Well, children, said Shireen, a few nights after, when she and her
friends were once more all around the low and cheerful fire, the Colonel
as usual in his place by the table, and Uncle Ben, cockatoo on shoulder,
in an easy-chair. Well, children, here we are as cosy as cosy can be;
and when I see you all beside me, and the fire blinking and burning so
cheerily, I feel so happy all over that I can hardly express myself,
even in song.
"But hear how the wind is howling to-night!" said Tabby, looking towards
the window.
"Tse, tse, tse!" said Dick, as if much impressed.
Warlock simply sat on one end, looking thoughtfully into the fire. Wind
or weather did not trouble Warlock much, he was as much at home among
the heather on a wild winter's day with the snow two feet deep, and
clouds of ice-dust blowing, as he was among the wild flowers in dingle,
dell, or forest, when summer was in its prime.
The truth is, Warlock was one of Scotland's own dogs, and these you
know, are as hardy as the hills.
It was concerning this same doggie, Warlock, that the author once wrote
the following lines. They were in answer to a Highland friend, who
enquired through the medium of a well-known journal, if he knew the
Aberdeen terrier. The verses are truly descriptive of this brave breed
of dog, whether they possess any other merit or not is very little
matter.
Warlock.
I ken the Terrier o' the North,
I ken the towsy tyke;
Ye'll search frae Tweed to Sussex shore,
But never find his like.
For pluck and pith, and jaws and teeth,
And hair like heather cowes [stems];
Wi' body lang and low, and strang,
At hame on cairns [heaps of stone and rubbish] and knowes.
He'll face a foumart [polecat], draw a brock [badger],
Kill rats and whitterits [weasels] by the score;
He'll bang tod-lowrie [the fox] frae his hole,
Or fight him at his door.
He'll range for days and ne'er be tired,
O'er mountain, moor, or fell;
Fair-play, I think, the dear wee chap
Would fecht the deil himsel'.
And yet beneath his rugged coat,
A heart beats warm and true;
He'll help to herd the sheep and kye,
And mind the lammies [young lambs] too.
Then see him at the ingle side,
Wi' bairnies round him laughin';
Was ever dog sae pleased as he,
Sae fond o' fun and daffin? [Joking]
But gie's your han', my Hielan man,
In troth! we manna sever;
Then here's to Scotia's best o' dogs,
Our towsy [rough and unkempt in coat] tyke for ever.
On this particular evening Warlock's boots were somewhat muddy. Tabby's
had also been the same, though she had taken pains to clean them before
coming to the fireside. The muddiness of their boots, however, only
pointed to the fact that the two friends had enjoyed a rare day's sport
in the woods, or by the water's side.
Well, said Shireen, as to the wind, I do not dislike hearing it, when I
am indoors, nor hearing the rain rattling against the window panes
either. I always think the fire burns brighter on a night like this.
Besides, the howling and howthering of the storm carries my thoughts
back to the golden days of my youth, and to the events of my life at
sea.
Shireen paused for a moment with one snow-white paw raised thoughtfully
in the air.
"Warlock," she said, next minute, "what do you see in the fire?"
"Me?" said Warlock, rousing himself out of his reverie.
"Me, Shireen? Oh, I see a water-rat's hole down under the banks of a
dark brown stream, and I can see the water rats pop in and out. There,
look, I see one now standing on end at the other side of the bank,
rubbing the water out of his eyes with the back of his knuckles, the
better to look over at me and Tabby."
"What do you see, Mother Shireen?" said Vee-Vee.
I see a ship, my son, tossing hither and thither on the far-off Indian
Ocean. I see the waves breaking in snowy spray, high, high against her
jet-black sides. I see the racing waves curling their angry crests as
they roll on towards the rugged horizon. I see dark storm clouds
sweeping swift across the sky, with rifts of blue between, through which
pours now and then a glint of sunshine.
"Mother Shireen, you were on that ship?" said Tabby, "tell us."
Yes, Tabby, I was on that ship. And dear master too. Last evening I
told you how my sweet little mistress Beebee, had given me away to the
wounded officer before she bade him adieu.
I was vexed to lose her. I would, I thought, never, never see my old
home again; never more lie on summer evenings on the turret balcony,
watching with Beebee the sunlight and shade chasing each other across
the dreamy woods, and the birds wheeling far beneath us in giddy flight.
When Beebee had really gone, I scarce could believe that we were
parted. I could not realise my loss at first. I went to the door and
mewed, I jumped up into the window-sill, and examined the fastening of
the jalousies.
"Shireen, come to me. Come, puss, come."
I looked quickly around, and my eyes fell on the face of the soldier
Edgar.
He looked wan and worn and old. Though but little more than
six-and-twenty, and that is young for a man, he appeared to me in his
grief and loneliness to be about sixty.
My heart went out to him at once. Oh, Tabby, I do believe that if human
beings would only bear in mind, how sickness or helplessness in one of
their race appeals to us poor cats, and how we love the feeble, the ill,
and the old, as well as dear children, they would often be kinder to us.
But this is a digression.
I jumped down from the window, and with a fond cry leapt up on the couch
where soldier Edgar lay.