Tinker

MY name is Stumps, and my mistress is rather a nice little girl; but she

has her faults, like most people. I myself, as it happens, am

wonderfully free from faults. Among my mistress's faults is what I may

call a lack of dignity, joined to a desire to make other people

undignified too.

You will hardly believe that, before I had belonged to her a month, she

had made me learn to dance and to jump. I am a very respectable

dachshund, of cobby build, and jumping is the very last exercise I

should have taken to of my own accord. But when Miss Daisy said, "Now

jump, Stumps; there's a darling!" and held out her little arms, I could

not well refuse. For, after all, the child is my mistress.

I never could understand why the cat was not taught to dance. It seemed

to me very hard that, when I was having those long, miserable lessons,

the cat should be allowed to sit down doing nothing but smile at my

misfortunes. Trap always said we ought to feel honoured by being taught,

and the reason why Pussy wasn't asked to learn was because she was so

dreadfully stupid, and had no brains for anything but the pleasures of

the chase and the cares of a family; but I didn't think that could be

the reason, because the doll was _taught_ to dance, though she never

_learned_, and I am sure _she_ was stupid enough.

Another thing which Miss Daisy taught me to do was to beg; and the

action fills me with shame and pain every time I perform it, and as the

years go on I hate it more and more.

For a stout, middle-aged dog, the action is absurd and degrading. Yet,

such is the force of habit, that I go through the performance now quite

naturally whenever I want anything. Trap does it too, and says what does

it matter? but then he has no judgment, and, besides, he's thin.

But one of the most thoughtless things my little mistress ever did was

one day last summer when she was out without me. I chose to stay at home

because it was very hot, and I knew that the roads would be dusty; and

she was only going down to the village shop, where no one ever thinks

of offering a dog anything to drink. If she had been going to the farm,

I should have gone with her, because the lady there shows proper

attention to visitors, and always sets down a nice dish of milk for us

dogs. Besides, I was a little unwell just then; the family had had duck

for dinner, and I always feel a little faint after duck. All our family

do. So I stayed at home. Well, Miss Daisy had gone out with only Trap

and her hoop. I wish I had been there, for Trap is far too easy-going,

and a hoop never gives any advice worth listening to. Trap told me all

about it as well as he could. Trap can't tell a story very well, poor

fellow!

It seems that, as Miss Daisy went across the village green, she saw a

crowd of children running after a dog with--I hardly like to mention

such a thing--a tin saucepan tied to his tail! The dog bolted into the

empty dog-kennel by the blacksmith's shop, and stayed there, growling.

"Go away, bad children," said Miss Daisy; "how dare you treat a poor

dear doggie so?"

The children wouldn't go away at first. "Very well," said Miss Daisy; "I

shall tell Trap what I think of you all."

Then she whispered to Trap, and he began to growl so fiercely that the

children dared not come nearer. Any one can growl. Presently the

children got tired of listening to him, and went away. Then Miss Daisy

coaxed the unpleasant, tin-tailed creature out of the kennel, and untied

the string, and took off the pan. Then, if you'll believe a dog of my

character (and of course you must), she carried that low dog home in her

arms, and washed him, and set him down to eat out of the same plate as

Trap and myself! Trap was friends with him directly--some people have

no spirit--but I hope I know my duty to myself too well for that. I

snarled at the base intruder till he was quite ashamed of himself. I

knew from the first that he'd be taught jumping and begging, and things

like that. I hate those things myself, but that's no reason why every

low dog should be taught them. Miss Daisy called him Tinker, because he

once carried a tin pan about with him, and she tried very hard to make

me friendly to him; but I can choose my own friends, I hope.

Every one made a great fuss about one thing he did, but actually it was

nothing but biting; and if biting isn't natural to a dog, I should like

to know what is; and why people should be praised and petted, and have

new collars, and everybody else's share of the bones, only for doing

what is quite natural to them, I have never been able to comprehend.

Besides, barking is as good as biting, any day, and I'm sure I barked

enough, though it wasn't my business.

Miss Daisy had gone away to stay with her cousins in London, and she had

taken Trap with her. Why she should have taken him instead of me is a

matter on which I can offer no opinion. If my opinion had been asked, I

should have said that I thought it more suitable for her to have a heavy

middle-aged dog of good manners than a harum-scarum young stripling like

Trap. Trap told me afterwards that he thought the reason he was taken

was because Miss Daisy would have had more to pay for the dog-ticket of

such a heavy dog as I am; but I can't believe that dogs are charged for

by the weight, like butter. As I was saying, Miss Daisy took Trap with

her, and also her father and mother; and Tinker and I were left to take

care of the servants. We had a very agreeable time, though I confess

that I missed Miss Daisy more than I would have believed possible. But

there was more to eat in the kitchen than usual, and the servants often

left things on the table when they went out to take in the milk or to

chat with the gardeners; and if people leave things on tables, they have

only themselves to thank for whatever happens.

There was a young man who wore a fur cap, and who used to call with

fish; and I was more surprised than I care to own when I met him walking

out with cook one Sunday afternoon, for I thought she had a soul above

fish; yet when the servants began to ask this young man to tea in the

kitchen, I thought, of course, it must be all right, but Tinker would do

nothing but growl the whole time the young man was there; so that at

last cook had to lock us up in the butler's pantry till the young man

was gone. _I_ had not growled, but I was locked in too. The world is

full of injustice and ingratitude.

Now one night, when the servants went to bed, Tinker and I lay down in

our baskets under the hall table as usual; but Tinker was dreadfully

restless, which must have been only an accident, because he said himself

he didn't know what was the matter with him; and he would not go to

sleep, but kept walking up and down as if he were going to hide a bone

and couldn't find a good place for it.

"Do lie down, for goodness' sake, Tinker," I said, "and go to sleep. Any

one can see you have not been brought up in a house where regular hours

are kept."

"I can't go to sleep; I don't know what's the matter with me," he said

gloomily.

Well, I tried to go to sleep myself, and I think I must almost have

dropped off, when I heard a scrape-scraping from the butler's pantry. I

wasn't going to bark. It wasn't my business. I have often heard Miss

Daisy's relations say that I was no house-dog. Still, I think Tinker

ought to have barked then, but he didn't: only just pricked his ears and

his tail; and he waited, and the scraping went on.

Then Tinker said to me--"Don't you make a noise, for your life; I am

going to see what it is;" and he trotted softly into the butler's

pantry. It was rather dark, but you know we dogs can see as well as cats

in the dark, although they do make such a fuss about it, and declare

that they are the only creatures who can.

There was a man outside the window, and I tapped Tinker with my tail to

show him that he ought to bark, but he never moved. The man had been

scraping and scraping till he had got out one of the window-panes. It

was a very little window-pane, only just big enough for his hand to go

through; and the man took out the window-pane and put his hand through,

making a long arm to get at the fastening of the window; and just as he

was going to undo the hasp, Tinker made a spring on to the window-ledge,

and he caught the man's hand in his mouth, and the man gave a push, and

Tinker fell off the window-ledge, but he took the man's hand with him;

and there was the man's arm dragged through the window-pane, and Tinker

hanging on to his fingers.

The man broke some more panes and tried to get his other hand through,

and if he had he would have done for Tinker, but he could not manage it;

and now I thought "This is the time to bark," and I barked. I barked my

best, I barked nobly, though I am not a house-dog, and I don't think

it's my business.

In less than a minute down came the gardener and the under-gardener: and

Tinker was still holding on, and they took the man, and he was marched

off to prison, and it turned out to be the man in the fur cap. But

though they made fuss enough about Tinker's share in the business, you

may be sure it didn't make me think much more of him.

I should never have had anything to say to him but for one thing. Early

one morning we three dogs--it's all over long ago, and I hope I can be

generous and let bygones be bygones; he is one of _us_ now--went out for

a run in the paddock by the wood, and while Trap and I were trotting up

and down chatting about the weather, that Tinker dog bolted into the

wood, and in less than a minute came out with a rabbit.

I saw at once that he could never get it eaten before Miss Daisy came

out, and I knew that, if he were found with it, his sufferings would be

awful. So I helped him to eat it. I know my duty to a fellow-creature, I

trust. It was a very young rabbit, and tender. Not too much fur. Fur

gets in your throat, and spoils your teeth, besides. We had just

finished it when my mistress came out. Trap would not eat a bit, even to

help Tinker out of his scrape, but _I_ have a kind heart.

Well, after that I thought I might as well consent to be friends with

Tinker, in spite of his low breeding. You see, I had helped him out of a

dreadful scrape, and one always feels kindly to people one has helped.

He has caught several more rabbits since then, and I have always stood

by him on those occasions, and I always mean to. I am not one to turn my

back on a friend, I believe.

So now he has a collar like ours, and I hardly feel degraded at all when

I sit opposite to him at the doll's tea-parties.

Rats!

"HE has no nose," said my master; "he is a handsome dog, but he has no

nose."

This annoyed me very much, for I have a nose--a very long, sharp, black

nose. I wear tan boots and gloves, and my coat is a beautiful shiny

black.

I am a Manchester terrier, and I fulfil the old instructions for such

dogs. I am

_Neckèd like a drakè,_

_Headed like a snakè,_

_Tailed like a ratte,_

_And footed like a catte._

And then they said I had no nose.

But Kerry explained to me that my master did not mean to find fault with

the shape of my nose, but that what he wanted to be understood was that

I had no nose for smelling rats. Kerry has, and he is ridiculously vain

of this accomplishment.

"And you have no nose, you know, old boy," said Kerry; "why, you would

let the rats run all over you and never know it."

I turned up my nose--my beautiful, pointed, handsome nose--and walked

away without a word.

A few weeks afterwards my master brought home with him some white rats.

Kerry was out at the time, but my master showed me the rats through the

bars of their cage. He also showed me a boot and a stick. Although I

have no nose, I was clever enough to put two and two together. Did I

mention that there were two rats?

We were not allowed to go in the study, either of us, and my master put

the rats there in their cage on the table.

That night, when everybody had gone to bed, I said to Kerry, "I may have

no nose, old man, but I smell rats."

Kerry sniffed contemptuously.

"You!" said he, curling himself round in his basket; "I don't believe

you could smell an elephant if there were one in the dresser drawer."

I kept my temper. "I am not feeling very well, Kerry," I said gently,

"or I would go and see myself. But I am sure there _are_ rats; I smell

them plainly; they seem to be in the study."

"Go to sleep," he said; "you're dreaming, old man."

"Why don't you go and see?" I said. "If I didn't feel so very faint, I

would go myself."

Kerry got out of his basket reluctantly. "I suppose I ought to go, if

you are quite certain," he said; and he went.

In less than a minute he returned to the kitchen, trembling all over

with excitement.

"Chappie!" he said; "Chappie!"

"Well?"

"There _are_ rats," he whispered hoarsely; "there are rats in the

study."

"Did you go in?" I asked.

"No, you know we're forbidden to go in, but I smelt them quite plainly.

I can't smell them at all here," he said regretfully. "What a nose you

have got, after all, Chappie!"

"What are you going to do, Kerry?" I asked.

"Why, nothing," he said; "we mustn't go in the study."

"Oh," I said, "rules weren't made for great occasions like this; it's

your business to kill rats wherever they are."

And that misguided wire-haired person went up. He got them out of the

cage, and killed them.

The next morning, when the master came down, he thrashed Kerry within an

inch of his life. He knows I don't touch rats; and, besides, I was so

unwell that nobody could have suspected me. And I explained to Kerry

that, good as my nose is, I couldn't possibly tell by the smell that the

rats were white, and, therefore, sacred. It was not worth while to

mention that I had seen them before.

Kerry looks up to me now as a dog with a nose, and I am much happier

than formerly. But Kerry is not nearly so keen on rats now. I thought

somehow he wouldn't be.