Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration: "By the time that Mrs. Wilkins put in her appearance,
the table-cloth was laid."]
DICK'S RETRIEVER
BY
E. M. STOOKE
Author of "Tim and Jim," "A Reformatory Boy,"
&c. &c.
THOMAS NELSON AND SONS, LIMITED,
LONDON, EDINBURGH, AND NEW YORK.
1921
CONTENTS.
I. THE ARRIVAL
II. DICK RUNS AN ERRAND
III. DICK'S ENCOUNTER WITH THE BULLY
IV. TEN SHILLINGS REWARD
V. DICK'S INTERVIEW WITH THE COLONEL
VI. HARD TIMES
VII. A GALLANT RESCUE
VIII. STRANGER'S MISSION FULFILLED
DICK'S RETRIEVER.
CHAPTER I.
THE ARRIVAL.
IT was a wild, dark night. The rain was coming down in torrents, the
wind blowing a perfect hurricane. Creak! Creak! How the branches of the
elm trees groaned as they swayed to and fro outside the tiny cottage
where Widow Wilkins and her eldest child—a delicate looking boy of
twelve—crouched over a dying fire!
"Hark, mother, to the wind! Isn't it terrible?" little Dick exclaimed
in awe-stricken tones.
"Yes," said the widow, "it's a dreadful night. I shudder to think of
the poor sailors out at sea. Depend on it, there'll be lots of wrecks
before morning, unless the wind goes down, and that pretty soon."
With this, she turned her head towards the door, beneath which she had
stuffed some old matting to keep out the draught.
"I thought," she went on after a few minutes' pause, "I heard a cry,
but suppose it was only my fancy. One thing's certain, it can't be from
upstairs, 'cos the children are asleep."
"P'raps it's the wind in the chimney or in the branches of the trees
you hear, mother," said the little boy. "It makes all kinds of sounds
when there's a gale on like this. Listen! I heard a cry then—sure
enough I did! 'Twas like the whine of a dog, only very low and weak.
What do you say—shall we open the door and look? Something is going
'scratch, scratch,' now," he cried, jumping excitedly to his feet.
"It's late to open the door, Dick," protested his mother nervously.
"Who's to tell that it isn't some drunken body playing a trick upon us.
Mind we've no near neighbours to shout to if we should want help ever
so bad!"
"I know, I know; but I ain't a bit afraid. And we couldn't go to bed
without seeing what was outside. If it isn't a dog, why, then, maybe
it's a child."
The widow looked disturbed. She rose from her chair, raked the dying
embers together in the fireplace, and lit the candle; for she and Dick
had been sitting the last half-hour by firelight—they always did so
to save lamp oil after she had put away her sewing at nine o'clock on
winter evenings.
"Here, mother, you stand back whilst I undo the door," directed Dick.
Mrs. Wilkins, not without some slight misgivings, did as she was
bid. Meanwhile Dick went to the door—his small face pale with
anticipation—and withdrew the heavy bolts. This done, he lifted the
latch, and as a result a gust of storm-wind swept into the cottage
kitchen, and a crouching, shivering retriever entered.
"Oh!" cried the child. "What a poor wretched thing! See, mother," he
continued, as he shut the door and followed the dog into the centre of
the room, "he's soaked to the skin, and there's a rope round his neck
with a big stone at the end of it! I know; I see what that means. Some
one has been trying to drown him in the river yonder."
"I reckon your guess isn't far out, Dick," agreed the widow. "Here, you
poor creature, let me look at you. Why, you're cold as ice, and one of
your paws is bleeding!"
Then, turning her kind face to her little son, who stood looking down
on their visitor with pitying eyes, she went on,—
"Throw a few kindling sticks on those embers, child; and take the
bellows and blow the fire into a blaze. 'Tisn't often you and I get a
chance of doing good, 'cos we're so poor; but we'll do the best we can
for this miserable creature, though he is but a dog."
"He's a real retriever, I believe," said the enthusiastic little boy,
hastily placing some sticks crosswise on the dying coals, and reaching
forward for the bellows. "See how affectionately he's licking my hand,
mother! Why, what are you going to do to him with that great cloth
you've got?"
"Dry him a bit, to be sure," was the woman's answer. And straightway
she knelt down and began to rub the animal's rain-sodden coat. "We
shall never get him warm as he is," she continued, "for he's so wet
the water is running off him into pools on the floor. Try and take
off the rope, Dick. And when you've done it, get me a rag and a piece
of string, and I'll bandage up his paw—it's very sore; I find he can
hardly bear me to touch it."
Dick wanted no second bidding. Setting to work with nimble fingers,
he soon succeeded in untying the knotted rope that had in some places
rubbed the dog's neck into wounds. This done, he went to a cupboard
and took from it a ragged but clean apron of his sister's, which Mrs.
Wilkins split into strips and bound round the retriever's injured foot.
Having at length dried the dog to their satisfaction, they coaxed him
on to an old sack that they had spread in front of the hearth; and
dumb though he was, the intelligent creature raised his brown eyes to
their faces as if to thank them for their mercy and compassion. Little
Dick brought some scraps left over from the children's supper and laid
them before the animal; he also offered him some warm milk and water
to drink. But so great was the dog's exhaustion that he made no effort
to drink or eat; instead, he lay back with a sigh of contentment,
and extended his cramped limbs towards the comforting blaze. In this
position, he was soon asleep.
"Mother," said Dick in a low whisper, after several minutes' silence,
"he's uncommon pretty, now he's dry. Don't you think so?"
"Yes, I do," assented Mrs. Wilkins. "No one could truthfully call him
ugly with such a fine curly coat as he's got. And he seems gentle too,"
she added. "I can't think how folks can find it in their hearts to be
cruel to a dumb thing like him."
The mother and her son sat still for a time, silently admiring the
beautiful animal.
"Mother," said Dick, breaking the silence, "don't you wish we could
keep him—for always, I mean? 'Twould be proper fun to see him swim in
the river to fetch out sticks."
Mrs. Wilkins shook her head.
"Mother!" Dick's voice was low and coaxing; he slipped on to the floor
and laid his head upon his mother's knee. "Do let us keep this poor dog
that's come to our door to-night. He shall have half of my dinner every
day, and a part of my supper too. O mother, do say yes!"
"Maybe he'll stray away when to-morrow comes."
"Yes, yes; but if he doesn't?"
"Well, Dick, it's not to be thought of—our keeping him—I'm afraid. You
see, a big dog eats a lot; more than you could spare him from your
meals every day, that's certain. Then, again, there'd be his tax; I
couldn't afford to pay it. But," hopefully, "p'raps he'll be claimed."
The boy shook his head, and pointed at the rope.
"Whoever tried to drown him doesn't want him back," he said wisely. "Do
you know what I believe, mother?"
"No, Dick. How should I know?"
"Well, I believe God means us to keep him, and I'll tell you what makes
me think so. God knows what happens everywhere. The parson said so
last Sunday. He told us that there wasn't anything too small or poor
to escape God's notice. So He must know that this poor dog has come
whining to our door." Then, positively, "Of course He does!"
Mrs. Wilkins was silent.
Dick earnestly continued,—
"'Tisn't as if God ever made mistakes. He knows we're poor folks, and
that at times we can scarcely find food for ourselves. Depend upon it,
He won't let us lose by giving this dear old fellow a home. And when
the time comes for paying his tax—"
"Eh, Dick, what then?" interjected his mother.
"He'll find us the seven and sixpence! P'raps I shall catch a fish
in the river with a piece of money in its mouth," the little boy
conjectured, thinking of the Bible story he had heard at school the
week before.
"We must not decide to-night, child," said Mrs. Wilkins, heaving a deep
sigh. "Poor thing, he shall sleep where he is till morning. Now, dear,
we must go to bed."
"Must we?" The boy stooped over the exhausted animal and caressed its
curly jacket. "Good-night, old man!" he said softly. "I'm glad we heard
you whining. I'm glad we let you in."