty much as she liked. Mamma knew she would
never do anything really naughty, or that she thought so, anyway, and we
trusted a good deal to the boys, who, even little Denzil, were so
particularly steady-going, and whom she was generally with.
But after Rolf came, he and George naturally went about together a good
deal, just as Taisy and I did, and I don't think any of us realised how
completely Esme had the upper hand of Den.
If I was to blame about her, by not keeping her more with Taisy and
myself, I was well punished for it by the fright she gave us, as you
will hear.
It was rather a hot day for the time of year--still only spring. We four
elder ones had gone for a good long ramble in the farther off woods,
taking our luncheon with us, and for some reason--I think I _was_, in
my own mind, a little afraid of Rough's getting trapped or some
mischance of the kind--I had left my doggie at home, as safe as could
be, I thought, for he was under Hoskins's care, and she was nearly as
fond of him as I myself.
He would have been far safer, as it turned out, if we had taken him with
us.
Esme must have been 'at a loose end' that afternoon, from what she told
me afterwards. Denzil had got some little carpentering job in hand--he
was rather clever at it, and at dinner-time, Esme, as well as he, told
mamma about it--so she was quite happy, thinking they had got good
occupation, and that there was no fear of any 'idle hands' trouble.
But Miss Esme, as was her way, got very tired of handing Den the nails
and tools and things he wanted, and of watching his rather slow
progress, and told him she must really go for a run.
'All right,' said Denzil; 'but don't go far.'
He told us this part of it himself, when he came in for some blame in
having 'let' Esme' get into mischief. This sounds rather hard upon him,
doesn't it, considering he was fully a year younger than she? but, as I
have explained, he was such a solemn old sober-sides, that we had all
got into the way of treating him as if he were the responsible one of
the two.
'No,' Esme replied, she would not go far; nor did she.
She strolled about--I can see her now as she must have looked that
afternoon--her hands behind her back, her black legs--she was a tall
little girl for her age--showing rather long and thin beneath her big,
brown Holland overall, her garden hat tilted very much to the back, her
lovely goldy hair in a great fuzz as usual, and her bright hazel eyes
peering about for something to amuse herself with.
As ill-luck would have it, she found the 'something' in the shape of my
poor darling Roughie!
Hoskins had allowed him to go out with a bone to the front of the Hut,
where he was lying very comfortably in the sunshine, on a mat, which he
considered his own property. He had left off nibbling at the bone, and
was half or three-quarters asleep.
Now when Esme is--no, I must in fairness say 'was,' she is so different
now--in one of her idle yet restless humours, it irritated her somehow
to see any one else peaceful and quiet, even if the some one else was
only a dog.
'You lazy little beggar,' she said to Rough. I don't really know that
she said those very words, but I am sure it was something of the kind,
and so I think I may 'draw on my imagination' a little in telling the
story. 'You lazy little beggar, why don't you get up and go for a run?
You are getting far too fat.'
And--she told me this herself--she gave him a 'tiny' kick, not so as to
hurt him--that I quite believe, but dogs have feelings about other
things than being actually hurt in their bodies. He had been blinking up
at her good-naturedly, though he was not, as I said, very fond of her.
Nor was she of him.
But now, at the kick, or 'shove,' I think she called it, he gave a
slight growl. And no wonder--it was not the sort of thing to sweeten
even a sweet-tempered dog's temper--when he was doing no harm and only
asking to be left alone in peace. Esme, however, declared that it was
the growl that made her wish to tease him.
She put her hand into the pocket of her blouse, meaning to take out her
handkerchief to 'flick' him a little and make him wake up. But in this
pocket, unluckily, besides the handkerchief were some nails and screws
and such things which she had put there for convenience while being
supposed to 'help' Denzil, by handing them to him as he wanted them. And
when she touched them, they rattled and jingled, thoroughly rousing poor
Roughie, who opened his eyes and growled again, this time more loudly,
and Esme, delighted, rattled and jingled, and again he growled.
Then a wicked idea came into her head.
She had heard of naughty boys tormenting cats in a certain way.
'It can't hurt him,' she thought; 'it will only make him run, which is
good for him.'
And she darted into the Hut, and through it to Rolf's tent, where, as I
said, there was a small compact cooking stove, and among the things
belonging to it a small but strong tin kettle. Esme looked at it. I
believe she was more afraid just then of damaging the kettle than of
harming the dog!
Still she lifted it and considered for a moment.
'No,' she thought, 'it's quite light; it can't hurt him. And it won't
hurt _it_ either. I'll only put a few nails in,' and out she ran again
to the front, where my poor pet was settling down for another nap,
hoping, no doubt, that Miss Esme had gone for good.
By ill-luck, her other pocket held a good piece of stout string. She sat
down and quietly tied up the kettle, so that the lid was secure, having
first dropped into it enough nails and screws to make a woful clatter,
but taking care that no jingle should be heard as yet. It is wonderful
how careful a careless child can be if bent on mischief!
[Illustration: SHE FASTENED THE ONE END OF THE STRING ROUND HIS POOR
LITTLE BODY.]
Then speaking for once most gently and caressingly to Roughie, who was
so surprised that he lay quite still, she fastened the other end of the
string to his tail, and round his poor little body too. 'I didn't want
his tail to be pulled off,' she said afterwards--fortunately, for his
tail _might_ have been badly hurt.
Then when all was ready, she got up cautiously, and walking away a few
steps, called Rough very sweetly. But he was rather suspicious; he first
got up and stretched himself--there was a faint jingle--poor wee man, he
looked behind him--no, Esme was not there; he moved, more jingle and
rattle, again she called, and he, beginning to be frightened, turned
towards her, on which the cruel little thing 'shoo'ed' him away. She
described it all perfectly. And then the idea must have seized him of
escaping by flight from the unseen terror. He ran--of course the noise
got worse; he ran faster, and it grew louder--faster still--oh, my poor
Roughie!--louder still, Esme laughing--at _first_, that is to say--to
herself, till his doggy wits began to desert him, and a sort of
nightmare agony must have seized him.
And then--too late--the naughty girl saw what she had done.