ANOTHER CHRISTMAS DAY DRAWS NEAR
Once November passes, Christmas seems very near at hand, and, before
we know it, the day dearest to all young people, with its plans, its
secrets, and its surprises, is with us. But before that day arrived, a
great sorrow came to Denise, and she felt that not even Christmas joys
could entirely dispel her sadness.
Since early winter Tan had been ailing, and as the weather grew colder
and colder, the rheumatism which had caused him so much suffering the
previous winter, and which the veterinary had said he feared he could
not survive if it attacked him again, made life almost a burden for the
dear old pet, and sometimes, when she saw how wretched he was, Denise
almost wished that his suffering might be ended forever. But then came
the thought of never seeing him again, and his long years of devotion
to her; for eight years seem a very great number when one is young. And
it really was a great number in Denise’s life; it was two-thirds of all
she, herself, had lived.
Tan still had his warm stall in the Birds’ Nest, and John cared for him
very tenderly, but it was Denise alone who could soothe him and comfort
him when the poor bones ached past endurance. Seated upon some fresh
straw in his stall, she would hold the poor weary old head in her lap,
rubbing and “pooring” it, and rambling on in the crooning voice she had
always used when holding her little love-talks with her pets, and which
they all understood and responded to, each in his own particular manner.
December opened with a wild, driving snow, the sort that soon buries
everything from sight, and creeps into every crevice. A high wind sent
the snow scurrying before it, and the cold penetrated the very marrow
of one’s bones.
“I think I’ll stop in the Birds’ Nest the night, sir. The poor old
goat can’t hold out through it, I’m afraid, and it sort of goes agin
the grain of me fer me to lave him to give up the fight all by himself
afther the years I’ve tuck care of him,” said John to Mr. Lombard, when
he brought him home from the station that night.
“Is it really so? Poor old Tan! If he is only a goat, he has certainly
been a faithful creature, and I’ve known many a human being give less
proof of affection and appreciation of kindness than he has given,”
replied Mr. Lombard.
“’Tis right ye are, sir, and the way he do be looking for Miss Denise
and a listenin’ for her voice would clean break the heart of ye. Faith,
he can hear her no matter where she is, I belave, and give his queer
blaat av an answer. And the eyes av him whin she comes into the Nest
are just fair human.”
“I’ll go right out to the Nest with you,” replied Mr. Lombard, and John
drove on through the grounds.
A dim light was burning, shedding its rays upon the occupants of the
tiny stalls, and the kittens curled up in their box in the corner
of the stable. In the larger stall, well blanketed in his gay plaid
blanket, stood Ned Toodles, peeping through the little slot in the
door. The other stall did not have a door, and in it, lying upon a
thick bed of fresh, clean straw, and swathed almost from head to foot
in flannel bandages, lay Tan, no longer able to get upon his feet.
As Mr. Lombard stooped down to stroke him he gave his usual friendly
blaat, although not in the same vigorous tone.
“Poor old pet,” said Mr. Lombard, “is the story of your devoted life
almost told? Your little mistress will grieve long and sorely for you,
I fear. No, he cannot last much longer, John, and, perhaps, we should
be thankful, for he suffers cruelly. I’ll leave him to your care, for
he could not be in better hands.”
“Sure, he is Miss Denise’s, and that’s all that anny wan nade know,”
answered John.
Dawn was just breaking when John came up to the house to ask for Miss
Denise. The good fellow had spent the entire night ministering to the
pet he had cared for for eight years, and, as the night waned, the
tender-hearted fellow felt that he could not see him suffer as he was
without at least trying to do something more for his comfort. Nothing
had soothed him as Denise’s stroking, and John felt that since it could
only be for a few hours at most he would call the little mistress.
It was not yet seven o’clock, but Denise and her father hurried into
their clothing and hastened to the Nest.
“Poor, dear old Tanny-boy,” called Denise, as she went toward the
stall, and a weak, quavering blaat answered her as Tan strove to raise
his head. But the head had been raised for the last time. Without a
word, but with brimming eyes, Denise sat down upon the straw and lifted
the weary head into her lap, crooning over it in the old, familiar way.
For hours during that long night John had striven in vain to quiet
Tan’s piteous moans by bathing him with hot lotions, but all to no
purpose. But who shall say that love may not compass what skill cannot?
No sooner did Tan feel that beloved little mistress’s gentle strokes
than the moans ceased, and the sigh almost of a tired child testified
that so far as human comfort could minister to him and bring relief, he
had found it. The snow had ceased falling in the night, and when the
sun arose it shone upon a gleaming white world--a world which seemed
too beautiful to hold any sorrow. Breakfast-hour came and passed, but
Denise did not give it a thought, and neither Mr. nor Mrs. Lombard
would disturb her. Mr. Lombard deferred his departure for town, and
waited for Denise to end her watch, which he felt sure must end very
soon. It was not long past nine o’clock when Tan gave a sudden start,
looked up into Denise’s face with the look of loving devotion she had
known so long, gave one of the old familiar blaats, and dropped his
head upon her lap again, to give one long, weary sigh, and close the
great topaz eyes forever.
“I just can’t believe it is so,” said Denise an hour later, when her
sobs were subsiding and she was nestling in the arms which never failed
her in any sorrow. “I have had him so long that it seems as though I
couldn’t get on without seeing him every day. What will be done with
him, mamma?”
“Will you leave that entirely to papa and me, darling?” asked Mrs.
Lombard, as she stroked back the rumpled locks from the hot forehead.
“Yes; I don’t want to even see him again, for unless I could see him
standing as he used to be, and his great eyes looking right at me, I
just couldn’t stand it, mamma.”
“Well, try not to think about it any more just now, dear, but have Ned
put to the cutter and take me for a drive to the village. I wish to do
some errands, and the roads are pretty well broken now. It will do us
both good,” and so it happened that all that was left of Tan had passed
from sight before Denise and her mother came home, both the happier for
the drive in the crisp, keen air.
Denise’s holiday began the week before Christmas, for Miss Meredith
lived a long way from Springdale, and three days were required to
make her journey home. Then came trips to the city, and one of them
resulted in a funny enough addition to the family of pets, for, while
passing through one of the streets in the lower part of the city with
her father and mother, a forlorn, wretched dog, a tin saucepan tied to
its tail, frightened nearly to death, and hotly pursued by a mob of
howling, yelling boys, came tearing toward them. Denise was walking a
few steps in advance of her father and mother, and, before she could
gather herself together to resist the onslaught, the dog, as though
he had instinctively recognized in her a protector of his kind and all
helpless creatures, had sprung straight at her, knocking her flat upon
the sidewalk. With never a thought for self, she instantly clasped her
arms around the dirty, miserable beast, and clung to him for dear life
and justice. Her father and mother had sprung toward her, as had one or
two passers-by, each one feeling sure that they would find the dog’s
teeth firmly buried in some part of her.
But that dog had been wise in his choice of a protector, and was also
wise enough not to abuse his good fortune.
Now the sight of a handsomely dressed twelve-year-old girl sitting in
the middle of the sidewalk and holding in her arms a dirty, forlorn dog
with a tin pan securely fastened to the end of his tail, and trembling
with fright, is certainly not a common one, and in just one brief
little minute about one hundred people of all sorts and conditions, to
say nothing of the boys who had been in hot chase after the dog, and a
big policeman, who felt that he had, at least, the right to make a few
polite inquiries, were surrounding her.
“Denise, my darling!” was all Mrs. Lombard could exclaim, while Mr.
Lombard endeavored to get the young lady and her dog upon their own
legs. Close at hand was a large wholesale store, where fruits and
vegetables of all sorts and kinds were piled in crates and barrels, and
just behind some bouncing pumpkins loomed a fat, ruddy face, so like
them that it might have been mistaken for one of them.
This animated pumpkin had been standing in the door of the store, and
had witnessed the whole scene, and, just as Mr. Lombard got Denise
right side up, and the big policeman was shooing off the crowd, he
waddled out of his store and, beckoning with one fat, pudgy hand,
said:--
“Yow prings dat yung lady und dat dog straightavay into mine store.
She vas one fine trump already. Dat dog, he find himself in one great
big luck, if he himself know. You git soom mud? Chust so. I take it
you all off, and you pretty soon don’t know you got some bimeby.” As
he talked, he took hold of Denise’s arm and led her into the store,
Mr. and Mrs. Lombard being only too glad to follow and get away from
the all-too-curious crowd. Into the store they hurried, and it was not
until Denise was put into some sort of shape, and made fit to appear
in public once more that they all realized that they had become the
owners, willy-nilly, of about as forlorn a specimen of a dog as any one
could have thrust upon them. Then arose the question of what in this
world to do with him, and it _was_ a poser.