A Pair of Them
SUNSHINE LIBRARY.
=Aunt Hannah and Seth.= By James Otis.
=Blind Brother= (=The=). By Homer Greene.
=Captain’s Dog= (=The=). By Louis Énault.
=Cat and the Candle= (=The=). By Mary F. Leonard.
=Christmas at Deacon Hackett’s.= By James Otis.
=Christmas-Tree Scholar.= By Frances Bent Dillingham.
=Dear Little Marchioness.= The Story of a Child’s Faith and Love.
=Dick in the Desert.= By James Otis.
=Divided Skates.= By Evelyn Raymond.
=Gold Thread= (=The=). By Norman MacLeod, D.D.
=Half a Dozen Thinking Caps.= By Mary Leonard.
=How Tommy Saved the Barn.= By James Otis.
=Ingleside.= By Barbara Yechton.
=J. Cole.= By Emma Gellibrand.
=Jessica’s First Prayer.= By Hesba Stretton.
=Laddie.= By the author of “Miss Toosey’s Mission.”
=Little Crusaders.= By Eva Madden.
=Little Sunshine’s Holiday.= By Miss Mulock.
=Little Peter.= By Lucas Malet.
=Master Sunshine.= By Mrs. C. F. Fraser.
=Miss Toosey’s Mission.= By the author of “Laddie.”
=Musical Journey of Dorothy and Delia.= By Bradley Gilman.
=Our Uncle, the Major.= A Story of 1765. By James Otis.
=Pair of Them= (=A=). By Evelyn Raymond.
=Playground Toni.= By Anna Chapin Ray.
=Play Lady= (=The=). By Ella Farman Pratt.
=Prince Prigio.= By Andrew Lang.
=Short Cruise= (=A=). By James Otis.
=Smoky Days.= By Edward W. Thomson.
=Strawberry Hill.= By Mrs. C. F. Fraser.
=Sunbeams and Moonbeams.= By Louise R. Baker.
=Two and One.= By Charlotte M. Vaile.
=Wreck of the Circus= (=The=). By James Otis.
=Young Boss= (=The=). By Edward W. Thomson.
THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY, NEW YORK.
[Illustration: “WHY, YES, BONNY-GAY! I’VE COME.” See page 77.]
[Illustration]
A PAIR OF THEM
BY EVELYN RAYMOND
[Illustration]
NEW YORK.
Thomas Y. Crowell & Co.
Publishers.
COPYRIGHT, 1901,
BY THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Where the Houses are Big 1
II. Where the Houses are Small 15
III. How the Pair Met 29
IV. Max Reappears 44
V. Mary Jane Goes Visiting 59
VI. The Flight and Fright of Mary Jane 78
VII. On the Way Home 95
VIII. Confidences 112
IX. By the Strength of Love 132
Afterward 150
A PAIR OF THEM
CHAPTER I
WHERE THE HOUSES ARE BIG
“It’s a queer kind of a name, though it suits you,” observed the Gray
Gentleman, thoughtfully. “How came you by it?”
Bonny-Gay flashed the questioner a smile, hugged Max closer and replied:
“I was born on a Sunday morning. That’s how.”
“Ah, indeed? But I don’t quite understand.”
“Don’t you? Seems easy. Let’s sit down here by ‘Father George’ and I’ll
explain. If I can.”
The Gray Gentleman was very tall and dignified, yet he had a habit of
doing whatever Bonny-Gay asked him. So he now doubled himself up and
perched on the low curb surrounding the monument, while the little
girl and the big black dog dropped easily down beside him. Then he
leaned his head back against the iron railing and gazed reflectively
into the face of the big bronze lion, just opposite.
Both the child and the man were fond of the wonderful lion, which
seemed a mighty guardian of the beautiful Place, and he, at least, knew
it to be a world-famous work of art. Bonny-Gay loved it as she loved
all animals, alive or sculptured, and with much the same devotion she
gave to Max. The park without either of these four-footed creatures
would have seemed strange indeed to her, for they were her earliest
playmates and remained still her dearest.
“Now you can tell me,” again suggested the Gray Gentleman.
“It was Easter, too. All the people were going to the churches, the
bells were ringing, the organs playing, and everything just beautiful.
Nurse Nance began it, my mother says. ‘For the child that is born on
the Sabbath Day is lucky, and bonny, and wise, and gay.’ But my father
says there isn’t any ‘luck’ and a child like me isn’t ‘wise,’ so they
had to leave them out and I’m only Bonny-Gay. That’s all.”
“A very satisfactory explanation,” said the Gray Gentleman, with one of
his rare smiles, and laying his hand kindly upon the golden curls. “And
now, my dear, one question more. In which of these beautiful houses do
you live?”
As he spoke, the stranger’s glance wandered all about that aristocratic
neighborhood of Mt. Vernon Place, to which he had returned after many
years of absence to make his own home. Since he had gone away all
the small people whom he used to know and love had grown up, and he
had felt quite lost and lonely, even in that familiar scene, till he
had chanced to meet Bonny-Gay, just one week before. Since then, and
her ready adoption of himself as a comrade, he had had no time for
loneliness. She was always out in the charming Square, as much a part
of it as the Washington monument, which the little folks called “Father
George,” or the bronzes, and the smooth lawns. She seemed as bright as
the sunshine and almost as well-beloved, for the other children flocked
about her, the keeper consulted her and the keeper’s dog followed her
like a shadow.
With a toss of her yellow locks she pointed her forefinger westward.
“There, in that corner one, all covered by vines, with places for the
windows cut out, and the chimneys all green, and I think it’s the
prettiest one in the whole place, when it has its summer clothes on.
Don’t you?”
The Gray Gentleman’s glance followed the direction of the pointing
finger.
“Yes. It is a very lovely home and a very big one. I hope you are not
the only child who lives in it.”
“But I am. Why?”
“Why what?”
“Do you hope it?”
“You would be lonely, I should think.”
“Lonely? I? Why--why--I just never have a single minute to myself.
There’s my thirteen dolls, and the parrot, and the two canaries, and
the aquarium, and my pony, and--Oh! dear! you can’t guess. That’s why I
have to come out here--to rest myself.”
“Ah, so! Well, I should judge that you spend the most of your time in
‘resting,’” commented the other. “Whenever I come out you’re always
here.”
Bonny-Gay laughed; so merrily that Max lifted his head and licked her
cheek. That reminded her of something and she asked:
“Have you seen him get his second dinner?”
“Not even his first!”
“You haven’t? How odd!” Bonny-Gay shook out her skirts and proceeded
to enlighten her comrade’s ignorance. She took it for granted, or she
had done so, that he knew as much about things as she herself; but if
not, why, there was a deal to tell. Max’s history first. She began by
declaring:
“He’s the smartest dog in the world. Everybody knows that. He’s lived
in the Place nine years. That’s one year longer than I have. All the
children’s big brothers and sisters have played with him, same’s we do
now. He never lets a tramp come near. He never steps on a flower bed or
lets us. If we forget and go on the grass he barks us off. He gets his
first dinner at our house. When the clocks strike twelve he goes to the
gardener and gets his basket. Then he walks to our back entrance, puts
the basket down, stands up on his hind feet and pushes his nose against
the ’lectric bell. That rings up the cook and--she’s a man just
now--he--she takes the basket and puts in some food. Then Max walks
down that side street, about a square, and sits on the curb to eat it.
‘Just like a beggar,’ the gardener says, ‘’cause he likes to feed his
own dog his own self.’ I would, too, wouldn’t you?”
“If I owned the ‘smartest dog in the whole world’ I presume I should.”
“Max feels ashamed of it, too; don’t you, dear?”
The dog replied by dropping his black head from Bonny-Gay’s shoulder
to the ground and by blinking in a deprecating way from that lowly
position.
“Then, in a few minutes, he comes back to the gardener with the empty
basket and stands and wags his tail as if he were the hungriest dog
that ever was. Then the keeper says: ‘Yes. You may go, Max!’ And off he
trots, away down the other way, to some place where his master lives
and gets a second basket full. That he brings back here, and the man
puts a paper on the ground under the bushes and he eats again. Just
like folks to their own table, that time; don’t you, Max Doggie, smart
doggie!”
The handsome animal shook his wavy fleece and sprang up, ready for a
frolic and evidently aware that he had been the subject of discussion.
“No, not yet, sir. The best thing hasn’t been told. Listen, please,
Mr.----”
The stranger waited a moment, then inquired:
“Mr. what, Bonny-Gay? I wonder if you know my name.”
“Not your truly one, but that doesn’t matter.”
“What do you happen to call me, if you ever speak of me when I’m not
here?”
The little girl hesitated an instant, then frankly answered:
“Why, just the ‘Gray Gentleman.’ ’Cause you are all gray, you see. Your
hair, and your moustache, and your eyes, and your clothes, and your
hat, and your gloves, and--and--things.”
“Exactly. Trust a child to find an appropriate nickname. But I like it,
little one. Go on, about Max and the best thing yet.”
“That splendid dog has--saved--his--master’s life! As true as true!”
cried Bonny-Gay, impressively.
“Indeed! Wonderful! How was it?”
“It was pay-day night and Mr. Weems, that’s his name, had a lot of
money. And some bad men knew it. And they came, do you believe, right
in the middle of that night, and broke a window in Mr. Weems’s house;
and Max heard them and flew--and flew--”
The Gray Gentleman stooped and searched for the dog’s wings.
“Well, ran, then,” laughed Bonny-Gay, “and he drove them all off and
they had revolvers or something and one was shot and a policeman caught
him and Max was shot and the gardener would have been killed--”
“Only he wasn’t,” interrupted somebody, coming from behind them.
So the child paused in her breathless description of a scene she had
often pictured to herself and looked up into the face of the hero of
the affair, himself.
“Why, Mr. Weems! you almost frightened me! and you please tell the
rest.”
But though the gardener smiled upon her he nodded his head gravely.
“Guess it won’t do for me to think about that just now, or any other
of our good times, old Max! Good fellow, fine fellow! Poor old doggie!
It’s going to be as hard on you as on me, I’m afraid.”
By this time Bonny-Gay saw that something was amiss. She half fancied
that there were tears in the keeper’s eyes, and she always afterward
declared that there were tears in his voice. As for Max, that sagacious
animal sank suddenly upon his haunches, looked sternly into his
master’s face, and demanded by his earnest, startled expression to know
what was wrong. Something was. He knew that, even more positively than
did Bonny-Gay.
“It’s an outrageous law. There ought to be exceptions to it. All
dogs--Well, there’s no other dog like Max. Ah! hum. Old doggie!”
The Gray Gentleman was tempted to ask questions, but the little girl
was sure to do that; so he waited. In a few minutes she had gotten the
whole sad story from her old friend, the gardener, and her sunny head
had gone down upon the dog’s black one in a paroxysm of grief.
A moment later it was lifted defiantly.
“But he shan’t. He shall not! Nobody shall ever, ever take our Max
away! Why--why--it wouldn’t be the Place without him! Why--why--the
children--Oh! Nettie! oh! Tom!” and catching sight of a group of
playmates Bonny-Gay darted toward them, calling as she ran: “They’re
going to take him away! They’re going to take him away!”
Tom planted his feet wide apart upon the smooth path and obstructed her
advance.
“Take who away, Bonny-Gay? Where to? When?”
“Max! Our Max! He can never come here any more. This is his last day in
our park--his very last!” and the child flung herself headlong upon the
shaven grass, for once regardless of rules.
Not so regardless was Max, the trusty. It didn’t matter to him that
this was Bonny-Gay, his best-loved playmate, or that her frantic
sorrow was all on his account. What he saw was his duty and he did it,
instantly. From a distance the Gray Gentleman watched the dog race
toward the prostrate little girl and shake her short skirts vigorously,
loosing them now and then to bark at her with equal vigor.
Presently she sprang up and to the footpath, and again indulged in a
wild embrace of the faithful canine. Indeed, he was at once the center
of an ever-increasing company of small people, who seemed to vie with
each other in attempts to hug his breath away and to outdo everybody in
the way of fierce indignation. Finally, this assembly resolved itself
into an advancing army, and with Tom and Bonny-Gay as leaders--each
tightly holding to one of the dog’s soft ears, as they marched him
between them--they returned to the spot where the lion calmly awaited
them, and Tom announced their decision:
“We won’t ever let him go. There’s no need for you nor the law-men
nor nobody to interfere. This dog belongs to this park; and this
park belongs to us children; and if anybody tries to--tries
to--to--do--things--he won’t never be let! So there! And if he is,
we’ll--we’ll augernize; and we’ll get every boy and girl in all the
streets around to come, too; and we’ll all go march to where the
law-men live; and we won’t never, never leave go talking at them till
they take it all back. ’Cause Max isn’t going to be took. That’s the
fact, Mr. Weems, and you can just tell them so.”
“Yes,” cried Nettie, “and my big brother goes to the law school and
he’ll suesan them. And my big sister’s friends will help; and if he
does have to, I’ll never, never--NEVER--play in this hateful old park
ever again. I will not!”
“Whew!” whistled the Gray Gentleman, softly. “This looks serious. A
children’s crusade, indeed. Well, that should be irresistible.” And
this old lover of all little people looked admiringly over the group of
flushed and indignant faces; and at the noble animal which was the very
center of it, and whose silent protest was the most eloquent of all.
His own heart echoed their indignation and he quietly resolved to make
an effort on their and Max’s behalf.
But the dire, unspoken threats of the children, and the silent
resolution of the Gray Gentleman, were useless. For when upon the next
morning the sun rose over the pleasant Place, and the monument and the
lion began to cast their shadows earthward, there was no Max to gambol
at their feet, and over the heart of Bonny-Gay had fallen her first
real grief.
She was out early, to see if the dreadful thing were true; and the Gray
Gentleman met her and scarcely knew her--without the smiles.
When he did recognize her he said, hopefully:
“We’ll trust it’s all for the best, my dear. Besides, you will now have
more time for the thirteen dolls, and the parrot, and the two canaries,
and--”
“But they--they aren’t Max! He was the only! We loved him so and now
he’ll just be wasted on strangers! Oh! it’s too bad, too bad!”
The Gray Gentleman clasped the little hand in sympathy.
“I am very sorry for your sorrow, Bonny-Gay, and yet I can’t believe
that Max is ‘wasted.’ No good thing ever is. Besides that, I have a
plan in my head. With your parents’ permission, I am going to take you
this day to visit your twin sister.”
“My--twin--sister! Why there isn’t any. Don’t you remember? I told you.
I’m the only, only one. There never was any other.”
“Nevertheless, I am obliged to contradict you. Very rude, I know, and
I shouldn’t do so, if I were not so positive of what I claim. I hope
you’ll love her and I think you will. After breakfast I’ll see you
again. Good morning.”
With that he walked briskly away and Bonny-Gay saw him enter the big
gray house in the middle of the Place. The house where the wooden
shutters had always been up, ever since she could remember, until just
this spring, when a few of the windows had been uncovered to let the
sunlight in.
“My--twin--sister! How queer that is!” mused the watching child.