CHAPTER I

The Story My Doggie Told to Me

[Illustration: We had some fine times together!]

The Story My Doggie

Told to Me

[Illustration]

By

Ralph Henry Barbour

Author of “The Crimson Sweater,” “The Half-Back,”

“Tom, Dick and Harriet,” etc.

With Illustrations by

John Rae

New York

Dodd, Mead and Company

1914

Copyright, 1914,

By DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY

TO GRETCHEN

in the hope that she will

read it to her children and that they

may profit by its lessons, this

book is dedicated by

her Master

CONTENTS

PART ONE

WHEN I WAS A PUPPY

CHAPTER PAGE

I PLAY DAYS 3

II WHAT WE LEARNED 11

III PUPPY TROUBLES 18

IV WHEN I ATE MY COLLAR 25

V HOW I DUG FOR A BADGER 34

VI THE FROG WHO WAS A TOAD 43

VII THE CROSS DUCK 50

VIII THE OLD LADY WHO DIDN’T LIKE DOGS 61

IX THE LITTLE BOY FROM THE CITY 69

PART TWO

WHEN I GREW UP

I HOW WE WENT HUNTING 87

II HOW WE SPENT CHRISTMAS 98

III MORE LESSONS 106

IV A VISIT TO JACK 115

V THE TURTLE 123

VI AT THE DOG SHOW 130

VII THE STRANGE MAN 143

VIII HOW I WAS STOLEN 153

IX IN THE ANIMAL STORE 162

X BACK HOME AGAIN 175

ILLUSTRATIONS

We had some fine times together _Frontispiece_

She used to think they were to chase _Page_ 12

... And thought now they were just to look at ” 13

Most of the batter went on Freya _Facing Page_ 14

He had to help William do all sorts of things ” ” 20

We learned to stand on our hind legs and beg ” ” 30

He was what the Family called a “bird dog” _Page_ 42

All of a sudden I backed right over the side of

the bank into the brook _Facing Page_ 52

I chewed that rubber cat until it stopped

squeaking and then tried the duck _Page_ 105

I had never seen one before _Facing Page_ 124

At the dog show _Page_ 142

Alfred took me to bed with him _Facing Page_ 146

Jim _Page_ 161

Oh, it was a funny, queer place _Facing Page_ 166

He lives in the fourth tree ” ” 178

PART ONE

WHEN I WAS A PUPPY

CHAPTER I

PLAY DAYS

Bow!

I always begin a story that way. It is what you Two-Legged Folks call

“making your bow.” With us dogs it means “Hello” and “How do you do”

and “Good morning” and――and lots of other things too. And sometimes it

means “Look out!” You see, we have so many ways of saying it!

Perhaps some day I’ll tell you how to know just what we mean when we

say “Bow!”――like that――sort of quick and friendly; and what we mean

when we say it slow and gruff, way down in our throats.

And then there’s “Wow!” too. “Wow” is different from “Bow.” And

“Bow-wow” is still different. But this isn’t telling my story, is it?

Of course, you haven’t said you wanted me to tell you my story, but I’m

almost sure you do. I think you’ll like it, because I am a very good

story-teller――for a dog. And, although I am not quite three years old,

I have seen a lot of things in my day.

You won’t mind if I wag my tail now and then, will you? It is very hard

for a dog to tell a tale without wagging. Some folks say a dog talks

with his tail. He doesn’t though; not really. He just uses his tail

the way you Two-Legged Folks use your hands, to make others understand

better what you are saying.

When you tell a story you should always start right at the very

beginning, and that is what I am going to do.

The first thing I remember was when I was about two weeks old. I’m sure

you can’t remember when you were two weeks old. I think that is very

clever of me, don’t you? It shows what a fine memory I have. I was

lying in a sort of cage made of criss-cross wires. There was sawdust

on the floor. There were four of us in all, for I had two sisters and

one brother. My mother’s name was Gretchen and my father’s name was

Fritz. I am named after my father. He had two or three other names

besides, but they’re very hard to say, being German. You see my father

and mother were both born in Germany and brought to this country when

they were very young, and so, of course, they spoke German very nicely.

But they never taught it to me. I suppose there wasn’t time. There are

so many, many things a puppy has to learn. I didn’t see much of my

father when I was a tiny puppy. Sometimes he came to the cage where we

lived and licked our noses through the wires, but he was a very busy

dog and had lots of things to attend to.

My mother was very beautiful, with the loveliest soft brown eyes and

the longest, silkiest ears and quite the crookedest front legs you

ever saw. (You see, in my family crooked front legs are much admired.)

We all loved her very dearly, but I am afraid we caused her a lot of

trouble. But she was very fond of us and very proud of us. Sometimes

I wished she wasn’t so careful about keeping us clean, for lots of

times when I wanted to play with my brother and sisters I couldn’t

because she had to wash me all over. You see, puppies don’t like being

washed much more than you do; and I heard you making an awful fuss this

morning!

We lived very happily in the cage for several weeks. We ate and slept

and played, but most of all we ate and slept. At first it must have

been funny to see us trying to walk, for our legs were so weak that

they just sprawled out under us when we wanted to use them. But it

wasn’t long before we could run and jump as much as we pleased. I was

the biggest and the strongest of us all, and I think my mother was

every bit as fond of me as she was of my two sisters and my brother,

but it _did_ seem to me as if I got most of the punishment. Maybe I was

the naughtiest one, too!

As we grew older and stronger our mother used to leave us alone for a

little while every day, and we didn’t like that at all at first. We

used to whine and cry and feel very lonesome until she came back. But

she always _did_ come back, and pretty soon we got to know that she

would, and so we didn’t mind so much. We had some lovely frolics, we

puppies. We used to make believe that we were very cross, and tumble

each other over in the sawdust and bite each other’s ears and legs and

growl such funny little growls!

A man named William looked after us. He wore leather gaiters. They

tasted very well. Mother said he was a coachman. He was very kind to

us and brought us things to eat and water to drink and petted us a

lot. Then there was another man who only came to see us a few times.

We didn’t like him so well. He was a Doctor and smelled of medicine.

He came to see us once when my sister Freya was sick and once when I

had an awful pain in my insides. That was later, though, after we were

out of the cage and running around in the yard. It was when I ate the

harness soap. Mother told me afterwards that it was a mistake to eat

any kind of soap. I think she was right.

Then, of course, there was the Master, and the Mistress, and, best of

all, the Baby. She wasn’t exactly a baby, because she was almost two

years old, but every one called her the Baby. We all loved her very

much. She used to take us up one by one and kiss us on our noses and

call us “Booful dogums” and hug us. Sometimes she hugged so hard it

hurt, but we never let her know it. She had golden hair and blue eyes

and two little fat red cheeks and was always laughing. Her real name

was Mildred. The Master was a very big man, so big that I could only

see to the tops of his riding-boots when I was little. He had a very

deep, gruff voice and called us “Those little rascals!” But we knew he

didn’t mean it and we liked him. But we liked the Baby best of all, and

after her the Mistress, who was the Baby’s mother. She was quite small

for a grown-up and had such a nice voice that we loved to hear it and

would all go running to the front of the cage or the yard fence when

she came.

The Family――we called the Master, the Mistress and the Baby the

Family――lived in the country in a beautiful white house with green

blinds that stood on top of a little hill and had trees and fields

all around it. There was a pond, too, and a brook that ran out of it.

That’s where the ducks lived. Ducks are very funny things. Later I’ll

tell you something about them. There was a stable, as well, and outside

the stable was a yard fenced in with wire netting, and in the corner of

the yard was what they called the Kennel. That was where I was born.

The yard was quite large and after we were allowed to run around in it,

we had a fine time. There was so much to see from it: the house and the

duck-pond and the country road, with people going by that had to be

barked at, and the place where William washed the carriages when the

weather was fine, and many other things. Also, there were squirrels in

the trees, and birds, too. And there was Ju-Ju.

CHAPTER II

WHAT WE LEARNED

[Illustration: She used to think they were to chase]

Ju-ju was a cat. She was grey, like smoke, and had a bushy tail and

long hair and yellow eyes. I don’t think yellow eyes are very pretty,

do you? None of us ever liked Ju-ju very much, although we soon got to

respect her. She was very vain of her long hair and thick tail and used

to spend hours doing nothing but washing herself. Cats are very lazy, I

think, and waste too much time on themselves. Once I asked Mother what

cats were for and she sighed and said she used to think they were to

chase but she had changed her mind and thought now they were just to

look at. Mother had a place on her nose like a scratch where the hair

never grew and sometimes I’ve wondered whether Ju-ju made it. When we

first got out into the yard Ju-ju used to come and jump on top of one

of the fence-posts and look down at us just as though we were funny and

strange. That used to make us very angry and we would bark and jump at

the post for the longest time. But of course we couldn’t reach her and

after awhile she would blink and blink at us and then go to sleep up

there! Cats are very annoying. They’re almost as bad as ducks!

[Illustration: ... and thought now they were just to look at]

We were born in the Spring and lived in the yard until we were four

months old. Then my brother, whose name was Franz, and one of my

sisters, whose name was Franzchen, left us. They went away off to live

in the city and Freya and I were quite lonely at first, and our mother

felt very badly about it. But she told us that they had gone to live

with some nice, kind people and would be very happy, and after that we

didn’t feel so badly about it.

After Franz and Franzchen left us we were no longer kept in the Kennel

yard, but were allowed to go anywhere we pleased――except the house.

We weren’t allowed in the house, but sometimes we got in. When we did

we scampered straight for the kitchen. The first time we did it Cook

had a tin dish filled with cake-batter in her hand and when we ran at

her and barked and jumped up on her she was so surprised and scared

that she cried “Saints presarve us!” and dropped the dish. Most of

the batter went on Freya and she ran out as quick as she could go,

much more frightened than Cook, and I after her. We had a fine time

licking the batter off. It was nice and sweet and sticky and lasted all

day. Father was quite angry with us, but Mother said “Puppies will be

puppies.”

[Illustration: Most of the batter went on Freya]

After that it was very hard to get in the kitchen, and when we did get

in Cook would drive us out with a broom. Of course we tried not to go

and made believe we didn’t know what she meant when she cried “Shoo!”

and “Scat!” We would run under the tables and into the pantry and quite

often she would have to coax us out with pieces of meat or something

nice. It was very exciting. If we thought she really meant to hit us

with the broom we would lie on our backs with our feet in the air

and pretend we were awfully frightened. Then Delia, who was the maid

and a great friend of ours, would say “Oh, the poor little dears. Don’t

you dare hit them, Mary McGuire!” Then we would have a piece of cake

each and Delia would pet us and put us outside.

Father was a very busy dog and had a great many things to look after.

He always went to drive with our Mistress and sat very straight and

fine beside William on the front seat. Then, too, he had to help

William do all sorts of things, like wash the carriages and feed the

chickens and ducks and cut the grass and rake the leaves. He must have

been a great comfort to William.

[Illustration: He had to help William do all sorts of things]

Mother had her paws full looking after us most of that summer and so

she was not able to help much with the work. Of course she kept watch

and taught us to, and we soon learned who to bark at and who not.

When the man from the butcher’s came Mother always made it a point

to be very polite to him. She wagged her tail and sniffed his boots

and followed him around to the kitchen door. He smelled very nice.

Sometimes he gave us small pieces of meat and we were always glad to

see him. But when a tramp or a pedlar came Mother barked and the hair

stood up all along her back. We soon learned to do the same and tramps

didn’t very often come much farther than the gate.

Of course we learned a great many other things too. Such as to stand

on our hind legs and beg when we wanted anything and not get under the

feet of the horses and keep away from the carriage wheels. Once a wheel

went over the end of my tail and it hurt a good deal and I crawled into

a stall and cried. Mother came and told me I was too old to cry and

that it would teach me to keep out of the way.

[Illustration: We learned to stand on our hind legs and beg]

Another thing we learned was not to jump up on the Baby. We did it

because we loved her and wanted to lick her face, but she always

tumbled over. That was because she only had two legs and was no fault

of ours. Once when she tumbled she struck her head against something

hard and cried dreadfully. We licked her face as hard as we could to

comfort her, because that is what Mother always did to us when we were

hurt, but it didn’t seem to do her much good. Then William came running

up and cuffed us pretty hard and picked Baby up. I don’t think he

should have punished us, but maybe he didn’t understand. After that we

didn’t do it any more.

Another thing we soon learned was to let Ju-ju alone. One day, soon

after we were allowed to go where we liked, Freya and I came across

Ju-ju in the kitchen yard. She was fast asleep and we thought it would

be great fun to jump at her and bark. So we did it and she woke up

awfully quick and scratched me on the nose and chased Freya half-way to

the stable. Cats can’t take a joke.

CHAPTER III

PUPPY TROUBLES

We learned a good deal about what was good to eat and what wasn’t, too.

Once Delia left a tin pan filled with some whitish stuff on the back

steps and I ate quite a lot of it before she came out and found what I

was doing. When she did she cried “Cook! Cook! One of the Puppies has

eaten the starch!” Of course I went right away, as I didn’t want to

have any trouble about it, and pretty soon I felt very funny inside and

crawled into a stall where it was quiet and dark. But William found me

after a while and made me swallow something that didn’t taste at all

nice and pretty soon I felt better. I didn’t think it was very kind of

Delia to tell William what I had done, but maybe it was all for the

best, because until he made me swallow the nasty medicine I was pretty

sure I was going to die. Starch and soap taste all right but they

aren’t good for puppies. I found that out.

It seems that we all have to learn a lot of things by what Mother calls

“sad experience.” Like bees. Bees look very much like flies but they’re

different. Once Freya and I saw some bees going in and out of a tiny

hole in the ground back of the stable. They were very large bees and

growled. We wondered why they went into the hole and so we scratched

at it to find out. While we were doing it quite a lot of bees came

out and Freya gave a yelp and began to paw at her nose. She looked so

funny that I laughed at her and asked why she did it. Then I gave a

yelp and forgot all about Freya. Those bees were very angry and sat

down on us wherever our hair was thin, and every time they sat down

they scratched. We didn’t stay there long, I can tell you! We ran as

fast as we could run, but the bees flew right along with us and chased

us way down to the duck-pond. By that time I had five scratches and

Freya had four and they hurt a good deal and swelled up. We licked the

scratches and whined and after a while we rolled over in the mud at the

edge of the pond and that made them feel better. But they didn’t stop

hurting for a long time. After that if a bee came _buzz-buzzing_ around

us we always made believe we didn’t see it. But we got up very quietly

and moved away.

Then there are balls. Some balls are nice to play with and chew on.

They are made of rubber. William had one and he used to throw it, and

Freya and I, and sometimes Mother and Father, too, would scamper after

it and see who could get it and bring it back to him. If Freya got it

I always took it away from her, because I am bigger and stronger than

she is. Besides, she’s only a girl dog! Once Freya found the ball in

the harness room, where it had dropped off a shelf, and so she took it

out under a tree and chewed on it until there was a hole in it. Then

she wanted to see what was in the hole and so she tore the ball all to

pieces. There wasn’t a thing in it. She ate some of the pieces and that

afternoon the Doctor came and stayed quite a long time and Freya was

very sick. William got another ball, but Freya would never go near it.

At the side of the house toward the orchard there was a lawn where the

Family played a game they called croquet. They had mallets and a lot of

different coloured wooden balls and they made the balls roll by hitting

them with the mallets. Once Freya and I were there and we chased the

balls. The Master laughed at us and said we mustn’t do it. But he

didn’t really care, and the Baby, who was there with Nurse, clapped

her hands and thought it was fine fun. So did we. We would run at the

balls and bark at them and try to pick them up in our mouths. But we

couldn’t because they were too big. The Master and Mistress laughed and

laughed at us. Then I saw a ball rolling along very fast and I made

believe it was a rat and ran for it as hard as I could go. But when I

tried to bite it it wouldn’t stop but kept right on rolling. And so I

rolled too. I rolled several times and when I found my feet I hurried

off with a terrible pain in my head. Rubber balls and wooden balls are

very different, like flies and bees.

About that time we had our first collars. Mine was black and Freya’s

was brown. William said that was so people could tell us apart. I

thought it was very silly of him because we didn’t look at all alike.

I was bigger and, if I do say it myself, much finer looking. But that

is what he said. The collars had little round brass tags on them and on

the tags were numbers. They were quite like the collars that Father

and Mother wore, only a great deal smaller, and we were very proud of

them. William put a strap from Freya’s collar to mine and then snapped

a leash on to the strap and said “Come on.” I trotted right along, but

Freya sat down and wouldn’t budge an inch. So, of course, I had to pull

her all the way to the house. It was very hard work for me, and Freya

didn’t like it much, either. She howled all the way up the drive and

William just laughed at her. I was quite ashamed of her for acting so.

The Master and Mistress and the Baby came out to see us and I tried

to put a good face on it by laughing too, but Freya just howled and

howled! Girl dogs are very silly sometimes! Then the Master said:

“Take the leash off, William, and see what they’ll do.”

So he did and I ran up to the Mistress and Freya tried to run toward

the stable. I wasn’t going to have that, so I dragged Freya after me

and the Baby was between us and the strap upset her into the flower

bed. I was sorry about it, but I thought we had better not stay there

any longer, so I turned and ran as hard as I could, pulling Freya

after me, toward the orchard. The orchard is quite a large place and

one needn’t be caught there unless one wants to. But Freya, of course,

had to spoil it all. When we came to a tree she went on the other side

of it and the strap held us there. I told her to come around my side,

but she just whimpered and tugged at the strap and paid no attention

to what I said. Of course I wasn’t going to give in to her whim, so

I pulled and pulled and would have pulled her around the right way

at last if William hadn’t come up just then and caught us. We got a

cuffing, which was all Freya’s fault for being so obstinate.

CHAPTER IV

WHEN I ATE MY COLLAR

After that William put the strap on us every day for a while and we

got used to it. It was all right as soon as Freya understood that she

was to go the way I wanted to go. But it took her some time to do it.

Freya is very stupid at times. About a week after I got my collar it

was the cause of much pain to me. The Baby took it off one day and laid

it on the ground. After she had gone I went back and found it. There is

something about leather that I like. I didn’t mean to do any harm to

the collar, but it tasted very good and so I closed my eyes and chewed

and chewed and chewed. Freya came and watched me and asked me to give

her some.

“You’ve got a collar of your own,” I growled. “Go away.”

“All right,” she said. “But you’ll catch it. Just you wait!”

She went off to bark at Ju-Ju, who was asleep on a window-sill, and I

thought of what she had said. I looked at the collar. It was a very sad

looking collar. There wasn’t much left except the brass tag. Freya was

right; I would catch it if any one saw it. So I took what was left of

it and dug a hole in a flower-bed and buried it. Not ten minutes after

that the Mistress came out and called me. I made believe I didn’t hear

her, but it did no good, for she kept on calling me and so I had to go

to her. When I got near her I rolled over on my back and whined.

“Why,” she said, “you funny dog! I’m not angry with you, even if you

didn’t come as soon as you should have. You’re a nice puppums and――why,

where’s your collar?”

I didn’t say anything, of course. Instead I pounced on a twig and shook

it and ran around with it in my mouth. I thought perhaps she would

forget about the collar. But she didn’t even smile.

“Naughty Fritz!” she said. “What have you done with your collar?”

Freya came up and looked at me in a way which said: “There! Now you are

in for it! And I’m glad, because you were selfish and wouldn’t give me

any.” And then she trotted over to the Mistress with her tail curled up

very proudly as much as to say: “See what a good dog I am! I haven’t

lost my collar!”

“You wait till I catch you,” I growled.

Then the Baby came out and the Mistress said: “Look, Baby, at what a

naughty, bad dog Fritz has been. He’s lost his nice new collar.”

Baby laughed and gurgled. “Collar!” she said.

“Yes, dear, and see how ashamed he looks. Naughty dog!”

“Mild’ed tooked it off,” said the Baby.

“You took it off? Oh, you shouldn’t have done that, dear,” said the

Mistress. “What did you do with it?”

“Tooked it off!” said the Baby, and clapped her hands.

By that time William had come up, with a rake in his hands, and the

Mistress told him about it. William scratched his head, which is what

he always does when he tries to think very hard.

“Where were you when you took it off, dear?” asked the Mistress.

The Baby toddled across to the lawn and we all followed her. I

pretended to be very much surprised when we found that the collar

wasn’t there.

“Are you sure this is the place, dear?” asked the Mistress.

The Baby nodded hard. “Mild’ed tooked off collar!” she cried and looked

very proud of herself. I hunted all around, but couldn’t find anything

but a small stone. So I took that to the Mistress, but she just tossed

it away. Freya chased it. William scratched his head some more.

“If she took it off him, mum,” he said, “it’s gone by now. Sure, he

chews up everything he finds, he’s that de-struct-ive, mum.”

I didn’t know what “de-struct-ive” meant, but I didn’t like the sound

of it.

“Oh, I hope not,” said the Mistress, looking at me very hard. I turned

my head away and made believe I didn’t hear. Freya wagged her tail and

trotted off to the flower bed. I watched her and growled.

“Well, perhaps we’ll find it,” said the Mistress. “You’d better look

around, William.”

“Yes, mum,” said William. Then he cried “Hi, there! Stop that!” and

ran over to the flower bed where Freya was digging. By the time he got

to her she had the collar in her mouth and was holding it out to him,

wagging her tail.

“Here it is, mum,” called William. “And all chewed up, mum, just like I

said, mum!”

I didn’t wait to hear any more, but very quietly slipped away from

them and ran for the stable. But William found me. He dragged me out

by the scruff of my neck from behind a pile of flower-pots and showed

me the collar. Then he――but I don’t like to think of what he did. It

was very painful. After he had gone I cried myself to sleep behind the

flower-pots and slept quite a while. And when I woke up again I didn’t

come out until I was sure that William had gone to his dinner. I was

very hungry, too, but I was afraid to go near the house. So I went

off to the meadow and dug up a bone I had buried a long while before.

I heard them calling me to come to dinner, but I didn’t go. I hoped

they would be sorry they had treated me as they had. After a while,

though, they stopped calling me. So I chewed on my bone, which was very

good but a little too dry. Still, when you’re very hungry most any bone

tastes good. After that I felt much better and set off to find Freya.

I met my father in the stable yard and asked him where she was, and he

said she was in the kitchen.

“Delia is giving her gingerbread because she found your collar. If you

go up there perhaps they’ll give you some, too.”

“I guess I don’t want any,” I said.

“You don’t deserve any,” said Father. “After this you will know better

than to eat your collar.”

I went on toward the house and lay down behind a bush and waited.

After awhile Freya came out looking very pleased with herself. She had

a piece of cake in her mouth and went over to the orchard to bury it

because she had had so much already she couldn’t eat it. I followed

her, keeping away from the house, and went up to her very quietly while

she was digging a hole. When she saw me she dropped the cake and tried

to run, but I got her....

Afterwards I ate the cake.

Of course Freya told Mother that I had hurt her. She’s such a

tattle-tale! When I went back to the stable Mother wanted to punish me,

but Father said: “No, Freya deserved what she got. She should not have

told on Fritz.” So Mother said we were both very bad children and we

must go to the Kennel and stay there until we could behave. So we went.

After a while Freya crawled over to me and licked my ear and said she

was sorry. I just growled. So then she licked the other ear and said

she was sorry again, and I forgave her and we made it up and went off

together to the pond to hunt frogs.

A day or two later William came with another collar and wanted to put

it on me, but I ran as fast as I could and hid behind the flower-pots

again. I don’t know why I always went there when I wanted to hide,

because William always found me right away, just as he did this time. I

whined a little when he pulled me out, but he patted me and rubbed my

neck and said he wasn’t going to hurt me.

“Look at the fine new collar I have for you,” he said. “Hold still now

till I get it on.”

So I held still, as still as I could for trembling, and he put it

around my neck and buckled it.

“There, now,” he said. “Aren’t you the proud puppy? Sure, it looks fine

on you. Run along now and show it to your father and mother. But don’t

you be eating it up, mind!”

Just as though I would! Why, I’ve hated the taste of collars ever

since!

CHAPTER V

HOW I DUG FOR A BADGER

Next door to us was a dog named Jack. There was a wide field between

our house and Jack’s and so he lived quite a way from us. But he used

to come over to our place pretty often and after we got big we went

over to see him. Jack and Father were great friends and used to go

hunting together. Jack was a pointer and the first time I saw him

I asked Mother what sort of an animal he was, because as he was so

different from us I didn’t think of his being a dog too. He had very

long legs and was white with brown spots, one on each side of his head

and one on each side of his body and a little one where his tail began.

He was dreadfully big, ten times as big as Father, and I was afraid of

him at first. But I need not have been, for he was a very nice, kind

dog.

He was what the Family called a “bird dog.” When his Master went out

with a gun to hunt partridges or grouse Jack would go ahead and scent

the birds in the grass or bushes, and then he would stand very still,

with his tail pointing straight out behind him and his nose pointing

straight out in front of him, and his Master would know that there

were partridges ahead and say “Hie on!” Then Jack would creep on very

quietly and all of a sudden the birds would fly up in the air and his

Master’s gun would go _bang-bang!_ and then there would be partridges

for dinner. I thought it was very clever of Jack and wondered why

Father didn’t hunt birds too. I asked Mother about it once and she said:

[Illustration: He was what the Family called a “bird dog”]

“Every dog to his trade, my dear. Jack is a pointer and pointers were

made to hunt birds. Your father is a dachshund and dachshunds were

made to hunt badgers and rabbits and animals that live underground.

Jack is a very fine dog, but he couldn’t dig out a badger or a fox or

even a rabbit.”

“Oh,” I said, “could Father do that?”

“Of course, and so can I; and so can you when you grow up. That’s why

you are made as you are. Badgers and foxes live in holes that they make

far under the ground. The holes are small and they turn and twist, and

that’s why your body is made so long and your legs so short; so that

you can follow a fox or a badger into his hole.”

“What is a badger?” I asked.

“A badger,” said Mother, “is a very savage animal, much larger than

your father. He lives underground and comes out at night to hunt. He

has short legs and very long claws and a long nose. He catches smaller

animals and eats them and sometimes he steals the farmer’s chickens.

He has a very loose skin, just like yours, that is covered with fine

grey hairs. Folks make brushes out of the hairs. The brush the Master

lathers his face with in the morning when he shaves is made of badger

hair and the brush that William used the other day to paint the old

wagon with is made of it too.”

“I wish I could catch a badger,” I said. Mother smiled.

“The first time you found one at the end of his tunnel you might wish

differently,” she said. “Badgers fight hard, with tooth and claw, my

dear.”

“Are they more savage than foxes?” I asked.

“Yes, but no braver. A fox has only his teeth to fight with but he

makes good use of them.”

“I wouldn’t be afraid,” I boasted. “Are there any badgers or foxes

about here?”

“Foxes, yes, but no badgers that I have ever heard of.”

“There are rabbits, though,” I said. “Some day I shall catch me a

rabbit.”

“I hope not, my dear. Rabbits are harmless and they can’t fight

underground. We have no quarrel with rabbits, we dachshunds.”

“Then,” I said, “I’ll have to find a fox.”

“It will be a good while before you are big enough to bring a fox

out of his hole,” said Mother. “Some day, though, you shall try it,

perhaps. You have good digging paws, Fritz.”

“They――they’re awfully big,” I said.

“As they should be, my dear. They’re made for digging. Each one is a

little shovel, or, rather, a hoe. When you go into a hole that isn’t

big enough you begin to dig. And that is why your front legs are made

so crooked. If they were straight you would throw the dirt right under

you. As they are, with your feet turning out, they throw the dirt on

each side of you, out of your way.”

“I’m glad you told me that,” I said, “because I’ve always wondered

about my legs and feet and been a little ashamed of them. They seemed

so funny and crooked and big. Now I see that they are just as they

should be.” I looked at my feet quite proudly. “I guess,” I said, “I’ll

go and dig a hole somewhere.”

“Very well,” said Mother, stretching herself out to go to sleep, “but

keep away from the flower beds, Fritz.”

So I found a field-mouse hole at the root of an apple tree in the

orchard and dug and dug and had got down so far that only my tail was

sticking out when Freya came along.

“What are you doing?” she asked. She might have seen for herself that I

was digging a hole, but she is always asking silly questions like that.

“I’m digging for a badger,” I said. “Want to help?”

“Oh, yes, indeed!” cried Freya. “Is there really a badger down there?”

“Never you mind,” I said. “You don’t suppose I’d be digging a hole as

deep as this one if there wasn’t something there, do you?” So I crawled

out and Freya got in and went to work. I looked on a minute and then I

said:

“You don’t dig very well, do you? I suppose your feet aren’t big

enough.”

“They’re as big as yours,” said Freya, stopping to rest.

“Then you don’t know how to use them,” I said. “Digging is an art, and

not every dachshund knows how.”

“Humph!” said Freya. “Let me see you do it, then.”

So I got back in the hole and dug as hard as ever I could, and the dirt

just flew out, I tell you! “There,” I said at last, much out of breath,

“that’s the way to do it!”

But when I looked around, would you believe it, that silly dog had

gone! And there was William hurrying up with a stick in his hand.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he cried, real crossly. “Trying to

dig up that apple tree? Get out o’ that, you pesky critter!”

So I got out in a big hurry and ran off around the house and down to

the stable and crept behind the flower-pots. For once William didn’t

find me and, as I was very tired, I went to sleep and dreamed that I

had crawled down a long, long hole in the ground and that in front of

me was a horrible grey badger with long teeth and glaring yellow eyes

and great sharp claws. And when I tried to turn around and run out I

couldn’t because the hole was too small, and when I tried to back out

I couldn’t because the dirt had fallen in around me. And the badger

said: “Hah, you’re the smart young dog who said he wanted to catch

a badger, aren’t you?” And I said: “N-no, sir, that――that was my

brother.” “You’re fibbing,” said the badger, “and for that I shall eat

you all up. _Raow!_” Then he crept toward me and just as he reached out

one great big paw with dozens and dozens of ugly, sharp claws I woke up

with a howl, shivering and shaking! And, oh, my, wasn’t I glad to see

those flower-pots and know that I was in the stable and not in a long,

deep hole with a badger coming at me! I ran out and found Mother and

cuddled up very close to her and told her my dream. She just smiled and

licked my eyes and pretty soon I went to sleep again in the sunlight.

CHAPTER VI

THE FROG WHO WAS A TOAD

When I thought about it afterwards it seemed strange that I should not

be allowed to dig holes when digging holes was what I was for. But

every time I did it some one, William or the Master or the Mistress,

came up and said “No, no, Fritz! Naughty dog! Mustn’t dig up the

ground.” It was most discouraging. (Discouraging is a long word, and

if you don’t know what it means I shan’t tell you. Any one as old

as you are ought to know.) Freya never got in trouble that way. She

didn’t seem to care much for doing the things I did, like digging for

badgers in the orchard or for foxes on the front lawn. (I know now

that I should not have expected to find a fox under the lawn, but then

one place seemed as good as another.) Freya liked to stay around the

back door and look hungry and coax Delia or Cook to give her things to

eat. When she wasn’t doing that she was most always asleep somewhere.

She got very fat and lazy and it was all I could do to get her to go

hunting with me. She wasn’t much good at hunting, anyway. She always

got tired just when the fun began.

We used to go down to the pond and the brook and hunt frogs. Frogs

aren’t good to eat, but it is a lot of fun chasing them. You creep up

on them very quietly along the edge of the pond and try to get them

before they can jump back into the water. Most always you miss them,

because their eyes are in the wrong place, being on the top of their

head, and they can see behind them. But sometimes you catch one. When

you do you play with it awhile and let it go. Freya, though, never

would play with them. She said they were ugly-looking and she didn’t

like the smell of them. Girl-dogs are like that, though, sort of

finicky and fussy about little things.

You wouldn’t think that such a silly, no-account animal as a frog could

get a decent dog into trouble, would you? It can, though, and it did.

And I was the dog. I’ll tell you about it because it may be a warning

to you some time when you are hunting frogs.

One afternoon when it was very hot weather and we had all kept very

quiet in the shade most of the day I got tired of keeping still and

told Freya to get up and we’d hunt frogs. She didn’t want to at all,

being, as I’ve said, fat and lazy, but I nipped her ear and made her.

So we trotted down the road and across the meadow, and when we were

still a long way from the pond I saw a frog. I told Freya to be quiet

and then I stole ahead very softly and there he was in the grass just

sitting and looking at me out of two big goggly eyes. He was quite

different from any frog I’d ever seen before, being fatter and uglier

and having more warts.

Freya whispered, “Oh, isn’t he horrid? Don’t touch him, Fritz!” But I

wasn’t going to let any frog make faces at me and so I jumped for him

and caught him. He tried to get away but I took him in my mouth and

shook him just in play, of course, and then――Oh dear, the most awful

thing happened! The inside of my mouth got on fire and I dropped that

frog and ran as hard as ever I could run to the pond and stuck my head

right into the water!

But water didn’t do much good. My mouth and my tongue were hot and

stingy and smarty and felt just as though they were burning up. I drank

water and shook my head and pawed my mouth and howled just as loud as I

could. Freya ran around and asked what the matter was and got awfully

excited. I was too busy trying to stop the pain to tell her what was

wrong. Besides, when I wasn’t gulping water or pawing at my mouth I was

howling! Father and Mother heard me and came running down to the pond.

But I couldn’t tell them what the matter was and so Freya showed them

the frog. I was still sitting up to my neck in the pond and howling

frightfully when they came back.

“Stop making that noise,” said Father, “and keep your mouth in the

water.”

So I did it and whimpered instead of howled and my mouth began to feel

better. But my tongue was swollen all up and when I tried to talk

I just made funny noises. After a while I crawled out of the pond

and shook myself, feeling sort of ashamed because I had made such a

fuss. But Mother licked my face, and Freya, who had been lying nearby

whining, came running up and leaped about and barked. Even Father

seemed sorry for me. Then he took us back to the frog, which was still

sitting where I had left him, and said:

“Have a good look at him, children.”

So we looked at the frog and the frog blinked at us and seemed to be

laughing. I growled and backed away from him.

“The next time you take a frog in your mouth,” said Father, “be sure

it _is_ a frog and not a toad. Toads are very unhealthy for dogs and

that thing there is a toad. When you took him up he put poison in your

mouth. It was a good thing you were near the pond, for water is the

only thing I know of that will help. I heard of a dog once who was

poisoned by a frog and there was no water around and so he ran for

home. The poison made froth in his mouth and Two-Legged Folks thought

he was mad and a policeman tried to shoot him. Luckily for him the

policeman aimed wrong and the dog got away. Now do you think you will

know a toad the next time you see one?”

I said I was sure of it and then we went home and I crawled behind the

flower-pots and stayed there a long time. I didn’t want any supper that

day. You wouldn’t have wanted any, either, if your mouth had felt the

way mine did. I think it is quite wrong to have things look so much

alike as frogs and toads do; and flies and bees, too. How is a puppy to

know?

When it was almost dark I crept out from behind the flower-pots and

went to get a drink of water. Ju-Ju was outside, playing with a beetle,

and when she saw me she grinned. She must have found out somehow about

that toad. I hate cats.

CHAPTER VII

THE CROSS DUCK

The next day my mouth and tongue were quite well once more, but it was

more than a week before I got brave enough to hunt frogs again. In

fact, I have never cared for frog-hunting very much since, and I only

did it after that just to show Freya that I wasn’t afraid to. But I

couldn’t get her to go with me. She’s rather a coward, Freya is. Just

look at the time I scared the duck! The way she acted then made me

quite ashamed of her!

That was months before I made the mistake about the toad and I was

younger and sillier. I told you that there were ducks on our place.

Well, they lived in a house next door to where the chickens were,

and in the day time they all waddled out as soon as William opened

the gate for them and went down to the pond. They are stupid things,

ducks. They don’t do anything all day long but waddle around and wag

their tails and eat and swim and say “quack!” I don’t know what “quack”

means and I don’t believe they do, for they always say it just the same

way and no matter what happens. If they see William with their dinner

they say “quack” and if they see a chicken-hawk sailing about they say

“quack” and if I so much as look at them――from a distance――they say

“quack” just the same. I don’t believe “quack” means a thing. They just

want you to think it does.

Well, one day I was trotting around by myself looking for something to

do when I caught sight of a duck sitting in the grass on the side of

the brook quite a ways beyond the pond. She didn’t see me because she

had her head hidden under her wing in the silly way ducks have. It had

been a very dull day so far and I wanted some fun. So I thought it

would be a good joke to creep up on Mrs. Duck and give her a good scare

and see if she would say anything more than just “Quack!”

Well, I did. I crept up very, very softly and when I was about two feet

away I said “_Bow-wow!_” as loudly as I could. Mrs. Duck gave a start,

pulled her head out and said “_Quack!_” much louder than I had said

“Bow-wow!” And then, before I knew what she was up to, she spread her

wings very wide and jumped right at me!

It――well, it sort of surprised me, because I didn’t know ducks did

that. Besides, with her wings all spread open like that and her mouth

very wide open, too, she looked almost as big as ten ducks! So――so I

sort of backed away, not because I was afraid of her but just because

I was so surprised. Besides, I’d had my fun and was ready to go away,

anyhow. But she didn’t seem to understand that it was all just a

joke and she came right at me, saying “_Quack! Quack! Quack!_” quite

crossly. So I kept on backing away, and the faster I backed the faster

she came for me and the louder she “quacked!”

I don’t know exactly how it happened, but I got between Mrs. Duck and

the brook. I didn’t know it, of course, or I should have backed another

way. Another thing I didn’t know――and I wished I had known it――was that

she had a nest full of eggs there and was hatching out some little

ducks. If I had known that I would not have gone near her. But I

didn’t know it until afterwards. So I kept on backing and she kept on

“quacking” and making dabs at me with her yellow bill and flapping her

wings and all of a sudden I backed right over the side of the bank into

the brook!

[Illustration: All of a sudden I backed right over the side of the bank

into the brook!]

There was not much water in the brook and I sat right down in a lot of

soft, sticky mud. Of course I tried to get out, but the more I tried

the faster I stuck in that nasty mud. And all the time that horrid,

quarrelsome duck stood on the bank and said “Quack!” and scolded me. I

was afraid she might come in after me, and that is why I tried so very

hard to get out. But she didn’t. She just stood there and said a lot of

mean things to me while the mud got stickier and stickier. And then I

howled. Any one would have howled. I didn’t howl because I was afraid.

I howled because I couldn’t get my feet out of the mud. No dog likes to

be stuck in horrid black mud. Pretty soon Freya came and looked over

the edge of the bank at me. But she didn’t come very near where Mrs.

Duck stood.

“Why,” she said, “what are you doing down there, Fritz? William will be

very angry with you for getting so dirty. You’d better come right out

and take a bath in the pond before you go home.”

“I can’t get out!” I howled. “I’m stuck in this mud. Help me!”

But Freya looked at the duck, who was still “quacking” at a great rate,

and shook her head.

“I――I’m afraid of her,” said Freya.

“Afraid of a duck!” I said. “Well, I’d be ashamed to own it!” But I

kept a watch on the duck because I was afraid she might understand what

I said. She didn’t though. “Bark at her and scare her away,” I told

Freya. “She――she won’t hurt you. Ducks are great cowards.”

But Freya shook her head again. “I――I don’t like her looks,” she said.

“Couldn’t you――couldn’t you pull yourself out if you tried very hard?”

“No, I couldn’t,” I snapped. “If I could I wouldn’t be here now. If you

can’t help me out of here you’d better run home and tell Mother. You’re

an awful scare-baby!”

So Freya walked two or three steps toward the duck and said “Bow-wow!”

just as if she was frightened to death, which she was, and the duck

paid no attention to her at all. Then Freya went a little nearer and

barked again. That time Mrs. Duck heard her and turned around and made

straight for her. Freya gave one awful yelp, tucked her tail between

her legs and flew. And the duck went after her, flapping her wings and

“quacking!” And somehow just then I managed to get a front paw on a

stone at the side of the brook and dragged myself out. And when I got

to the top of the bank Freya was half-way across the meadow, still

yelping, and Mrs. Duck was waddling back again.

I didn’t stay there long, I can tell you. Not that I was afraid of that

stupid old duck, but I wanted to get the mud off me before it dried

on. So I hurried back to the pond. But when I got there it was full

of other ducks and they looked at me so queerly that I thought I’d

better not go into the pond after all. So I sneaked back to the stable,

thinking I’d get behind the flower-pots before any one could see me.

But just as I came to the door who should come out but William!

“_Well!_” he said, just like that; “_Well!_” I made a dash for the

corner where the flower-pots were and got there, but he hauled me right

out by my neck and held me at arm’s length and looked at me. “I never

see a dirtier pup,” he said. “Where have you been?” Of course I didn’t

tell him and he said: “Well, wherever you’ve been I know where you’re

going. You’re going into the tub!”

What followed was awful. William filled the tub in the stable half-full

of cold water and put me in it. I thought at first I would drown, but

he held me up with one hand and lathered me all over with harness soap

with the other. And then he took a horrid, stiff brush and scrubbed me

until it hurt. The soap got in my eyes and smarted and it got into my

mouth and tasted badly, and all the time William scolded.

I had to cry a little. You’d have cried too. I’ve heard you cry when

Nurse got soap in your eyes, and you needn’t pretend you haven’t.

Besides, it was all very unfair. I didn’t want to fall in the mud and

get dirty. It was all that duck’s fault. But William just blamed it all

on me without trying to find out how it really happened, and I had to

suffer. Once I caught sight of Freya peeking around the corner of the

door and I said to myself: “Just you wait till I get out of here, if I

ever do, and see what will happen to you, Miss!”

But when, after a long, long time, William thought he could not get any

more dirt off me and so put me out on the floor, and when I had shaken

myself half a dozen times, felt so good that I forgot all about the way

Freya had behaved and ran circles and barked until I was almost dry.

Then I found a nice warm spot against the side of the stable and went

to sleep.

But even if I did forgive Freya that time you can see that she behaved

very badly and is not at all brave. Still, I suppose that being a girl

dog has a lot to do with it. You mustn’t expect a girl-dog to be as

brave as a boy-dog.

That was my first real bath. I’ve had many since then and I’ve grown

to put up with them just as one must put up with castor-oil and pills.

But I’m sure I shall never get fond of them. I don’t mind wading in the

pond or even swimming a little, but baths are quite different. Besides,

I am not a water-dog, like a spaniel or a retriever, and folks ought

to think of that. They don’t, though. About once a month I have to go

through with it, and the mere sight of a cake of soap quite takes my

appetite away for hours. I once heard the Mistress tell the man who

comes for the laundry that she wanted something “dry-cleaned.” I wonder

why dogs can’t be dry-cleaned too!

CHAPTER VIII

THE OLD LADY WHO DIDN’T LIKE DOGS

Are you scared of thunder storms? I am, too. Well, not exactly scared,

maybe, but I――I don’t like them very well. I don’t mind the lightning

so much, but the thunder is very noisy and it affects my nerves. I

am quite a nervous dog. All highly-bred dogs are nervous, you know.

And when you can trace your family back for dozens of years, the way

I can, you have every right to dislike thunder. Perhaps you didn’t

know I had such a long pedigree? Mother told us all about it once. We

are descended from Hansel von Konigsberg, who was the Champion of all

Germany for many years and quite the finest dachshund that ever lived.

He won all sorts of prizes wherever he was shown and was a very fine,

proud dog. Every one in Germany knows about Hansel von Konigsberg.

Mother says it is a fine thing to be descended from such a dog and that

I should always try to live up to it. Well, that isn’t telling about

the time I got under the bed in the guest-room when there was a thunder

storm, is it?

There were visitors at the house, and one was an elderly lady who wore

a black silk dress and had her eye-glasses on a little stick. When she

saw us puppies she held the glasses up to her eyes and looked at us

just as though we were something quite strange. “Dear me,” she said,

“what ugly little things. What are they?” The Master laughed and told

her we were dachshund puppies. “You mean they’re dogs?” she asked.

“Why, they look like alligators! Don’t let them come near me, please. I

never could stand dogs, anyway, and these are quite――quite disgusting!”

Neither Freya or I knew then what an alligator was, but we didn’t like

the sound of it. Besides, she had said we were ugly and disgusting. So

I looked at Freya and Freya looked at me and we made a rush for the Old

Lady Who Didn’t Like Dogs and jumped all over her. Of course we made

believe we were awfully pleased to see her, but we weren’t. She gave

a screech and dropped her eye-glasses. They were on a black ribbon,

though, and so they didn’t break. But I got the ribbon in my teeth and

laid back and pulled and growled, and Freya took hold of the old lady’s

skirt and shook it. And all the time the old lady said “Shoo! Shoo, you

nasty little brutes! Oh, somebody take them away!”

So the Master caught me and made believe spank me and the Mistress

caught Freya and told her she was a naughty dog, and we both ran off,

making believe we were very sorry and scared, and the old lady hurried

into the house.

Afterward Freya and I laid down under the lilac hedge and talked it

over. We decided that we didn’t like the old lady and that we’d wait

there until she came out again to see the garden and then we’d make

another dash for her and scare her again. But she didn’t come back and

it was pretty hot and so we both fell fast asleep there.

When we woke up it was quite late in the afternoon and the sky was

cloudy and there was a rumbly noise that sounded like thunder. Freya

whined and said she was afraid. I told her not to be a silly; that

thunder never hurt any one. She said the lightning might, though, and

she was going to the stable and crawl under the hay. She wanted me to

go with her, but of course it would not have done to let Freya think I

was frightened too, and so I said, No, I was going to stay where I was.

Freya ran to the stable and just when she got to it there was a most

awful crash of thunder and I forgot how brave I was and looked for a

place to hide.

Well, William had taken the screen-door off that morning, to mend a

place Freya and I had torn in the wire, and the other door happened to

be open. So I looked around very carefully and then ran into the big

room. Just then there was more thunder and a flash of lightning and

I hid under the couch. But I knew that wouldn’t do because some one

would surely find me there and put me out. So I listened and didn’t

hear any one and went upstairs very quietly. And when I got to the top

of the stairs there was a door open and I went in and crept under the

bed. It was nice and dark there and I couldn’t see the lightning. But

every time it thundered I trembled and whined and had a pretty bad time

of it. I could hear the rain drumming on the tin roof outside, and it

seemed to me that the storm lasted for hours. But after a while it

stopped and the thunder got farther and farther away and at last it

died out in little growls and grumbles and I rolled over on my side and

went to sleep, quite worn out.

When I awoke I heard some one moving around in the room and just to be

friendly I thumped my tail on the floor. Then some one came near the

bed and looked under. It was too dark to see who the person was, but

I thumped harder than before, and, will you believe it, it was that

Old Lady Who Didn’t Like Dogs! She gave a most horrible scream and

just flew through the door into the hall. Why, she almost scared me

out of a year’s growth! She cried “Help! Help! There’s some one under

my bed!” and I heard the Master shout from his room and come running.

And the first thing I knew the room was full of folks and the old lady

was telling how she had heard a noise and had looked down and seen two

“fierce yellow eyes glaring at her.” Delia shouted “’Tis a burglar,

mum! We’ll all be murdered, sir!” But the Master told her to be quiet.

“I dare say it is only the cat,” he said, and then he knelt down and

looked under the bed and I thumped my tail harder than ever and the

Master sat right down on the floor and laughed and laughed! Then the

Mistress said:

“What is it, George? Do stop that silly laughing! Is it Ju-ju?”

So the Master reached in and pulled me out by the scruff of my neck and

held me up. “Here’s your burglar,” he said. And then they all laughed;

all except the Old Lady Who Didn’t Like Dogs. She was very angry about

it.

“I am glad you all think it so funny,” she said with a sniff. “For my

part I fail to see the humour. And what is more I refuse to remain in a

house where I am to be pestered by dogs and scared out of my wits every

minute. I’m thankful my trunk is not fully unpacked.”

But she didn’t go, after all, for which Freya and I were sorry. And

even though we stayed around the house a lot in the hope that she

would come out so we could run at her and jump on her, she didn’t once

set her foot off the piazza, and all we could do was get close to the

screen and growl at her. The Mistress said: “It’s too bad you don’t

like dogs, Miss Mumford, they’re such company for one, and living alone

as you do a dog would be a great comfort to you. Just see the little

dears begging to be let in. Wasn’t it funny how they took to you at

once the day you came? They seem quite fond of you.”

And the Mistress glanced at me and then smiled at the thing she was

sewing on. And Freya and I looked at each other and laughed. And the

Old Lady Who Didn’t Like Dogs said “Humph!” Just like that.

CHAPTER IX

THE LITTLE BOY FROM THE CITY

More company came after that. It was in the Fall, when the leaves were

turning to beautiful colours and falling off the trees and when the

mornings and nights were quite cool and the best place to take a nap

was in the stable doorway where the sun shone warmly on the floor.

Freya and I were about six months old then and were getting to be

pretty big for puppies. We weren’t as big as Father or Mother, but when

we romped with either of them Freya and I together could do just about

as we pleased with them. Lots of times Mother used to run away from us

because we were so strong that we could roll her over on her back and

bite her and shake her until she yelped.

Others had grown up, too. All the fluffy little yellow chicks that

Freya and I used to watch through the chicken yard wires were quite

big, almost as big as their parents. And all the little ducklings had

grown up into ducks and could say “Quack!” just like their mothers and

fathers. In the garden the flowers had gone, all but a few, and it

was a great relief to me. I was always very fond of flowers and liked

to pick them and eat them, but William didn’t like me to and would

get after me whenever he caught me at it. I got a lot of cuffings

on account of my love for flowers. I couldn’t understand why it was

they were so selfish with them when they had so many. It seemed to

me that one or two more or less would not have made any difference.

But Two-Legged Folks are peculiar in many ways. They aren’t nearly so

sensible as dogs.

Even the Baby was getting bigger and older. She could talk quite nicely

by Fall, although you had to listen very closely to understand all she

said. You see, she talked very quickly and ran her words together. It

was the Baby who told me about the company coming. It was one morning

on the piazza. The screens had been taken off then and the Baby and I

were in the hammock together. Freya didn’t like the hammock. She said

it made her feel funny inside when it swung. I did, though. It was full

of nice soft cushions and I was very proud when I found one day that I

could jump up on it all by myself and didn’t have to be lifted up or

pulled up any more. Well, the Baby and I were there together, swinging,

and she was pulling my ears the way she liked to do, and chatting all

the time. I wasn’t paying very much attention to what she was saying

because I was a little bit sleepy. It always makes me sleepy to have my

ears pulled. Well, pretty soon the Baby said:

“Booful little boy’s coming to play wiv Mild’ed. All way f’om City.

Coming to-day, I dess.”

I pricked up my ears then. At least, I pricked up one of them, the one

that wasn’t being pulled. I had never seen a little boy very near, but

I had heard Mother speak of them and from what she had said I didn’t

think I should like them. So I didn’t look very pleased at what the

Baby said. Perhaps she saw it, for she went on:

“Is very nice little boy. Is coming all way f’om City to play wiv

Mild’ed. Little boy’s name is A’fed.”

I thought Afed was a very silly name for any one, even a boy. I found

out afterwards that his name was Alfred, but I didn’t like it much

better. I hoped he would be nicer than his name. The Baby talked on

about him for a long time and I pretended to listen. Finally I got

tired hearing about him and jumped down and went away. I made up my

mind that I wasn’t going to like A’fred, and when I told Freya she

made up her mind she wasn’t going to like him either. We decided that

we would bite his legs when he came.

William drove to the railway station to meet Alfred and his mother,

and Freya went along. William was very partial to Freya and used to

take her with him quite often. He took me once and said he would never

do it again because I barked at everything I saw and fell out of the

carriage. I didn’t mean to fall out, though, and it hurt a good deal.

Anyhow, he took Freya with him that day and I found a warm place on a

flower bed beside the house and waited for them to come back. William

didn’t like to have us lie on the flower beds, even after the flowers

were through blooming, but I knew he wouldn’t see me and I meant to go

away when I heard the carriage coming up the drive.

But it was so warm there and the earth smelled so nice that I fell

asleep. When I woke up the first thing I did was to howl and the next

thing to run. Because William had come back without my hearing him and

had crept over to me, and what had wakened me up was the carriage whip!

I thought it was rather a mean thing to surprise me like that. When I

had stopped hurting and running I looked back and there was the little

boy with Freya in his arms going into the house. And, would you believe

it, Freya was actually licking his face! Isn’t that like a girl-dog, to

break her promise the very first thing? Just pat Freya and she thinks

you are perfectly lovely and follows you all around. For my part, I’d

have more self-respect and pride. Folks can’t make friends with me by

just patting my head and saying “Nice doggie!” No, sir!

I was quite disgusted with Freya and I told her so later.

Alfred’s mother was a very sweet looking lady and I knew right away I

should like her. I did, too. Not two hours afterwards she came out to

see us and fed us peppermint drops. I am very fond of peppermint drops

because they make your tongue feel sort of cold and tingley, and I

liked the lady at once. Oh, not just because of the candy, of course,

but because she was nice to look at and understood dogs and loved them.

We can tell right off whether a person likes us. Alfred came out with

his mother, and the Baby followed Alfred. She wouldn’t let him out of

her sight and paid almost no attention to me. Alfred was really rather

nice looking, for a boy, with golden hair, dark eyes and a sun-burned

face. He was older than the Baby. When he saw me he cried:

“Oh, there’s another of them! Come here, puppy! What’s your name?”

Of course I paid no heed to him. I meant to show Freya that I had more

sense than to grovel to folks just because they whistled to me and paid

me a little attention! When he saw that I didn’t mean to come to him he

started after me, and I showed my teeth and growled. He stopped then

and made a face at me. “You’re not as nice as the other one,” he said.

Then he picked up a pebble and threw it at me and I growled again.

“What’s this one’s name, Mildred?” he asked the Baby.

“He name F’itz. Him booful dogums!”

Alfred laughed. “Fits! That’s a funny name, isn’t it? Does he have them

often?”

“She means Fritz, dear,” said his mother. “Here, Fritz, come and see

me.”

So I went, but I wouldn’t let Alfred touch me, and he didn’t like it a

bit. He fed candy to Freya and she fairly licked his shoes! Girl-dogs

have no pride. It so disgusted me that I turned right around and went

down to the stable and crawled behind the flower-pots.

Even Father and Mother seemed to like Alfred, and they and Freya played

with him and the Baby a lot. I didn’t. I stayed away. It was pretty

lonesome, though. Now and then Alfred would try to make friends with

me. He begged cake from Cook and tried to get me to take it, but I

wouldn’t. I’m fond of cake, too. I spent a good deal of time behind

the flower-pots those days. You see I was afraid that some time when I

was fearfully hungry Alfred would offer me cake and I’d take it. And

I didn’t want to, for I had made up my mind not to be friends with

him. One morning he and the Baby came out of the house when we were

having breakfast at the back door and called to us. Of course Father

and Mother and Freya trotted right over to them, but I stayed and made

believe I had found something more to eat in the dish. When Freya saw

that she came back, but I growled at her and she went off again.

“Come, F’itz!” called the Baby. “Come F’itz, booful dogums!”

And Alfred called me too, but I wouldn’t go, and finally Alfred said:

“Oh, come on. We don’t want him anyway!”

So they went off toward the orchard to hunt squirrels. Of course I felt

pretty lonesome and wanted to go with them very much. Hunting squirrels

is awfully exciting, even though we never catch any. I licked the

breakfast dish quite clean and then went to the corner of the house and

peeked around. They were all over in the orchard and Father was barking

at a great rate, making believe he had found a fox’s nest or something,

and Freya was trotting behind Alfred and trying to lick his hand. The

Baby was toddling along, laughing, and Mother was barking at a bird. It

looked very jolly and I crept along after them, keeping out of sight.

They didn’t find any squirrels. I never saw but one in the orchard

and he wasn’t much to look at, having almost no hair on his tail. But

we always pretended the trees were full of them. After they had been

all around the orchard they climbed the wall on the other side, which

they were not allowed to do, and went into the thicket over there where

the ground is all soft and squishy. I could have told them that they

would soon find themselves in trouble, and I came very near barking and

warning them, but I didn’t. It was no affair of mine.

After a bit I heard Alfred shout and then Mother barked and the Baby

began to cry and I knew just what had happened. I went back to the

house and sat on the lawn and waited, and pretty soon they came back

looking very sorrowful. The Baby had fallen down in the swamp and she

was covered with black mud from head to toes. Alfred was leading her

with one hand and trying to wipe off the mud with the other, and

Freya, who never knows when she isn’t wanted, was getting in the way

and barking and acting perfectly stupid. Father and Mother stayed

behind, trying to look as if nothing much had happened. When they all

passed me I just looked at them without a word and I can tell you they

felt silly! The Mistress saw them from a window and came hurrying out

to meet them, and Alfred’s mother came out, too.

“Oh, Mildred, what have you done?” cried the Mistress. “Just see that

nice clean dress I put on you not half an hour ago!”

“She――she fell down in the mud over there,” said Alfred. “We――we were

hunting Indians.”

Did you ever hear anything so foolish? Just as though there were any

Indians around there! Even if there had been Freya and I would soon

have scared them away. Well, the Mistress led the Baby into the house

and Alfred’s mother said: “Alfred, come with me, please,” and Alfred

said “Yes’m,” in a voice that seemed to come from his shoes. Father and

Mother went down to the stable in a hurry and Freya came over and sat

down beside me.

“A nice thing you did,” I said.

“It wasn’t my fault,” said Freya with a whine.

“You should have watched out for the Baby,” I said sternly. “You’ll

catch it when the Mistress finds you.”

So Freya suddenly remembered that she had left a bone behind the stable

and trotted off after it, looking back now and then at the front door.

Presently Alfred came out all alone. He had one arm over his eyes,

but he couldn’t fool me. I knew he was crying. I guess his mother had

whipped him, or maybe just scolded him, for letting the Baby fall in

the mud. He didn’t see me and he went around the house and sat down on

the back door-step and sniffled. I followed him. If you don’t like

a person you enjoy seeing them cry. At least, you ought to, I think.

But Alfred kept on crying kind of softly, just as though his heart was

broken, and I couldn’t stand it. I wanted to go away and leave him

there, but――but somehow I couldn’t do that either.

So after a bit I crept over to him and got up on the step beside

him and licked his face. He peeked out and saw it was me and was so

surprised that he forgot to cry for a minute. Then he put his arm

around me and I licked his face some more and――and, oh, well, after

that we liked each other a lot.

Mother said afterwards that it was just jealousy that had kept me away,

and I guess it was. Alfred stayed a whole week after that and we had

some fine times together. When he went back to the City I missed him a

great deal. The place seemed very lonely. I think I missed him almost

as much as the Baby did, and the Baby cried all one day. I tried my

best to comfort her and I licked her nose and her cheeks and her ears,

but it didn’t do much good. She kept right on saying that she wanted

her “booful A’fed.” The Mistress told her that she would see him again

very soon because they were all going to the City to stay a long,

long time. But that didn’t help me any, because I was quite sure they

wouldn’t take me.

And they didn’t. They all went off, bag and baggage, about a week

later, and only William and Cook and Delia were left. Mother and I were

very sad and lonesome at first. I don’t think Father minded so much,

because he and William were great chums, and as for Freya, why, as long

as she had enough to eat and some one to say “Good dog” to her, she

didn’t care what happened. But Mother and I missed the Baby a whole

lot, and the Mistress too, and the Master not so much because he was

busy a good deal of the time and we saw less of him.

And then one day we woke up and the world was all white, and Mother

said it had snowed in the night. And William picked up some of the

white stuff and made a ball of it and threw it at Delia at the back

door. And Delia squealed and ran inside. William said: “Well, well,

winter’s here at last!”

I think I have told you enough for now. You have almost fallen asleep

two or three times. Besides, it is time for my nap. I always like a

short nap before dinner. And really I have talked an awful lot. I hope

you liked my story.

[Illustration]

PART TWO

WHEN I GREW UP

CHAPTER I

HOW WE WENT HUNTING

Bow!

So you want to hear some more of my story, do you? Very well. It’s a

very good day to sit here by the fire and tell stories, because it is

raining hard and there isn’t much a dog can do in the City on a rainy

day. For my part I think cities are rather stupid places, anyway. Of

course, on bright days, there’s the Park and the Avenue, and I like

those very much. But it’s a bother always having to be on a leash. When

I see a dog on the other side of the street whom I am quite sure I

should like to know, all I can do is just say “Hello!” In the country I

could trot over to him and make friends and, like as not, we’d go off

on a nice long hunt in the woods. There’s lots to see in the City, but

it is awfully noisy and crowded and at first it made me quite nervous.

I’m getting used to it now. I do think it’s a mistake to have so little

yard about the house, though, especially when it is paved with stone

and brick. Even the stable floor is stone and I’m sure there are some

fine fat rats under it if I could only get at them. Why, I haven’t had

but one good dig since I got here! And that was that day in the Park

when the big Policeman came running over, waving a funny short stick

at us, and said he would have us both taken to jail if I didn’t stop

digging.

Yes, I do miss the digging. The other day I made believe I smelled

a fox in the corner of the back hall and was scratching away at the

boards and having a real good time when Cook came and drove me away. I

forgave her, though, for she gave me a chicken leg to eat. I _do_ have

good things to eat here; better than I used to in the country; more

different kinds of things, anyway. And a dog likes variety as well as

you Two-Legged Folks do. I don’t want you to think I am at all unhappy

here, for I am not. If only there was a garden bed to dig in now and

then I wouldn’t ask for more. And, anyhow, what a dog wants most is

love and kindness, and I get lots of that. I guess I don’t care about

the flower bed. Excuse me just a moment while I lick your face.

Well, I left off where the Family had gone to the City, didn’t I? We

dogs had a good deal of fun in that snow. It was the first snow I had

ever seen and I had a fine time running around in it and biting it.

Freya said it made her paws cold and she sat in the stable door and

just looked at it and shivered until I chased her out and rolled her

over in it. After that she didn’t mind it a bit. William made snowballs

and threw them for us to chase. It was great fun for they went into the

snow, quite out of sight, and we had to burrow down and dig them out.

And then when we tried to take them in our teeth to bring them back to

William they would fall to pieces!

After that there was no more snow for quite a long time and we hunted

a good deal. Jack used to come over and he and Father, and sometimes

the rest of us, would go trotting off into the woods and stay for

hours. Sometimes Jack would see a pheasant or a grouse and get awfully

excited and run and run after it and get so tired that when he came

back he would have to throw himself down and rest. Usually, though, we

never saw much except chipmunks and squirrels; but one day Jack found a

rabbit in a clump of bushes and we all had a merry time chasing him. Of

course the rest of us, with our short legs, couldn’t keep up with Jack

and he and the rabbit were soon way ahead of us. And when we came up to

him he was sitting by a hole in the ground where the rabbit had gone.

Freya and I began to dig at a great rate and just made the dirt fly.

Mother wanted to stop us, but Father said “No, let them have their

fun.” Freya kept getting in my way, so I had to nip her on the leg and

chase her away. Pretty soon all you could see of me was just the tip

of my tail sticking out of the hole. And just then I heard a lot of

barking and when I had backed out all the others were tearing across

the field after that rabbit! He had crept out of a hole on the other

side of the little hill where he lived and run off again. I felt rather

silly. The others came back pretty soon without the rabbit. Mother said

that rabbits lived in houses with a great many doors, and when you went

in one door they came out another. I don’t think that’s a fair way

to play, do you? Afterwards, though, I was glad we hadn’t caught the

rabbit, for he was such a tiny, pretty little thing that it would have

been a shame to hurt him.

The weather got colder and colder and there was more snow. We didn’t

mind the cold, though, for our coats had been growing thicker and

warmer since summer, and our house was nice and cosy. One day Mother

took Freya and me down to the pond and when we got there it looked

very queer. I asked what had happened to the water and she said it had

frozen into ice, and while I was looking at it she gave me a push and I

had to run down the bank and when I got to the bottom and came to the

pond my feet went up in the air and I went over on my back and I slid

way out on the ice. Mother and Freya stood there and laughed at me, and

when I tried to get on my feet they just slipped from under me and I

was scared and whined. But Mother told me not to be a baby and pretty

soon I got back to the shore and then I pushed Freya down the bank and

she slid, too, and made a worse fuss about it than I had. Then Mother

showed us how we could walk quite nicely by taking very short steps and

soon we were all three chasing each other about and falling down and

rolling over and having a grand time.

One morning we awoke to find the snow above the bottom of the Kennel

windows, and there was William out there with a red muffler around his

neck digging a path to us with a wooden shovel. The snow that time was

so deep that we could only go where William had made paths. But Father

showed us how to have a lot of fun by digging tunnels and Freya and I

dug one all the way from the Kennel to the stable door. The funny thing

was that in the tunnels, under all that cold snow, it was warmer than

it was outside!

When William went to the village for the mail and other things now he

went in a sleigh, and one afternoon he took all us dogs with him and

we had the finest sort of a time. We barked at everything we saw,

and once Freya fell out of the sleigh into a snowbank and went out

of sight! (I pushed her off the seat, but William didn’t know it.)

In the village a lady who kept the little store where William bought

his newspaper came out and petted us and fed us peanuts. Peanuts are

very nice. The part you eat is inside a shell and you have to crack

the shell open first. Sometimes you eat some of the shell too, without

meaning to, but it doesn’t hurt you. The lady thought it was very funny

to see us eat the peanuts and she laughed a lot and said we were clever

dogs.

“Sure, ma’am, they’ll eat anything at all,” said William, and the lady

laughed some more and said:

“I know one thing they won’t eat.”

“What’s that?” asked William.

So she went back into the little store and came out with something that

looked like a lemon but wasn’t. “Let me see them eat that,” she said

to William.

“A pickled lime, is it?” said William. “They’re that fond of ’em,

ma’am, I can’t keep enough of ’em on hand, but they’re bad for dogs,

ma’am.”

The lady laughed again. “That’s a fib,” she said. “You know they

wouldn’t touch it.”

“Won’t they then,” said William. “Just watch ’em, ma’am.” So he took

the pickled lime and looked at us, trying to make up his mind which of

us to give it to. I hoped he wouldn’t give it to me, but he did. “Eat

it, Fritzie,” he said coaxingly. “Good dog.”

Well, William was a friend of mine and I wanted to help him out of his

fix, and so I took it and laid it down on the seat and ate it. It was

quite the worst tasting thing I ever had. It was sort of sour and sort

of salt and full of puckery juice. But I ate it, and when it was all

gone I tried to make the lady think that I wanted more, and William

was so pleased with me that afterwards he stopped at the butcher’s and

brought out a piece of meat for each of us. I’m sure that meat saved

me from being a very sick dog. Even as it was I felt quite unhappy for

awhile and didn’t bark once all the way home.

A few days after that the Family came back and maybe I wasn’t glad

to see them again. William brought them from the station in the big

sleigh, and as soon as they were in the house William called to us dogs

and we all went running in to see them. And the Master said how well

we all looked and how Freya and I had grown, and the Baby sat down on

the floor and we all jumped about her and licked her face and I ran

off with one of her fur mittens and took it under the couch and chewed

it a little. It was a very happy time. William told the Master how I

had eaten the pickled lime for him in the village and the Master and

Mistress laughed and laughed about it and said I was a fine dog, and

after that for a long time the Master called me “the limehound”!

It was wonderful the way the Baby had grown in such a short time. I had

to jump now when I wanted to lick her face! She was awfully glad to see

us and cried a little when William took us back to the Kennel.