"Children!" he said, "Here is something for you in my handkerchief.
Guess what it is; but don't touch."
The handkerchief looked as if something very heavy was in it; and we
guessed all sorts of things, but in vain.
At last Papa let us feel, and my sister grasped it rather roughly; but
withdrew her hand quickly, with five or six sharp pricks.
"Oh! it is a nasty hedgehog," cried she; "look how my fingers are
bleeding!"
"Not a _nasty_ hedgehog," I said, "but a curious nice creature; where
did you get it, Papa?"
"It was given to me this morning for you," he replied; "It will live in
the garden; and you must sometimes give it a little milk, and it will
do very well; and perhaps become quite tame."
The little creature, when placed on the grass, did not curl itself up
and appear affrighted, but looked about him, and ran quickly to and
fro. We brought some milk out in a saucer, but he could not manage to
get his nose over the side; so we made a little pond of the milk on the
grass, and he dipped his black snout into it, and then sucked it up
greedily.
This hedgehog soon became very tame; when we took him up in our hands,
he did not curl up in afright, but let us look at his feet, and touch
and pat his curious little pig's face. He helped himself to what he
liked best in the garden; and we never found that he rooted up
anything, or did the slightest damage; he liked the milk which we gave
him daily; and when we were playing on the grass, he used to run about
us, as if he liked our company.
We had been told that we should never be able to keep a hedgehog; that
they always climbed over the walls, and escaped to the fields and
hedges.
But although we did not in any way confine Pricker, he never attempted
to leave us, being apparently quite content with his run of the kitchen
garden, flower garden and house; for we sometimes carried him into the
kitchen, and up stairs into the nursery, where he would roll himself up
into some snug corner, and remain apparently asleep for an hour or
more.
When we had had Pricker for some weeks, we received a present of a
second hedgehog. He was larger, but never became so tame as our first
friend; he did not like to be taken up in our hands, and we never could
obtain a good look at his black face and legs, as he rolled up on the
slightest touch; and when Pricker was running about on the grass, his
shy companion used to remain hidden beneath the leaves and plants.
We had, at this time, a very favourite dog; and at the first coming of
the hedgehogs, we were in some fear that Tawney would kill them, for he
was a most eager hunter of rats, weasels, rabbits, cats; in short, of
anything that would run from him.
But every one assured us that a dog would not kill a hedgehog, on
account of his sharp prickles; and the first time that we showed
Pricker to Tawney, he made a sort of dart at him, and received, of
course, a violent prick on the nose; at this he retreated, barking and
licking his lips, and dancing round poor Pricker, with every desire to
attack again; but hoping to find a spot unprotected by the formidable
spikes.
Pricker, however, having tightly rolled himself up, such a spot was not
to be found; and, after a great deal of noise and excitement, Tawney
retired, and we never observed him to venture again.
When Pricker was running on the grass, or when we were feeding him with
milk, Tawney used to play about without condescending to take the
slightest notice of the little animal; in short, he pretended not to
see him. So that we felt quite easy about the safety of Pricker and his
comrade.
What it was that induced Tawney not only to _see_ Pricker, but to
attack him again, we do not know, as nobody was witness of the
catastrophe.
On going into the garden one brilliant morning, Tawney made his
appearance in a very excited state, bounding about our feet with a
short delighted bark, that was not usually his morning salutation; and
on looking more closely at him, we saw that his nose was bleeding;
indeed, his whole head and ears were much ruffled and marked.
We did not at first think of Pricker; but on wiping Tawney's face with
a wet towel, we found that he was bleeding from many wounds.
"The hedgehog!" we exclaimed, "He must have killed poor Pricker."
So we commenced a grand hunt through the garden, looking under all the
cabbage-plants, and in all the usual haunts.
Behind the cucumber frame we found our hedgehog; but as he curled up
the moment we looked at him, we knew that it was not Pricker; and on
further search we discovered the mangled remains of the poor animal,
whose natural armour had not been sufficient to protect him from so
brave and plucky a little dog as our Tawney, who must really have
suffered greatly from the deep thrusts into his face and head before he
could have inflicted a mortal bite.
Now, we thought, what shall we do with the other; as, doubtless,
Tawney, would not allow him to live, having found himself the conqueror
in the present instance.
Papa said that a gentlemen, one of our neighbours, had been telling him
that his kitchen was infested with black beetles; and that he had tried
beetle-traps, and all sorts of methods of getting rid of them in vain.
Papa had told him that the surest way was to keep a hedgehog in the
kitchen, as they devour black-beetles greedily.
"Now," said Papa, "as you cannot keep the little creature in safety
here, you had better make a present of it to Mr. D----; and I advise
you to carry it to him at once."
Accordingly, we took the hedgehog to our neighbour, and it was duly
installed in the kitchen.
In a day or two, we went to enquire whether the beetles were
decreasing.
Alas! the poor hedgehog had fallen a victim to his own greediness; for,
having eaten too many beetles, he was found dead amidst a heap of the
slain.
DRAKE, THE RETRIEVER.
It happened at this time that we passed another winter in Ireland; and
missing our garden, and other occupations, my father made us a present
of a dog.
Drake was a large handsome retriever of a dark brown colour, with very
short curly hair. I believe that sort of dog is called the "Irish
Retriever;" they are certainly very common in that country. I remember
to have seen many of them; but our Drake, we thought, was handsomer
than the generality; his coat was more curly and of a better colour,
and he was taller--for they often have rather short legs in proportion
to their body. He was a very rough bouncing creature, full of life and
activity; many a tumble, and many a hard knock we received in our games
with him; he used to bound at us, and putting both paws on our
shoulders, roll us over like ninepins.
It was winter when he came to us--a very hard winter, almost constant
frost, and now and then heavy falls of snow--we were at that time in a
small fort on the bank of the Shannon; and although that is a very
broad, deep, and rapid river, it was once, during the winter, quite
frozen over for more than a week; and, after that, when the strongest
current remained unfrozen, there was still a great deal of ice on the
sides, and all among the sedges and rushes that grew among the flat
banks.
Drake liked the cold very much, and liked rolling in the snow, and
being pelted with snow-balls, which was our chief amusement out of
doors during the winter.
In the house we had fine games of hide and seek; we hid a glove or
pocket-handkerchief under the sofa-cushion, or in the curtain, or in
Mamma's pocket, and telling Drake to find it; he would rush frantically
about the room, snuffing in every hole and corner, until he brought to
light the hidden article. Then we had races, in and out the bed-rooms
and sitting-rooms, up and down the stairs, and round the tables; but
these races generally ended by something being thrown down, or, at
least, by our clothes being torn in Drake's exultation at catching us.
Whilst the hard frosts lasted, Papa had Drake out with him a great
deal.
Wild geese and wild ducks abounded on the river; but they were
extremely difficult to shoot; they generally flew in great numbers, and
seemed to keep a sentinel, or one to look out; for it was almost
impossible to approach them near enough to have them within the reach
of a shot.
It was now that Drake's fetching and carrying propensities became most
valuable.
Papa had a flat punt constructed; it was a most curious-looking boat,
so flat that it scarcely stood out of the water at all; inside was
fixed a large duck-gun on a swivel, and then there was just room for
Papa, and one man, to lie down at the bottom, with Drake; it was rowed
by one paddle at the stern.
[Illustration: DRAKE, THE RETRIEVER.
_Page 57._]
The geese and ducks used to come to feed on the river's banks very
early indeed in the morning; and so watchful and shy were they, that
even in the flat punt, Papa found that he could not come at all near
them unperceived. Off they would all go again, making such a flapping
with their great wings, and quacking as they went.
So Papa, having noticed a flat swampy sort of place, some way down the
river, set out late at night in the punt; and, reaching this
feeding-ground, waited there till the flock came flying over them. They
made themselves heard sometime before they arrived; and then Papa, the
man, and Drake, all crouched down and remained immoveable until the
birds were right overhead; and then, bang went the great duck-gun, and
down tumbled, at least, half-a-dozen great fat geese.
Now was Drake's time; and but for him no geese would have been brought
home, although many might have been shot.
Out of the punt sprang Drake, and soon carried back one or two that had
fallen into the open water; then he would carefully get upon the thin
ice, between the rushes and the coarse grass, and bring to light any
wounded bird that had sought to find a shelter there. Then again into
the water where great thick reeds prevented the boat from going; if the
birds dived, he dived after them; and, in short, none escaped him; he
swam after them, scrambled along the ice after them, rummaged in the
weeds all stiff with frozen snow, and having seized one and hurried
back to the boat with it, off he would start for another.
But when the flock had once received a shot, they came no more to the
same place that night; so no more was to be done, unless a chance bird
or two on the way home. Sometimes they flew one or two together; we
have seen them from the windows of the fort, fly quite close to the
bridge in the daytime; but only great hunger could have driven them to
this.
When the party reached home, and the birds were spread out on the floor
to be looked at, how pleased Drake was, and how proudly he snuffed from
one to the other.
The wild geese were very handsome birds, not so large as common geese,
but very plump, and with a beautiful dark brown plumage. They were very
good to eat, for they do not live on fish, as some suppose, but eat
only the weeds and grass that they find in certain spots along the
river's bank. But the ducks were handsomer still, very nearly as large
as the geese; less tough when cooked, and having brilliant blue
feathers in each wing. Then there was a smaller kind of duck, with
green feathers instead of blue, in the wings; this green was like the
humming bird's green, as bright as emerald.
Besides these, there were teals, very pretty-looking things with
silvery looking feathers on the breast, and a variety of small ducks,
and curlews. All pretty, and all good to eat; we had to thank Drake for
every one of them, as without his help very few would have been picked
up; there was so much thin ice along the river, that would not have
borne a greater weight than Drake, so when they fell upon this, they
were quite out of man's reach, to say nothing of the difficulty of
groping out a wounded bird from a wilderness of long grass and rushes,
growing in pretty deep water. Drake highly enjoyed the night
expeditions, and when the punt was getting ready, or the gun cleaning,
he would jump about and bark, as if to say "I know what is in
contemplation."
When the winter was nearly passed, we went back to England, leaving
Drake in the fort; being much played with and sometimes teazed by the
soldiers, he became very rough, and rather inclined to snap and bite.
Shortly afterwards he was sent to us in England, and on his arrival we
brought him in, to have a game with us in the house. We had a large
ball, and were making Drake fetch it, when we rolled it to the end of
the room. This went on very well for some time, excepting that Drake
did not give the ball up without a growl, which he had never done
formerly; and at last, he laid down with it between his fore feet, and
I desired him to bring it in vain, so I went to him and took it in my
hand, when he flew at me with a growl, and bit my cheek. It was not a
very severe bite, but Mamma said she would not keep the best dog in the
world after he had bitten one of us, and that Drake must immediately be
sent away. Then Papa wrote to a gentleman who knew what a clever dog at
finding game Drake was, and he agreed to buy him. So he was sent off
without our seeing him again.
TAWNEY, THE TERRIER.
We now come to the very chief of our favourites, our dear dog Tawney.
Before he arrived, we only had a setter who lived in his kennel in the
yard, and we never petted him much; and once when Papa went away for
several months, he took the dog with him, so we were without any guard.
At this time a great many robberies had taken place, and houses had
been broken into in the neighbouring town. There appeared to be a gang
of house-breakers going about. And when Mamma was writing to our
Grandmamma, she said that she quite expected a visit from this gang,
some night, as Papa was away, and no man in the house. Grandmamma
replied that the best safeguard was a little terrier, sleeping inside
the house, and that she would send her one; and in a few days we
received a beautiful terrier, close haired and compact, with such
brilliant dark eyes and of a yellowish colour, more the colour of a
lion than anything else, so we named him "Tawney." A bed was arranged
for him in a flat basket, which was placed every evening near the back
door, and we soon found what sharp ears he had, and what a good
watch-dog he would prove. If Mamma got up after every one had gone to
bed, and opened her own door as softly as possible, Tawney heard the
lock turn, and barked instantly. He always gave notice when anybody
entered the front gate, or came into the yard, and we felt sure that no
housebreaker could approach the house _unheard_ at least.
Tawney became our constant companion. He took his meals with us, sat
under the table during our lessons, walked out with us, joined in all
our romps and games; and was really almost as companionable as another
child could have been. At hide and seek, running races, leaping over a
pole, and blind man's buff, he played as well as any boy, and when we
drove in the pony carriage, he amused us excessively. He darted into
every door or gate he found open, and in passing through the town he
behaved so badly with respect to the cats, that we were obliged to take
him into the carriage, until we had quite left the streets. If he saw a
poor quiet cat sitting at a door he flew at her; and if the cat took
refuge in the house, Tawney followed, barking and yelping, and doing
all he could to worry poor puss. Of course this was not at all pleasing
to the inmates, and generally Tawney emerged, as quickly as he entered,
followed by a flying broom-stick, sometimes by the contents of a pail
of dirty water; and often by an angry scolding woman, whom we had to
appease as we best could. Then if he saw a little child with a piece of
bread, or a mug of milk, he would seize upon the food, knocking down
the child by the roughness of his spring; and then we had again to
apologise and explain, and regret, and so on; and although all these
pranks were done in the joy and delight of his heart, at starting for a
good run in the country, that was no comfort to the aggrieved cats and
children; and he became so unbearable when in the town, that we used to
make a circuit to avoid the streets, or else as I said before, take him
inside the carriage.
Then when we reached the lanes and roads, we gave him his liberty,
which he thoroughly enjoyed. How he raced before us, how he sprang over
the hedges and walls, sometimes disappearing entirely for a field or
two, and then suddenly darting out from some wood or garden! Once or
twice he returned to the carriage with his nose bloody; we could not
discover what he had been worrying. But it must be confessed that he
was a fierce little animal, and had no idea of fearing anything.
Sometimes he disappeared altogether when running after the carriage,
and more than once staid out all night and even two nights; but always
returned safely and in good plight, as if he had not been starved.
We used to wish that he had the power of telling us his adventures on
these occasions: where he had slept; what pranks he had played; and in
how many scrapes and difficulties he had found himself.
His greatest delight was when Papa took him with us to hunt a stack for
rats. Oh! what a wonderful state of excitement was Tawney in; he used
to sit staring at a hole in the stack as if his eyes would spring from
his head, and shaking in every limb with delightful expectation. Then,
when the rat bolted from his concealment, what a sharp spring did the
little fellow make; and having dispatched his victim, would peer up to
the top of the stack and seem to examine so carefully all up the side,
to discover another hole that looked promising. If none offered, he
would run off to another stack, and snuffing all round it, search most
carefully for signs of rat holes.
One of Tawney's most annoying tricks, was his love of fighting; he
scarcely ever met with another dog, without flying at him and provoking
him to a severe contest, in which torn ears were his usual reward; but
this sort of hurt was perfectly disregarded by him.
On one occasion, we went a journey to the sea-shore, and Tawney was put
into a dog-box, with several other dogs.
While the train was in motion the rattle and noise prevented us from
hearing them; but at the first station a most tremendous yelping,
snarling, and shrieking arose from the dog-box; and, on opening the
door, the whole number of dogs were tearing and biting each other; no
doubt, having been invited to the contest by our naughty Tawney. The
combatants having been separated by dint of dragging at their tails,
legs, and bodies, Tawney, with damaged mouth and ears, though wagging
his tail and wriggling about with pleasure, was consigned to a solitary
prison for the rest of the journey; and the remaining dogs were left to
lick their wounds in peace.
We were anxious to see what Tawney would think of the sea; we had
neither river, pond, or lake, near our home in the country, so had
never had an opportunity of trying his powers of swimming.
The first day that we went down to the shingle, the sea was very rough;
great tops of white foam rolling over on the beach; and we had no idea
that the little fellow would venture into the midst of such a very
novel-looking element.
However, we flung a stick in. "Fetch it, Tawney! Fetch it!"
And in plunged the bold little animal; the first wave threw him up on
the beach again, looking rather astonished; but he did not hesitate to
try again. The water being so rough, we did not urge his going in any
further, fearing that he might be washed away; but on smooth days, he
would swim out a long way, and bring back any floating thing that was
thrown in; and he enjoyed his swims as much as any regular water-dog
could do.
He had a habit of paying visits by himself, when we were at home; he
used regularly to go down the road to a farmer, at some little
distance, every morning about eight o'clock, and quietly return,
trotting along the footpath at nine, which, doubtless, he knew to be
the breakfast hour.
Whilst we were at the sea-side, he used to visit a family with whom we
were intimate. Running to their gate, he waited till some one rang, and
entered with them; if their business was not in the drawing-room, he
again waited till some other person opened the door, and then he
settled himself on the hearth-rug for about half an hour; after which,
he took leave by wagging his tail, and came home again.
The lodging in which we were, was one on a long terrace, the front
looking on the sea, and the back having a long strip of yard opening
into a lane. The kitchen being in front, Tawney found that he was not
heard when he barked to be let in at the back of the house.
But the servant did not approve of coming up the steep kitchen stairs
to let in Mr. Tawney, when the back door was level with the kitchen,
and only a step for her; and, in some way, Tawney comprehended this;
for he used to come to the front of the house; and the area of the
kitchen-window being close to the front door, he was sure that his bark
was heard. Then he raced round the end of the terrace, and through the
lane, to the back door; and by the time cook had gone to open it, there
was Mr. Tawney ready to enter.
There being no fear of housebreakers or thieves here, the dog was
allowed to sleep in Mamma's bed-room; we provided him with a box and
some folds of carpeting at the bottom, and made him, we thought, a soft
comfortable bed.
But Tawney much preferred sheets and blankets, and, my sister sleeping
in a little bed in the corner of Mamma's room, he used to wait till she
was fast asleep, and then slip himself on to the bed so quietly as not
to wake her; and, getting down to the foot of the bed, would remain
there till morning.
But Mamma said he must stay in his box; and forbad my sister to allow
him to get on the bed.
As, however, he never tried to do so until she was asleep, she could
not prevent it. So Mamma listened, and when she heard Tawney very
softly leave his box and go to the bed, she got up and whipped him, and
put him back in his box, ordering him to stay there.
Several nights this took place; till Tawney had the cunning to wait
till Mamma also was asleep, when he crept into the warm resting-place,
and staid there in peace till the morning.
When daylight appeared, he returned to his own bed, in order to avoid
the morning whipping, which he knew would come, were he discovered in
the forbidden place.
When we were returning home, we were to make some visits in London; so,
thinking it best not to take Tawney, we entrusted him to a man who was
going to our own town, with many charges as to feeding and watching
him.
And when we had left London and arrived at home, there was poor Tawney
safe and well, and extravagantly delighted to see us.
When we enquired about his behaviour on the road, of the man who had
brought him, he told us that he had been in a terrible fright at the
London station, thinking that he had lost Tawney entirely.
He had to cross London from one station to another; and there was an
hour or two to spare before the starting of the train from the second
station; so, wishing to leave the station for that time, and fearing to
risk Tawney in the street, he tied him up, as he thought, safely in a
shed belonging to the station. He was also taking with him some luggage
belonging to us, among which was a large round packing-case, that
usually stood in Mamma's room; these were shut up in a store-house at
the other end of the station.
At the appointed hour our friend returned to the station, and went to
claim the dog; but no Tawney was in the shed, only the end of the
broken rope which had fastened him. In great anxiety he ran about
enquiring of all he met. No one knew anything of the dog, no one had
seen him pass out of the station; and after fruitless search in all the
waiting and refreshment rooms, and in short through the whole station;
he was reluctantly obliged to go for the luggage in order to pursue his
journey, when, on opening the door of the store-house, what was his joy
on beholding the missing Tawney, seated on the top of the round packing
case, that he well knew to belong to his mistress. How he found out
that the luggage was in the store-house, and how he got in, we could
not of course discover; and it only confirmed us in our opinion of
Tawney's intense wisdom. We and Tawney enjoyed ourselves much for some
weeks, taking long walks, long drives, and hunting rats in all the
neighbours' stacks. We had some fine games in our own field, and a
great deal of basking in the sun, as it was a beautiful summer, with
constant sunshine.