season.” Then he looked out again hopefully to the coming ship.
The great dog ran round the corner, and through the wet streets all day.
The steamer had arrived, and there were new faces looking eagerly about
for old familiar ones, and the old were looking for the new; so there
was altogether a great bustle such as was never seen, only in those
early days when the ships came in from home. Thus the day passed, and
the evening came on, raining dismally--yet it was Christmas eve.
In a dark alley sat the great dog. His shaggy coat kept him warm, yet
it was very desolate there alone.
“One should have something to live for,” growled he, “something to take
care of and protect, or there is no use in being strong and brave. One
might as well be a puny poodle, and sit by the parlor fire,” and he
gave an ugly bark, “bow, wow, wow! one should have an object in life.”
Just then he heard a low moan, and looking round, he saw a poor lame
dog, very thin and sick, lying down in the mud, and ready to die of
hunger.
It was really quite wretched, and all the great dog’s sympathies were
aroused. “There _is_ an object, to be sure,” he said. “It is Christmas
eve, and the good Santa Claus has taken pity on me, and given me this
poor fellow, who needs me as much as I do him. What a zest life has,
when one has something to live for.”
Without any useless ceremony, he raised the poor dog, and tenderly as
the mother dog carries her little ones, he bore him to a warm, dry
place, and made him a nice bed of clean straw.
“This is better, my friend,” said the noble creature, quite flushed and
happy with the pleasure of doing a kind act. “What more can I do for
you?”
“I am famishing with hunger,” replied the lame dog, with a feeble
groan, and off went his great shaggy protector, through rain and mud,
to a restaurant, and there the cook gave him a bone, saying, “take it,
you Bummer.”
He caught the bone, and running off as fast as possible, in a few
moments laid it before the lame dog.
It was a rich bone, and had a delicious smell that was quite reviving
to the sick one.
It was so pleasant to see the poor hungry fellow eat, that Bummer could
not leave him until he had finished. “I never enjoyed a bone so much
in my life,” said Bummer, as he tucked the warm straw around his new
friend, and saw him closing his eyes with a pleasant satisfied languor.
“This is something like living,” added he, with a lively bark, as he
ran back to the restaurant for his own dinner.
“Coming again, Bummer?” said the jolly, red-faced cook, throwing him
another bone, which he ate with a famous relish.
In the morning he went back again to the restaurant, serving the sick
dog first, and again at night, and day after day, till he became the
jolly cook’s regular pensioner.
At the restaurant they grew quite curious to know what became of the
first bone, and sent some one to follow Bummer, who came back telling
the strange story, and saying, “it is really quite wonderful.”
Then every one talked of it, and soon the whole town came to know the
two dogs, and called them Bummer and Lazarus.
In the pleasant days they walked out together, Bummer always watching
over Lazarus with the tenderest care. It was really a pleasant sight to
see them, they were so happy together.
Thus time passed away, making no change in the protecting devotion of
Bummer, nor the trusting love of Lazarus.
But there must be an end of all things, and at last Lazarus died.
This was a great sorrow to poor Bummer, and he grew so thin and
wretched that the jolly cook was quite distressed.
“You must cheer up, my good Bummer; really it will never do; you _must_
cheer up.”
“It is all over now,” said the dog, “one must have something to live
for. It is no use, one must have an object.”
He was no longer the Bummer of old, and he went away to the place
where Lazarus rested.
“He forgot to eat his bone,” said the jolly cook; “poor fellow, we were
getting used to him, and we shall miss him. He belonged to the town--he
was ‘our dog.’”
This was the last time he went for his bone. It was all over, and
Bummer and Lazarus became a remembrance which has passed into a
tradition.
The skin of Bummer was carefully stuffed, and placed in a glass case.
It may still be seen in some restaurant on Montgomery Street, where it
is preserved as a precious relic of the olden time.
This is a true story, little ones, and no doubt the fathers will tell
you, how, in the olden days, he has often seen Bummer and Lazarus.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Text in italics is surrounded with underscores: _italics_.
Superscripted characters are preceded by a carat character: C^o.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic spelling that may have been in use at the time of publication
has been retained.
Errors in the Table of Contents have been corrected.
End of Project Gutenberg's Fairy Tales from Gold Lands, by May Wentworth