BEPPO TALKING.
MR. LITTLEFIELD came to see Pollio while he was lame, and brought some
fine honey which his wife “Liddy” had sent.
[Illustration: “BEPPO WAS HUGGED HALF TO DEATH BY THE CHILDREN.”
Page 99.]
“It is hard for thee to learn the lesson of patience so young; but it
will do thee good, my boy,” said he, patting Pollio’s head with a smile.
“Is Dr. Field any _’lation_ to you, Mr. _Little_field?” asked Pollio
anxiously; and was very glad to learn he was not. Pollio loved Mr.
Littlefield dearly; but he would never love the doctor on account of
his dreadful jokes.
While Mr. Littlefield was at the house, something happened to Beppo
which I must tell you about.
Now, Beppo was not only a pleasant playfellow for the children, he
was also a dog of very fine character. But he had one fault: he would
bark in the night whenever the least noise roused him, and bark so
furiously, too, that he waked everybody in the house. For this reason
it was thought best that he should sleep in the stable; but even there
he sometimes made such a noise as to disturb the family.
The children had often heard their father say he meant to punish Beppo
for this; but they did not believe he would ever do it, for he was as
gentle-hearted as a woman, and extremely fond of the good dog.
But, on the very night when the Quaker was visiting them, the judge and
his wife were wakened by the terrific barking of Beppo. It kept on and
on, louder and louder, till the judge grew very nervous.
“Why haven’t I whipped that dog long ago?” said he.
“I think you ought to have done it,” replied his wife. “He is a dear
old fellow, but it is our duty to cure him of his faults.”
“I declare I’ve a great mind to go out to the stable this minute,” said
the judge.
“Well, if you do go, you won’t whip him, my dear: so I advise you to
take brother Rufus with you.”
“Rufus, indeed! Why, I’m not quite a baby,” said the judge, springing
out of bed: “if I make up my mind to whip that dog, I can do it.”
I dare say if Mrs. Pitcher had not spoken of calling uncle Rufus,
her husband would not have gone, and then Beppo would not have been
punished.
I must confess he did not hurt the dog one bit. Beppo did not feel the
horse-whip any more than if it had been a wisp of straw; but he hung
his head in grief, for it was the first blow he had ever received. When
all was over, he gave a side-glance at his master, as if to say, “I’ll
never do so again: I won’t bark any more.” And then he lay down very
meekly on a cushion of hay; and the judge went back to bed, thinking he
had done his duty, but feeling sorry enough to cry.
There was no more noise that night from Beppo; though two or three
carriages passed, and he must have heard them, and wanted to bark.
Next morning he lingered about the yard, ashamed to come into the house.
“Poor fellow, he takes it to heart!” said the judge; and then told what
happened.
The children looked sober; and Posy gazed through her tears at Pollio,
who winked hard, and tried to brave it out. Friend Littlefield was glad
to see that they all cared so much for the dog.
But, just as the breakfast-bell rang, Teddy rushed into the parlor,
exclaiming,—
“Papa, our pears are stolen!”
“Pears, child! What pears?”
“Why, you know those two trees bending down to the ground,—the nicest
pears there are in the world. Well, there isn’t a thing left but just
the leaves!”
“And that must have been what Beppo was barking for. No doubt he heard
the thieves at work, and was trying to let us know it. The faithful old
creature!” said the judge, looking distressed, but thinking much more
about the dog than about the pears.
“O papa! And you w’ipped him!” cried Pollio, whirling round and round
on the floor.
“Yes,” sighed papa, “I whipped him.”
Pollio didn’t try any longer to brave it out: he swept through the room
like a hurricane, to go and have a cry on his dear dog’s neck.
“How’d I feel if my papa had w’ipped _me_ when I wasn’t naughty!” said
he. But he couldn’t possibly imagine it; for he had never been punished
even by a “love-pat” in his whole little life.
Beppo was hugged half to death by the children; and the judge himself
stroked his head, called him “fine fellow,” and fed him from his own
hand with broiled beef-steak.
“Does he know you’re sorry, papa?” asked Pollio.
“Well, I think he has some notion of it: at any rate, he knows we’re
good friends once more. See, he wags his tail, and looks quite cheerful
again.”
“So he does,” laughed Posy, clapping her hands. “Real cheerful! I guess
he’ll get over it, don’t you? He won’t think you are a bad man now.”
Posy could not bear to have him think her father a bad man; and it was
plain that he did not, for he licked the judge’s hand after finishing
the steak, and looked up in his face as if he trusted him with his
whole heart.
“Dogs know ’most as much as folks,” said Posy. “I’ll make a chain of
flowers, and we’ll put it on his neck, and I guess he’ll like it; don’t
you?”
Pollio was sure he would be charmed. And, whether Beppo enjoyed the
flowers or not, he must have known he was treated uncommonly well that
day; for he had a dish of cream for dessert, and was allowed to spend
most of his time in the parlor.
Now, what follows is not a dream or a fairy-story, though I know it
will sound very strange. It really happened that morning, while the
twins and uncle Rufus were in the parlor, and Beppo was lying on the
rug, watching Pollio.
There was nothing remarkable about Beppo, except that he was a large,
handsome dog. His eyes just now had an asking look, as if he longed to
say something: but you have seen that sort of look in any dog’s eyes;
it isn’t at all uncommon.
“Beppo wants to speak, I know he does,” said Pollio to Posy.
The dog wagged his tail, as if to reply, “You understand my feelings,
my dear little master.”
“Well, try it: see if you can’t speak.” Beppo raised his eyes, wagged
his tail again, and, to the intense surprise of the children, said, or
seemed to say, in a fine, piping voice,—
“_I was w’ipped last night._”
Pollio rolled over; and Posy sprang up, exclaiming,—
“Who said that?”
“Why, who did?” cried Pollio, almost turning a somerset.
There was no person in the room but themselves and Nunky, who was too
busy reading the newspaper to take any notice. Who had spoken? It
_couldn’t_ be Beppo!
“_Your papa w’ipped me!_” said the piping voice again, Beppo still
gazing straight at Pollio.
How wonderful! It was exactly the sort of voice a dog would be likely
to speak with, if he could speak at all: it was thin and babyish.
“Oh, oh!” cried Posy.
“My sakes!” cried Pollio.
They knew as well as you do that dogs are dumb animals; but here was
Beppo looking right up in their faces, and talking. They were greatly
excited.
“Uncle Rufus, uncle Ru-_fus_!”
But they had to run up to him, and pull his sleeve, before he would pay
any attention.
“Uncle Ru-_fus_! Beppo is talking!”
“Oh! is he? Well, why shouldn’t he talk? He has lived so long among
chatter-boxes that I should think he might by this time.”
“But you needn’t make fun, Nunky. He did talk just now. I’ll leave it
to Posy.”
“_That’s so!_” replied Beppo, wagging his tail.
“Oh, hear him!” exclaimed Posy, dancing about in a great flutter; while
Pollio rolled over and over, and jerked his elbows, crying,—
“I never, never, never! Did _you_ ever, uncle Rufus?”
“_Your papa w’ipped me!_” repeated Beppo.
Uncle Rufus seemed very much interested now, and watched the dog
closely; but he was a man who was seldom surprised at any thing.
“No, I never heard a dog talk before; but what is there so very
remarkable about it? Parrots can talk; and parrots don’t know half as
much as dogs.”
“O Nunky, Nunky! it _is_ queer,” exclaimed Pollio, astonished at his
uncle’s coolness. “Why, he has lived here ever so long, and didn’t ever
talk before.”
“No,” said Posy; “no more’n the cat.”
“How did he happen to speak now?”
“Why, I asked him to.”
“Oh! you did, did you?”
“But don’t you think it’s queer, Nunky? don’t you think it’s queer?”
“Well, rather so, perhaps; but I always knew Beppo was a bright
dog.—Come here, old fellow, and tell us why you never talked before.”
“_Afraid you’d laugh at me_,” replied Beppo, looking up in Mr. Gilman’s
face rather bashfully.
“Oh, I must tell mamma! I must tell everybody!” burst forth the twins
with one voice.
Mamma was busy up stairs with her dressmaker; and nobody was to be
found but Teddy, who smiled in the most provoking way when told that
Beppo was talking.
“You expect me to believe that story, do you?” said he, entering the
parlor with a curling lip.
“_Now_ see!” cried Pollio. “There, Beppo, sir, this is Teddy. Now say,
‘How do you do, Teddy?’”
Beppo held out his paw as he had been taught to do, but said nothing.
“_That’s_ the way he talks, is it?” said Teddy scornfully. “I’ve seen
him do as much as that a good many times.”
“Oh! but he _did_ talk, now truly.—We didn’t cheat; did we, Posy?—Talk
again, Beppo. Say, ‘Your papa w’ipped me,’ and I’ll give you some
cream.”
Beppo rolled his soft brown eyes as if trying to speak, but not a sound
passed his lips.
“Say one word; say ‘Teddy,’ and I’ll give you some chicken.”
No answer.
“Well, say some other word. I don’t care what word.”
Still Beppo was speechless.
“Poh! I can’t stop any longer for this: it’s too foolish,” said Teddy.
“Oh! just a minute, Teddy. He did talk before you came in. I’ll leave
it to Nunky.—Didn’t Beppo talk?”
Uncle Rufus dropped his newspaper upon his knee with a roguish smile.
“Teddy, will you believe me if I say he did?”
“No, sir: I _can’t_ believe you,” said Teddy stoutly, “because there’s
no common sense in saying a dog talks.”
“Then I sha’n’t say it.”
“O Nunky, that’s too, _too_ bad!” cried Posy.
“Up and down mean!” cried Pollio; “for you _heard_ him talk.”
“I, my child? Why, I never heard a dog talk in my life!”
“O Nunky, Nunky Gilman! When you were the very one that sat right there
and looked straight at Beppo, and heard him say, ‘Your papa w’ipped
me.’”
“I heard him say nothing of the kind,” returned uncle Rufus, rising,
and planting himself on the rug, with his arms folded.
“There, there! I knew better all the time,” said Teddy, snapping his
fingers.
This _was_ very trying.
“O Nunky, Nunky!” cried angry Pollio, “you’ve told a”—
“You’ve made a little mistake,” struck in Posy, as angry as her
brother, but more polite.
“They say ‘little Pitchers have great ears,’” said uncle Rufus,
smiling: “perhaps they hear what isn’t to be heard. Think a minute,
children, and see if you can’t be wrong. If a dog _should_ talk, it
would be a miracle.”
“But we heard him,” said Pollio.
“Did you see his lips move?”
“Oh! I—I don’ know. I didn’t think of that.”
“Well, I want to teach you to think, my boy; and that is why I have
teased you a little. Beppo will speak again; and perhaps you’ll watch
his lips this time, won’t you?”
“_Your papa w’ipped me_,” squeaked the fine little voice; but the twins
both observed that Beppo never opened his mouth. They saw now that
their uncle had been playing a trick upon them.
“Oh, now I know, now I know! Nunky did it himself.”
“Of course he did, you goosie! ’Fore I’d be so silly as you and Posy,”
said Teddy, proud of his own wisdom.
“Not so fast, Teddy,” said his uncle. “I could have cheated you in the
same way a year or two ago. And I don’t believe now you can tell how I
do it. Look at me while I speak so again.”
Teddy did look; but uncle Rufus scarcely stirred his lips, as he said
in a voice that seemed to come from the very depths of the cellar,—
“_I’m a rat! I’m drowning in the pork-barrel!_”
“Oh! how _do_ you do it?” cried Teddy. “How can you make your voice
sound _way off_, and so different from _your_ voice? Do you do it down
in your stomach?”
“Yes, I suppose so. It is called ‘ventriloquism.’ I have cheated wiser
people than our little Pitchers in this way.”
“Well, you can’t cheat _me_ again,” said little Pollio, deeply
mortified.
“No: because next time you will _think_. But here comes friend
Littlefield. Now, Teddy, don’t you tell him about this; please don’t.”
It was well Nunky said that; for Teddy was rather apt to report “the
children’s” little mistakes, and they were very sensitive about it.
Pollio had now been lame for several weeks, and everybody thought it
might be months before he would get well. But, one morning not long
after this, Posy swung open the dining-room door, drawing her brother
after her, and saying gleefully,—
“O mamma! O papa! my Pollio can walk!”
Yes, he was actually walking. Never was Napoleon Bonaparte any prouder
after a great victory than our little hero as he stalked into that
dining-room.
They all rose from the table just as surprised as they had been on the
first morning when he _couldn’t_ walk. Then what a clapping of hands,
what a shouting! Eliza Potter and Jane Roarty, who were in the kitchen,
wondered what could have happened; and so did Ike, who was passing by
the dining-room windows.
Ike saw Mrs. Pitcher hugging Pollio as if he were the best boy in the
world, just because his legs had stopped feeling like India-rubber
boots; and then they hugged him all round, and his father tossed him up
to the ceiling.
“Let’s celebrate; let’s have a picnic at Rocky Brook,” said Dick.
“But Pollio can’t walk so far,” objected Edith.
“Why, yes, I can. I can walk all over the world,” exclaimed Pollio,
trying to dance, but tipping backward against Teddy.