"A few years ago I owned a pair of foxhounds. Duke was the gentleman of
the family, and Lady was his consort, and a lady she was indeed. I can
hardly imagine a human creature of greater intelligence and refinement
than this dumb beast. The attachment between herself and Duke was unique
in its strength, and in its demonstration. He was fully as noble and as
intelligent as she, but of a less lively, cheerful temperament. The
arrival of six little Dukes was an occasion of anxiety and excitement
for us all, and we were much relieved when the event was safely over,
and we saw Lady and her beautiful family established in peace and
comfort. Matters had run smoothly for about four or five weeks, when one
day I was startled by a series of sharp yelps, which I knew came from
Lady. I ran to the window, and saw the poor creature rolling in the
middle of the street, in the greatest pain. By her side was Duke, and
his outcries mingled with hers. The hard-hearted teamster, whose wagon
had done the mischief, had driven off, but I ran to the rescue, and
finally got her into the stable, where her little ones were awaiting
her. She only lived a few hours, and her last act was an effort to nurse
her clamorous doggies, while with her great, sad eyes she seemed to say
good-by to Duke! The grief of this noble fellow was so great that we
thought he would go mad. For a time he refused to let us come near her.
He stood over her, licking her senseless form, pushing her gently once
in a while with his head and paws, and then uttering lamentable cries
when he saw that she did not move, or in any way respond; and meanwhile
the tiny dogs were crawling over her, and mingling their voices with
their father's deep notes of distress. It was a most pitiable sight,
and we all breathed a sigh of relief when the dear old fellow permitted
us to lead him off into the house, and we had an opportunity to dispose
of poor Lady. I'll not try to tell of Duke's excitement and distress
when he missed her; of his frantic search all over the place, and of how
we followed him about, and talked to him, and tried to divert him; or
how we all--Duke, and the rest of us, finally sat down in the stable,
beside the motherless little family, and wept together.
"The morning after Lady died, I went out to the stable with a cup of
warm milk. I had not been able to do anything with the puggy little dogs
the evening before, but I thought that their sharp hunger, after several
hours of abstinence, would lead them to make an effort to drink. I
carried a spoon with me, also a rag to suck, and a bottle, with a
nipple--all kinds of appliances, in fact.
"What was my surprise upon entering the stable, to find Duke occupying
Lady's place. He was evidently trying to answer the small dogs'
clamorous demand for breakfast, and it was also plain that his failure
in this respect amazed and bewildered him. He lay down just as he had
seen Lady do, and when this did not suffice he tried another position;
failing again, he withdrew a few paces, and sat for a moment in an
attitude of profound thought; returning soon, and trying another device.
This resulting unfavorably, he made still another, and then another
attempt, and finally, grieved to the heart, and worried by the hungry
cries of the small dogs, he withdrew once more, and lifting his nose
high in air, deliberately yowled.
"At this point I obtruded myself upon the scene and went up to the dear
old dog, took his distressed head in my arms, and talked to him. I
explained to him the difficulty of the situation; how, owing to
circumstances quite beyond his control, he could not take Lady's place.
I urged upon him that he must yield gracefully to his limitations;
showed him my appliances, and then when I had soothed and interested
him, and he had consented to desist, and let me try, I made my essay.
"It was a study for an artist--my appealing, pitying, impatient, scolding
efforts to induce those unreasonable little creatures to accept a rag,
or a bottle in place of a mother. I shouldn't have cared so much, that
is, I could have taken longer without minding it, had it not been for
Duke. His anxiety was so great, and his distress over their cries so
keen, that I was quite unnerved, and as is often the case, I showed my
concern by scolding and abusing the objects in whose behalf I was
exerting myself.
"I was all but ready to give up, when one of the smallest and liveliest
of the puppies (a feminine creature, of course) suddenly seized upon the
nipple of the bottle with a lusty grip, and sucked away till she was all
but strangled with milk. Her example was speedily followed by the
others, but before I had gone the rounds Duke comprehended that our
trials were ended, and then--well, the dignified, sad-faced old doggie
took leave of his wits, temporarily, as well as his dignity. He capered,
he rolled on the ground, he barked, he bayed, he played leap-frog over
my head, did everything but stand on end, and very nearly that, in his
joy.
"From that time on he never failed to be present when his infants were
fed, and when I weaned them, and taught them to drink, he was an
interested spectator; helpful too, for one time when a small dog was
obdurate, he took him by the nape of the neck, and shook him thoroughly,
before turning him over to me for another trial. On another occasion,
the pig of the family drank too deep, as it were, from the flowing bowl,
and might have been drowned had it not been for his watchful parent.
Duke noticed that the small fore-quarters were plunged into the liquid
dinner; he also observed that the hind quarters were slowly rising in
midair. He watched all this, with his accustomed, kindly gravity, until
the equilibrium was lost, and Master Pup plunged into the pearly sea.
Then the startled father leaped to his feet, snatched his offspring from
a milky grave, and laid him, sneezing and choking, sadder and wiser, on
the sunny grass-plat to dry.
"In due time Duke recovered, in a measure, from his grief over Lady's
death, and took unto himself another partner. As is usual in the case of
widowers, his second choice was injudicious, for Fanchon was a giddy,
young thing, that didn't have sense enough to come in out of the rain.
"But Duke saw no defects; he was all tenderness and attention.
"It was early winter, but the weather was intensely cold, and we had
taken Duke and Fanchon in from the stable, and had housed them
comfortably in the cellar.
"One night I was wakened out of a sound sleep by cries of distress. I
called my sister and her husband, who were visiting me, and in various
costumes, all hands went below. Fanchon was running about, crying and
moaning, and Duke was alternately making frantic efforts to soothe her,
and kiyiying in a manner that was fearful to hear. We succeeded at last
in getting Fanchon to heed us, and coaxed her to settle down in a
comfortable bed we made for her on the far side of the cellar, where she
would have the benefit of the warmth from the furnace, and would be out
of the way of the cold air which came in through a window, broken the
day before.
"As soon as she was pacified, Duke was again happy, and he cheerfully
lay down to rest. We retired to our rooms, and being very weary, with
much sightseeing during the day, dropped into a sound sleep. The next
morning I hurried down into the cellar, wondering whether I should see
two dogs, or a dozen. To my surprise and dismay, I saw none at all. The
cellar was silent and deserted. I opened the outer door, and with a
failing heart, stepped into the clear, bitter cold of a temperature
something like fifteen degrees below zero. Just around the corner of the
house, in a nook slightly sheltered from the biting air, I came upon the
family. Fanchon lay upon the ground, the snow carefully pushed up around
her, and her clinging little ones, who were taking their breakfast. Over
all--Fanchon and her puppies--covering them with his faithful
body--shielding them with his never-failing love and devotion, was my
noble hound--as noble, as faithful a dog, as ever man or woman loved. I
called to him, and rubbed him, but all in vain, and meanwhile stupid,
silly Fanchon, that had foolishly left her warm bed in the cellar,
looked on with cheerful indifference, and wagged her tail."
"Well," said Mrs. Cynic, when I had concluded the reading, "that story
seems to me to prove but one thing."
"And what is that, pray?" I asked, realizing I had been foolish to read
such a tale to such an auditor.
"Why, the truth of Madame de Stael's remark: 'The more I see of men, the
more I admire dogs.'"
That hateful woman! She always leaves me with a bad taste in my mouth. I
know she springs from some corrupt ancestry. She has all the marks of
inward decay upon her.
When she had gone, Mrs. Purblind and I breathed more freely.
"She doesn't believe in anything good," said Mrs. Purblind.
"No," I answered in a tone of disgust, "she has nothing within her to
answer to it."
"How different she is from Mrs. Earnest," continued Mrs. Purblind; "why,
you can hardly convince that woman that anyone is really mean, and
goodness knows she has trouble enough to make her bitter. What a husband
she's got! That man makes me so mad! He's ugly from sheer badness."
I thought for a moment, and then I assented. I really do believe that
man is ugly without cause. He and his wife live at some distance from
us, and I've often visited them. I should like to give you a scene to
which I was witness one evening when I was a trifle ill, and lay on a
divan just out of their dining room.
Mrs. Earnest is like a delicate flower that lifts its pretty face and
smiles in the sunlight of love, but is bowed and broken 'neath the
thunder-cloud and storm. She longs to make her home attractive, but her
husband has no sympathy with this desire; to him home is merely the
place where he finds food and lodging, and a safety valve for such moods
and tempers as he is obliged to keep under control in the business
world.
The efforts that this poor little wife makes, in her timid way, to start
up pleasant subjects of conversation would move a rock to tears.
This is the scene, as I recall it--a specimen scene.
The family--husband, wife, and three little children were at dinner, as I
said.
"What's been happening to-day? anything of interest?" asked the little
wife.
"Not that I know of," was the gruff reply.
Silence, broken by the occasional sound of eating implements, ensued.
"Pass the bread, will you?" he said in a short tone, directly.
"See how you like this bread; we are trying the entire wheat flour. I
think it's very nice tasting, and they claim it's rich in nutrition.
It's warranted to make blood, bone, and muscle--brain, too, I believe.
I'm going to eat several pounds a day; I may astonish the world yet."
This feeble joke was received in stolid silence, and the poor little
wife crept into her shell.
After a time she peeped out again, and made another effort.
"I went to the womans' club this afternoon; Mrs. Pierson invited me.
They had a very interesting meeting; they brought up the subject of
smoke consumers. I never realized before how much property is ruined
yearly by the smoke. It does seem as if manufacturers ought to use
consumers."
At this point Bruin openly yawned, and the little wife again retired.
But with astonishing elasticity of courage she issued from her shell
once more, this time with the hope that a more masculine theme would
meet with some response.
"They brought a petition around here to-day for us to sign. It seems
there is some talk of flooring the reservoir and using it as a beer
garden this coming summer, and the neighborhood has been called upon to
protest against it."
"I know all about that," he growled.
"Have you signed it?"
"I have."
Again silence fell as a wet cloak upon them, and the little woman sat
there racking her brains, almost depleted by this time, for the
atmosphere which such a man as that creates is warranted to dry up all
the intellectual juices.
One more despairing effort. The children had now left the table, so
anecdotes of them were in order. Probably the poor little wife thought
that this man could be wakened into attention by a story about one of
his children.
"Mamie asked me where cats went to when they died. 'They don't go
anywhere,' I said; 'when they die, that's the end of them.'
"'Do they turn to dust?' she asked.
"'Yes, just turn to dust,' I said.
"'Why, then,' she exclaimed, and her eyes grew as big as saucers, 'when
horses run 'long the streets, are they kicking up cats?'"
All the man said was, "Umph," and the little wife's peal of merry
laughter was checked, and the ha ha's grew fainter and spread farther
and farther apart, until they died away altogether, and I felt like
charging upon that burly, surly demon, and butting him out of the
window.
"How would you serve such a man, if you were his wife?" asked Mrs.
Purblind.
"_Roasted!_"