'WELL--ALL IS WELL THAT ENDS WELL!'
What I described in the last chapter will explain the scene that met our
eyes, and the sounds that reached our ears, as we got near the Hut.
And unluckily the 'we' did not mean only us four--the two bigger boys
and Taisy and I. For as we were passing through that part of the near
woods which skirts the Eastercove gardens--we always took care not to go
very close to the house or more private part of the grounds, as, nice as
the Trevors were, mamma said we must never risk their feeling that the
place was not quite their own for the time being--just, I say, as we
passed the nearest point to the house, we came upon them, all three of
them--Mr., Mrs., and Miss. No, I think I should say all _six_ of them,
for trotting round old Mrs. Trevor's heels were of course the three
pugs. And, of course too, huddled up under one arm, was the bundle of
many-coloured knitting; she was working as she walked, and when she
stopped to speak to us, one or two balls rolled on to the ground, so
that before Rolf and Geordie had time to touch their caps almost, they
were both on their knees, trying to catch the truants before they rolled
farther away.
'We were coming to see you all,' said Miss Trevor smiling; 'do you think
your mother is at home and disengaged?'
'I think so,' I replied, and then I went on to explain that we had been
out for several hours on a private picnicking expedition of our own, and
we all joined in saying, 'Do come,' for we liked the Trevors very much,
especially Miss 'Zenia.' We were a little frightened of Mr. Trevor; he
was so tall and thin, and had the name of being tremendously learned,
but they were all very kind, though I have nothing _very_ particular to
tell about them. Mrs. Trevor always made us laugh, with her dogs and her
knitting, but she _was_ so good-natured.
So we strolled on together, in the pleasant, still, sunshiny
afternoon--Rolf and Geordie talking to Mr. Trevor, who was not at all
'awe-inspiring' when he got on the subject of his own schooldays, for we
heard them all laughing most heartily now and then.
Taisy declared afterwards that she had picked up balls of wool at least
twenty times during that walk, as she kept beside Mrs. Trevor. And
seeing that their mistress was thus engaged, the three dogs--they were
really very well-behaved--took to following rather demurely, all three
together, while I chatted to Zenia.
It was not till we were very near the Hut that any unusual sounds
reached us.
I was just talking about Roughie to Miss Trevor, descanting on his
perfections, when a sort of queer yelping gasp, or gasping yelp, made us
stand still for a moment.
'What can that be?' I said.
'Oh, nothing,' said Miss Trevor. 'One hears all sorts of funny animal
sounds in the woods, I have learnt to know. You are rather like an
anxious mamma, Ida, who has been out and left her baby too long. For I
can see you at once think of the dear doggie,' and she laughed a little,
though of course quite kindly.
I laughed too, and we walked on--we were just a few steps in front of
the others.
But--again in another moment I stopped, this time holding up my hand,
and saying, 'Hush!'
Then I turned, and I fancy I had grown quite white already.
'Miss Trevor,' I said, 'it _is_ Rough, and there must be something
dreadful the matter. Just listen.'
There was the same gasping yelp, almost like a choking human cry, and
the strangest rushing and clanking, jingling sounds, all mixed together.
'Was he chained up? Can he have broken loose?' said Zenia breathlessly.
'It sounds like----'
'"Chained up,"' I repeated indignantly; 'my sweet little Roughie! Oh no,
no!' I cried, as I rushed off.
It was rather rude, I am afraid, to repeat her words like that, but she
was far too kind to mind.
'Geordie, Geordie, Rolf,' I cried, 'come quickly! There is something
dreadfully the matter with Rough.'
So indeed it seemed, for the noise grew louder, and mingled with it now
were a child's calls and shrieks.
'Roughie, Roughie,' I distinguished in Esme's voice; 'darling Roughie,
come to me. Don't be so frightened, darling. I didn't mean it--oh, I
didn't mean it!'
And this was what I _saw_.
Esme, hair streaming, eyes streaming, scarlet with terror, rushing over
the ground in front and at the side of the Hut, lost to sight for a
moment among the trees, then out again, after _something_--a small, wild
animal, it seemed--that was tearing before her, evidently trying to
escape from her, or from--yes, what was that strange thing rushing after
_it_? Another still smaller wild beast of some kind, or what? No, it was
nothing alive; it was a metal thing of some kind, rattling, clanking,
jingling, and--oh, horrors!--tied to my poor pet's little body.
I saw it all at once--affection quickens one's eyes, they say--I took it
all in before there was time for any explanation, though Esme screamed
to me as she flew on: 'Oh, Ida, Ida, I didn't mean it! Stop him, stop
him!'
Naughty, naughty Esme!
_He_ had already rushed past me--within a few yards, that is to
say--without seeing me, whom he generally caught sight of before you
could think it possible. Blinded by terror--yes, and deafened too--he
did not know I had come; he could not hear his own 'missus's' voice.
And he was dreadful to look at: his tongue was hanging out; his whole
little head seemed spattered with foam; he was rushing like a mad
thing, even though, by the gasping sound he made, you could tell he was
exhausted, and had scarcely any breath left.
No wonder that, as the boys hurried up behind me, they and Mr.
Trevor--Mr. Trevor especially--thought he _was_ mad.
Mr. Trevor kept his presence of mind, I must say, under what _he_
thought the dreadful circumstances. He almost pushed his mother and
sister and Taisy into the porch, and tried to push me in too. But I
evaded him.
The boys and Esme were quite out of reach--_they_ were tearing after
_her_, shouting to her to 'Come back, come back!' which did not tend to
lessen the uproar. And when _I_ started in pursuit, as of course I did,
it must have seemed to any one looking on as if we had all gone mad
together! Indeed, Taisy owned to me afterwards that, terrified as she
was, she had hard work to keep down her laughter, especially when she
heard me turn upon dignified Mr. Trevor, and in answer to his despotic--
'Go back, Miss Lanark, go back; I insist upon it,' shout back,
'Nonsense; I will _not_ go back.'
And as I heard his next words--
'The dog must be shot at once. Boys, is there a gun about the place?' I
grew desperate, for I knew that there _was_ a gun--Rolf's--though he and
Geordie had given their word of honour to mamma not to touch it without
leave.
Then a new idea struck me. Instead of rushing round like the
others--like the boys that is to say, for by this time Esme had dropped
in front of the porch, whence Zenia Trevor had dragged her in, and she
was now sobbing on Taisy's shoulder--instead of rushing after Roughie, I
'doubled' and _met_ him, my arms outstretched, and using every endearing
and coaxing tone I could think of. And oh, the joy and relief when,
almost dead with exhaustion by now, he flew into my clasp, and, panting
and nearly choking, faintly rubbed his poor little head against me!
'He knows me, he knows me!' I shouted. 'He is not a bit mad; he is only
wild with terror.'
But I had some trouble to get the others to believe me; _their_ fright
had only increased tenfold when they saw me catch him. In some
marvellous way Mr. Trevor had got out the gun--I have always suspected
that Taisy or Hoskins or one of them had already thought of it--and
stood within a few paces of my dog and me. But for my having him in my
arms, he would have made an end of Roughie, and certainly I would never
have told this story.
As it was, for a moment or two he--Mr. Trevor, not the poor pet--was
very angry.
'Miss Lanark!' he shouted, 'you are mad yourself to touch him. Has he
bitten you?' for I was crying so by this time that I had hidden my face
in Rough's coat.
'_Bitten_ me!' I exclaimed, looking up and not caring if Mr. Trevor saw
my tears or not,--'_bitten_ me! How can you imagine such a thing? Look
at him.'
And, indeed, it was a sight to melt any heart and disarm any fears!
Roughie was lying quite still, nestling against me as close as he could
get, only quivering now and then and giving little sobbing sighs, just
as a tiny child does after some violent trouble and crying.
I believe he was already asleep!
Mr. Trevor approached cautiously.
'He--he certainly looks all right now,' he said. 'Can it have been a fit
of some extraordinary kind, then, or what can----'
'There is no mystery about it,' I said, 'except the mystery of how any
one _could_ be so cruel. Didn't you hear the rattling, Mr.
Trevor--didn't you see--_this_?'
And I gave a gentle tug to the string, still firmly fastened to the poor
little man; but gently as I did it, the horrid kettle and things in it
jingled slightly, and at once Roughie opened his eyes and began to
shake.
I soothed him again, but Mr. Trevor did the sensible thing. He laid down
the gun, calling to the boys as they hurried up not to touch it, and
taking out his penknife cut the string, close to the kettle end first,
and then handed the knife to me, to cut the string again where it was
fastened to my dog.
Rolf and Geordie could scarcely speak.
'Who can have done it?' they exclaimed. '_Could_ Esme have been so----'
'Cruel and naughty,' I interrupted,--'yes, I am afraid so, though I
_couldn't_ have believed it of her. Geordie, pick up the kettle please,
without jingling if you can help it, and please throw away the horrid
things that are in it.'
'No, no, don't throw them away!' exclaimed a newcomer on the scene.
'They're my nails and screws.'
It was Denzil.
'And my kettle,' said poor Rolf, rather dolefully, for he was proud of
his cooking stove and all its neat arrangements, and the kettle looked
nearly as miserable for a kettle as Roughie did for a little dog!
I turned upon Denzil very sharply, I am afraid.
'Did you know of it, then?' I said.
Poor Denzil looked very frightened.
'In course not, Ida,' he said. 'I came out to ask Esme for my nails. She
had a lot of them in her blouse pockets, and she got tired of helping me
and forgot to give me them back.'
'I'm very sorry,' I said. 'No, I am sure you would never do such a
thing, Den.'
Then I got up, very carefully, not to disturb my poor doggie, who was
really asleep by this time, and we all--Mr. Trevor and the three boys
and I--went to the group in the porch, whose anxiety was already
relieved by seeing us more tranquil again. Taisy had been dying to rush
out to us, but Esme, sobbing in her arms, was not easily disposed of.
She--Esme--had begun an incoherent confession of her misdoings, but now
mamma stopped it.
'Is it all right?' she asked eagerly, speaking to Mr. Trevor. 'The dog
is _not_ mad then? What was it?'
Mr. Trevor glanced, still a little doubtfully, at Roughie in my arms.
'I--yes, I think he is all right again,' he replied. 'He certainly
recognised his mistress's voice, which is the best sign. I do not think
it was any kind of fit; it was just terror. He must be a nervous little
creature.'
'Yes,' said Rolf; 'he is awfully nervous, though he is not cowardly.'
'A fine distinction, as applied to a dog,' said Mr. Trevor smiling. 'But
if--you all knew it, how----'
A howl--really it was a howl--from Esme interrupted him.
'Oh, I know, I know!' she wailed. 'It was all my fault. But I only meant
to tease him and make him run. I didn't mean--oh, Ida, I didn't mean--to
make him go mad. Will you ever forgive me? Rough will never look at me
again, I know.'
She was mistaken. The prettiest thing happened just then: Roughie,
placidly asleep, though giving little quivers and sobs still, was
awakened by the noise she made. He opened his eyes, and his mouth--what
Denzil called 'smiling'--a little; I think he meant to give a friendly
lick, but finding nothing handy for this, he contented himself with a
very cheerful tail-wagging, first glancing up at Esme, who was bending
over him, as much as to say, 'I do forgive you heartily.'
I have always said that dogs--nice dogs--are sorry for people when they
see them crying. Since that day I have been sure of it.
But the first effect of Rough's magnanimity was to bring forth another
burst of sobs and tears from poor Esme.
Yes, I too forgave her from that moment.
'Oh, Ida! oh, mamma! oh, everybody!' she cried, 'do forgive me! You see
_he_ does.'
So now we fell to petting and soothing her; it never took very long to
get up Esme's spirits again, happily. Before bedtime, except for
reddened eyes, you would not have known there had been anything the
matter, but from that day to this Roughie has had no kinder or truer
friend than her.
We were all feeling rather overstrained. Mr. Trevor, I _fancy_, a little
ashamed of the great fuss he had made, though perhaps I should scarcely
speak of it like that, and I think we all felt glad when mamma said
brightly--
'Well--all is well that ends well! Will you join us at our schoolroom
tea and forgive its being rather a scramble after all this upset?' She
turned to the Trevors, but before they had time to reply there came a
half-laughing but rather distressed appeal from Mrs. Trevor.
'My dears,' she said, addressing everybody as far as I could make out,
'will some of you disentangle me? The dogs and I have all got mixed up
together--naughty, naughty!' and she switched powerlessly with a
knitting needle at the poodles, who this time were really enjoying
themselves in a good ball-of-wool chase, as the excitement of Rough's
strange behaviour had actually made the old lady leave off knitting for
fully five minutes!
It was quite impossible not to laugh, but Mrs. Trevor herself laughed as
heartily as any one, and at last, by turning her round and round as if
we were playing at blind man's buff, and catching up first one poodle
and then another, we got her free.
And of course the wool looked none the worse!
That laughing set us all still more at our ease, and by the time we had
sobered down, Hoskins appeared to announce tea. And after the kind
Trevors had said good-bye and gone, Denzil set us off laughing again by
announcing in his solemn way that he didn't believe Mr. Trevor was at
all ill; he ate such a lot of buttered toast!
This affair of poor little Roughie was, I think, the most exciting thing
that happened to us all that spring and summer at the Hut. And though
everybody, starting with the good-natured wee man himself, forgave Esme
thoroughly, we were none of us allowed to _forget_ it. For my dog
behaved in the funniest way. Nothing for at least a fortnight would
persuade him to leave my room, where he installed himself in what he
evidently thought a fortress of security, under the bed. And he would
only come out if I called him, and then expected me to hold him in my
arms as if he were a baby, which, as you can understand, was not very
convenient.
But by degrees he got over it, and became his own happy little self
again.
I think it was the very day after this thrilling experience that we got
another really cheering and hopeful letter from papa. And once this
happier turn of things began, it kept on pretty steadily; the only
drawback to our thankfulness being that he could name no date--no
_probable_ one even--for his return. So the lengthening days followed
each other till we got to midsummer, and then came July and August,
specially lovely months that year, during which the sun looked down on a
busy and happy party in the queer encampment that was our home for the
time.
In September Rolf left us for the big school he was bound for. We missed
him sadly, though we had the cheering _hope_ that his aunt would let him
come to us again for the winter holidays.
And so she did!
A few days before Christmas he and Taisy--Taisy had spent the autumn
with her grandmother--arrived again, together this time, though less
like snails, as they had left their houses behind them when they went
away. And some changes in the arrangements were made. Taisy had
Geordie's room, and Geordie, to his great delight, took up his quarters
in her waggon, as mamma did not like the idea of a girl's being
outside--even though so near--through the long, dark nights. It was not
a cold winter; it is never very cold at Eastercove, and where the Hut
stands it seems even milder than higher up. So Rolf stuck to his tent,
and was very pleased to have an excuse for keeping his patent stove
going all the time. Those holidays came to an end only too soon.
In March, just about a year after he had left, came the news of papa's
return being fixed for June. It all fitted in. The Trevors had taken the
house for twelve months, and with the fine weather meant to go back to
their own home in the north. And now there was no talk of letting our
dear home again, or, as far as we could see, of ever leaving it except
for pleasant reasons. But we kept the Hut just as it was, for papa to
see. Rolf would not even have his tent moved till after that summer, and
Taisy's waggon is to this day somewhere about the premises, and mamma
still has her movable 'boudoir' wheeled about to different parts of the
grounds, as it suits her.
* * * * *
It is nearly three years since I made the last entry in my 'Hut' diary,
from which I have written out this history of 'The House that Grew.' How
I came to do so I will explain.
We have been through some very anxious times lately about Rolf. He is a
soldier, and very soon after he got his commission his regiment went to
India, and he with it. I will not tell the particulars, as he might not
like it, but he 'came in' almost at once for some _very_ active service,
up in some of those dreadfully out-of-the-way places, where there are so
often disturbances with the natives, which in England do not attract
much attention, unless you happen to have close personal interest in
what is happening, as we had, for Rolf had become almost like another
brother to us, spending half his holidays at Eastercove. And
Geordie--oh, I forgot to say he _did_ get the scholarship!--and he, by a
happy coincidence, had been at school together.
Well--one sad day there came news that Rolf was badly wounded. We have
been waiting and waiting--and I think the anxiety 'got on my nerves,' as
people say. For one day mamma spoke seriously to me, when she found me
sitting idle, just longing for letters.
'Ida, dear,' she said, 'you must get something to do--something _extra_,
I mean, to interest you.'
And after talking a little, the idea of writing out my 'Hut' diary came
into my head, and, as you see, I have done it!
* * * * *
And I have been, if I deserved to be so, rewarded for following mamma's
advice.
Rolf is coming home--on leave--'invalided,' it is true, but his wound is
not so bad as reported; indeed, according to _him_, not bad at all!
Papa and Dods are just off to Southampton to meet him and bring him
straight here.
THE END
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