THE GOLDEN DOG
"I think, after all, the ravine is the nicest place for stories," said
Jewel the next day.
The sun had dried the soaked grass, and not only did the leaves look
freshly polished from their bath, but the swollen brook seemed to be
turning joyous little somersaults over its stones when Mrs. Evringham,
Jewel, and Anna Belle scrambled down to its bank.
"I don't know that we ought to read a story every day," remarked Mrs.
Evringham. "They won't last long at this rate."
"When we finish we'll begin and read them all over again," returned Jewel
promptly.
"Oh, that's your plan, is it?" said Mrs. Evringham, laughing.
Jewel laughed too, for sheer happiness, though she saw nothing amusing
about such an obviously good plan. "Aren't we getting well acquainted,
mother?" she asked, nestling close to her mother's side and forgetting Anna
Belle, who at once lurched over, head downward, on the grass. "Do you
remember what a little time you used to have to hold me in your lap and hug
me?"
"Yes, dearie. Divine Love is giving me so many blessings these days I only
pray to bear them well," replied Mrs. Evringham.
"Why, I think it's just as _easy_ to bear blessings, mother," began Jewel,
and then she noticed her child's plight. "Darling Anna Belle, what are you
doing!" she exclaimed, picking up the doll and brushing her dress. "I
shouldn't think you had any more backbone than an error-fairy! Now don't
look sorry, dearie, because to-day it's your turn to choose the story."
Anna Belle, her eyes beaming from among her tumbled curls, at once turned
happy and expectant, and when her hat had been straightened and her boa
removed so that her necklace could gleam resplendently about her fair,
round throat, she was seated against a tree-trunk and listened with all her
ears to the titles Mrs. Evringham offered.
After careful consideration, she made her choice, and Mrs. Evringham and
Jewel settling themselves comfortably, the former began to read aloud the
tale of--
THE GOLDEN DOG
If it had not been for the birds and brooks, the rabbits and squirrels,
Gabriel would have been a very lonely boy.
His older brothers, William and Henry, did not care for him, because he was
so much younger than they, and, moreover, they said he was stupid. His
father might take some interest in him when he grew bigger and stronger and
could earn money; but money was the only thing Gabriel's father cared for,
and when the older brothers earned any they tried to keep it a secret from
the father lest he should take it away from them. Gabriel had a stepmother,
but she was a sorry woman, too full of care to be companionable. So he
sought his comrades among the wild things in the woods, to get away from
the quarrels at home.
He was a muscular, rosy-cheeked lad, and in the sports at school he could
out-run and out-jump the other boys and was always good-natured with them;
but even the children at the little country school did not like him very
well, because the very things they enjoyed the most did not amuse him.
He tried to explain to them that the birds were his friends, and therefore
he could not rob their nests; but they laughed at him almost as much as
when he tried to dissuade them from mocking old Mother Lemon, as they
passed her cottage door on their way to and from school.
She was an old cross-patch, of course, they told him, or else she would not
live alone on the edge of a forest, with nobody but a cat and owls for
company.
"Perhaps she would be glad to have some one better for company," Gabriel
replied.
"Go live with her, yourself, then, Gabriel," said one of the boys
tauntingly. "That's right! Go leave your miser father, counting his gold
all night while you are asleep, and too stingy to give you enough to eat,
and go and be Mother Lemon's good little boy!" and then all the children
laughed and hooted at Gabriel, who walked up to the speaker and knocked him
over on the grass with such apparent ease and such a calm face, that all
the laughers grew silent from mere surprise.
"You mustn't talk about my father to me," said Gabriel, explaining. Then he
started for home, and the laughing began again, softly.
"It was true," he thought, as he trudged along. Things were getting worse
at home, and sometimes he was hungry, for there was not too much on the
table, and his big brothers fought for their share.
As he neared Mother Lemon's cottage, with its thatched roof and tiny
windows, he saw the old woman, in her short gown, tugging at the
well-sweep. It seemed very hard for her to draw up the heavy bucket.
Instantly Gabriel ran forward.
"Get out of here, now," cried the old woman, in a cracked voice, for she
saw it was one of the school-children, and she was weary of their worrying
tricks.
"Shan't I pull up the bucket for you?" asked Gabriel.
"Ah, I know you. You want to splash me!" returned Mother Lemon, eying him
warily; but the boy put his strong arm to the task, and the dripping bucket
rose from the depths, while the little old woman withdrew to a safer
distance.
"Show me where to put it and I will carry it into the house for you," said
Gabriel.
"Now bless your rosy cheeks, you're an honest lad," said Mother Lemon
gratefully; but she took the precaution to walk behind him all the way,
lest he should still be intending to play her some trick. When, however, he
had entered the low door and filled the kettle and the pans, according to
her directions, she smiled on him, and as she thanked him, she asked him
his name.
"Gabriel," said the lad.
"Ah," she exclaimed, "you are the miser's boy."
Gabriel could not knock Mother Lemon down, so he only hung his head while
his cheeks grew redder.
"It isn't your fault, child, and by the time you are grown you will be
rich. When that time comes, I pray you be kinder to me than your father is,
for he oppresses the poor and makes me pay my last shilling for the rent of
this hovel."
"I would give the cottage to you if it were mine," returned Gabriel,
looking straight into her eyes with his honest gray ones; "but at present I
am poorer than you."
"In that case," said Mother Lemon, "I wish I had something worthy to reward
you for your kindness to me. As I have not, here is a penny that you must
keep to remember me by." And in spite of Gabriel's protestations she took
from her side-pocket a coin.
"I cannot take it from you," protested the boy.
"No one ever grew richer by refusing to give," returned Mother Lemon, and
she tucked the penny inside Gabriel's blouse and turned him out the door
with her blessing; so that, being a peaceable boy of few words, he objected
no longer, but moved along the road toward home, for it was nearly dinner
time.
He found his stepmother setting the table, and his father busily
calculating with figures on a bit of paper.
"Get the water, Gabriel, and be quick now," was his welcome from the
sorry-faced woman.
When he had done all she directed him, there was still a little time, for
William and Henry had not come in from the field. Gabriel sat down near his
father and, noting a rusty, dusty little book lying on the table, he picked
it up.
"What is this, father?" he asked, for there were few books in that house.
The man looked up from his figuring and sneered. "It is called by some the
Book of Life," he said. "As a matter of fact it would not bring two
shillings."
So saying he returned to his pleasant calculations and Gabriel idly opened
the book. His gaze widened, for the verse on which his eyes fell stood out
from the others in tiny letters of flame.
"_The love of money is the root of all evil_," he read.
"Father, father," he exclaimed, "what wonder is this? Look!" The miser
turned, impatient of a second interruption. "See the letters of fire!"
"I see nothing. You grow stupider every day, Gabriel."
"But the letters burn, father," and then the boy read aloud the sentence
which for him stood out so vividly on the page.
They had a surprising effect upon his listener. The miser grew pale and
then red with anger. He rose and, standing over the boy, frowned furiously.
"I'll teach you to reprove your father," he cried. "Get out of my house. No
dinner for you to-day."
The stepmother had heard what Gabriel read, and well she knew the truth of
those words.
As the astonished boy gathered himself up and moved out the door, she went
after him, calling in pretended sharpness; but when he came near, she
whispered, "Come to the back of the shed in five minutes," and when Gabriel
obeyed, later, he found there a thick piece of bread and a lump of cheese.
These he took, hungrily, and ate them in the forest before returning to
school. He had never felt so kindly toward school as this afternoon. Were
it not for what he learned there, he could not have read the words in the
Book of Life; and although they had brought him into trouble, he would not
have foregone the wonder of seeing the living, burning characters which his
father could not perceive. He longed to open those dusty covers once again.
On his way home that afternoon he met two boys teasing a small brown dog.
Its coat was stuck full of burrs and it tried in vain to escape from its
tormentors. The boys stopped to let Gabriel go by, for they had a wholesome
respect for his strong right arm and they knew his love for animals. The
trembling little dog looked at him in added fear.
Gabriel stood still. "Will you give me that dog?" he asked.
The boys backed away with their prize. "Nothing for nothing," said the
taller, who had the animal under his arm. "What'll you give us?"
Gabriel thought. Never lived a boy with fewer possessions. Ah! He suddenly
remembered a whistle he had made yesterday. Diving his hand into his pocket
he brought it out and whistled a lively strain upon it.
"This," he said, approaching. "I'll give you this."
"That for one of us," replied the tall boy. "What for the other?"
From the moment the dog heard Gabriel's voice, its eyes had appealed to
him. Now it struggled to get free, and the big boy struck it. Its cry
sharpened Gabriel's wits.
"The other shall have a penny," he said, and drew Mother Lemon's coin out
of his blouse.
The big boy dropped the dog, and he and his companion struggled for the
coin, each willing the other should have the whistle. Gabriel lost no time
in catching up the dog and making off with it.
He did not stop running until he had reached a spot by the brookside,
hidden amid sheltering trees. Here he sat down and looked over the forlorn
specimen in his lap. The dog was a rough, dingy object from its long ears
to its tail.
First of all, Gabriel set to work to get out the burrs that stuck fast in
the thick coat. This took a long time, but the little dog licked his hands
gratefully now and then, showing that he understood, even if the operation
was not always pleasant.
"Now, comrade," said Gabriel, at last, "you'll have to stand a ducking."
The dog's beautiful golden eyes looked at him trustfully, and Gabriel,
placing him in the brook, scrubbed him well, long ears and all, and then
raced around with him in the warm air until he was dry.
What a transformation was there! Gabriel's eyes shone as he looked at his
purchase. The dog's long hair, which had been a dingy brown, shone now like
golden silk in the sunshine, and his eyes gleamed with the light of topazes
as they fixed lovingly on Gabriel's happy face; for Gabriel _was_ happy, as
every one is who sees Love work what is called a miracle, but what is
really not a miracle at all, but just one of the beautiful, happy changes
for the better that follow on Love, wherever she goes. The boy's lonely
heart leaped at the idea that at last he had a companion.
A despised little suffering dog had altered into a welcome playmate, too
attractive, perhaps, to keep; for Gabriel well knew that he would never be
permitted to take the dog home; and any one finding him now in the woods
could carry him into town and get a good price for him.
"What shall I call you, little one?" asked the boy. "My word, but you are
lively," for the dog was bounding about so that his ears flew and flapped
around like yellow curls.
"Topaz, you shall be!" cried Gabriel, suddenly realizing how gem-like were
the creature's eyes; "and now listen to me!"
To his amazement, as the boy said "Listen," and raised his finger, Topaz at
once sat up on his hind legs with his dainty white forepaws hung in front
of him.
"Whew!" and Gabriel began whistling a little tune in his amazement, and the
instant the dog heard the music he began to dance. What a sight was there!
Gabriel's eyes grew round as he saw Topaz advance and retreat and twirl,
occasionally nodding and tossing his head until his curls bobbed. He seemed
to long, in his warm little dog's heart, to show Gabriel that he had been
worth saving.
But the radiance died from the boy's face and he sank at last on the ground
under a tree, looking very dejected.
Topaz bounded to his lap and Gabriel pulled the long silky ears through his
hands thoughtfully.
"I thought I had found a companion," he said sadly.
"Bow-wow," responded Topaz.
"But you are a trick dog, worth nobody knows how much money, and I cannot
keep you!"
"Bow-wow," said Topaz.
"To-morrow I must begin to try to find your master. Meanwhile what am I to
do with you?" The boy rose as he spoke and Topaz showed plainly that there
was no doubt in _his_ mind as to what should be done with him, for he meant
to stick closely to Gabriel's heel.
The boy suddenly had an idea and began to trudge sturdily off in the
direction of Mother Lemon's cottage, Topaz following close. The memory of
the latter's recent mishaps was too clear in his doggish mind to make him
willing that a single bush should come between him and his protector.
When they reached the little cottage, Mother Lemon sat spinning outside her
low doorway.
"Welcome, my man," she said when she finally saw, by squinting into the
sunlight, who it was that approached, "but drive off that dog."
"Look at him, Mother Lemon," said Gabriel, rather sadly. "Saw you ever one
so handsome?"
"Looks are deceiving," returned the old woman, "and I have a cat."
"I will see that he does not hurt your cat. I have to confess that I spent
your penny for him, Mother Lemon."
"Then I have to confess that you are no worthy son of your father,"
returned the old woman, "for he would not have spent it for anything."
"I know it was a keepsake," replied Gabriel, "but the dog was in danger of
his life and I had no other money to give for him."
"You are a good-hearted lad," said Mother Lemon, going on with her
spinning. "Now take your dog away, for if my cat, Tommy, should see him it
might go hard with his golden locks."
"Alas, Mother Lemon, I have come to ask you to keep him for me."
"La, la! I tell you I could not keep him any longer than until Tommy laid
eyes on him; neither have I any liking for dogs, myself, though that one, I
must say, looks as if he had taken a bath in molten gold."
"Does he not!" returned Gabriel. "When first I saw him some boys were
misusing him and he seemed to be but a brown cur with a dingy, matted coat;
and I could wish that he had turned out to be of no account, for the look
in his eyes took hold upon my heart; but I rubbed him well in the brook,
and now see the full, feathery tail and silky ears. He is a dog of high
degree."
"Certain he is, lad," replied the old woman. "Take him to the town and sell
him to some lofty dame who has nothing better to do than brush his curls."
"I would never sell him," said Gabriel, regarding the dog wistfully. "He is
lonely and so am I. We would stick together if we might."
"What prevents? Do you fear to take him home lest your father boil him down
for his gold?" and Mother Lemon laughed as she spun.
"No. My father, I know, would not give him one night's lodging, and in my
perplexity I bethought me to ask you the favor," and Gabriel's honest eyes
looked so squarely at Mother Lemon that she stopped her wheel. "I cannot
keep the dog," continued the boy, "and my heart is heavy."
"Your father is a curmudgeon," declared the old woman, for the more she
looked at Gabriel, the more she loved him. "What is it? Would he grudge
food for your pet?"
"It is not that, but I cannot keep the dog in any case."
"Why not, pray?"
For answer Gabriel looked down into the topaz eyes whose regard had
scarcely left his face during the interview. He held up his finger, and
instantly the dog sat up.
"'Tis a trick dog!" exclaimed Mother Lemon.
Gabriel began to whistle, and the dance commenced. The old woman pressed
her side as she laughed at the comical, pretty sight of the little dancer,
the fluffy golden threads of whose silky coat gleamed in the sunlight.
"Your fortune is made," said Mother Lemon as Gabriel ceased. "The dog will
fetch a large price in the town, and because you are a good lad I will try
to keep him for you until to-morrow, when you can go and sell him. If your
father saw his tricks he would, himself, dispose of him and pocket the
cash. I will shut him in an outhouse until you come again, and I only hope
that he will not bark and vex Tommy!"
To the old woman's surprise Gabriel looked sad. "But you see, Mother
Lemon," he said soberly, "the dog already belongs to somebody."
"La, la!" cried the old woman. "Why, then, couldn't the somebody keep him?"
"That I do not know; but to-morrow I set forth with him to find his owner."
Mother Lemon nodded, and she saw the heaviness of the boy's heart because
he must part with the golden dog.
"'Tis well that you leave him with me then, for your father would not
permit that, any more than he would abate one farthing of my rent."
Gabriel went with her to the rickety shed where Topaz was to spend the
night, but the dog was loath to enter. He seemed to know that it meant
parting with Gabriel. The boy stooped down and talked to him, but Topaz
licked his face and sprang upon him beseechingly. When, finally, they
closed the door with the dog within, the little fellow howled sorrowfully.
"I'm sure he's hungry, Mother Lemon," said the boy, and a lump seemed to
stick in his throat. "One bone perhaps you could give him?"
"Alas, I have none, Gabriel. It is not often that Tommy and I sit down to
meat. He is now hunting mice in the fields or he would be lashing his tail
at these strange sounds!"
Gabriel opened the door and, going back into the shed, spoke sternly to
Topaz, bidding him lie down. The dog obeyed, looking appealingly from the
tops of his gem-like eyes, but when again the door was fastened, he kept an
obedient silence.
Thanking Mother Lemon and promising to come early in the morning, Gabriel
sped home. His own hunger made his heart ache for the little dog, and when
he entered the cottage he was glad to see that his stepmother was preparing
the evening meal, while his father bent, as usual, over a shabby,
ink-stained desk, absorbed in his endless calculations.
Gabriel's elder brothers were there, too, talking and laughing in an
undertone. No one took any notice of Gabriel, whose eye fell on the dusty,
rusty book, and eagerly he picked it up, thinking to see if again he could
find the wonder of the flaming words.
As he opened it, several verses on the page before him gleamed into light.
In mute wonder he read:--
"_And I will say to my soul, 'Soul, thou hast much goods laid up for many
years; take thine ease, eat, drink, and be merry._'
"_But God said unto him, Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be required
of thee: then whose shall those things be which thou hast provided?_'
"_So is he that layeth up treasure for himself and is not rich toward
God._"
Gabriel scarcely dared to lift his eyes toward his father, much less would
he have offered to read to him again the flaming words.
All through the supper time he thought of them and kept very still, for the
others were unusually talkative, his father seeming in such excellent
spirits that Gabriel knew the figures on his desk had brought him
satisfaction.
"But if he did not oppress Mother Lemon," thought the boy, "he would be
richer toward God."
When the meal was over, Gabriel took a piece of paper and went quietly to
the back of the house where, in a box, was the refuse of the day's cooking.
He found some bones and other scraps, and, running across the fields to
Mother Lemon's, tiptoed to the low shed which held Topaz, and, finding a
wide crack, pushed the bones and scraps within.
Then he fled home and to bed, for he had always found that the earlier he
closed his eyes, the shorter was the night.
This time, however, when his sleepy lids opened, it was not to the light of
day. A candle flame wavered above him and showed the face of his
stepmother, bending down. "Gabriel, Gabriel," she whispered; then, as he
would have replied, she hushed him with her finger on her lips. "I felt
that I must warn you that your father is sorely vexed by the reproof you
gave him to-day. He will send you out into the world, and I cannot prevent
it; but in all that lies in my poor power, I will be your friend forever,
Gabriel, for you are a good boy. Good-night, I must not stay longer," and a
tear fell on the boy's cheek as she kissed him lightly, and then, with a
breath, extinguished the candle and hastened noiselessly away.
Gabriel lay still, thinking busily for a while; but he was a fearless,
innocent boy, and this threatened change in his fortunes could not keep him
awake long. He soon fell asleep and slept soundly until the dawn.
Jumping out of bed then, he washed and dressed and went downstairs where
his father awaited him.
"Gabriel," he said, "you do not grow brighter by remaining at home. I wish
you to go out into the world and shift for yourself. When your fortune is
made, you may return. As you go, however, I am willing to give you a small
sum of money to use until you can obtain work."
"I will obey you, father," returned the boy, "but as a last favor, I ask
that, in place of the money, you give me the cottage where Mother Lemon
lives."
The man started and muttered: "He is even stupider than I believed him."
"You may have it," he added aloud, after a wondering pause.
"That--and this?" returned Gabriel questioningly, taking up the Book of
Life.
His father scowled, for he remembered yesterday. "Very well, if you like,"
he answered, with a bad grace.
"Then thank you, father, and I will trouble you no more."
Gabriel's stepmother could scarcely repress her tears as she gave the boy
his breakfast and prepared him a package of bread and meat to carry on his
journey. Then she gave him a few pence, all she had, and he started off
with her blessing.
As Gabriel went out into the fresh air, all nature was beautiful around
him. There seemed no end to the blue sky, the wealth of sunshine, the
generous foliage on the waving trees. The birds were singing joyously. All
things breathed a blessing. Gabriel wondered, as he walked along, about the
God who, some one had once told him, made all things. It seemed to him that
it could be only a loving Being who created such beauty as surrounded him
now.
The little book was clasped in his hand. He suddenly remembered with relief
that he was alone and could read it without fear.
Eagerly opening it, one verse, as before, flamed into brightness, and
Gabriel read:--
"_He that loveth not, knoweth not God; for God is love._"
How wonderful! Gabriel's heart swelled. God was love, then. He closed the
book. For the first time God seemed real to him. The zephyrs that kissed
his cheek and the sun that warmed him like a caress, seemed assuring him of
the truth. The birds declared it in their songs.
Gabriel went down on his knees in the dewy grass and, dropping his bundle,
clasped to his breast the book.
"Dear God," he said, "I am all alone and I have no one to love but Topaz.
He is a little dog and I must give him up because he doesn't belong to me.
I know now that I shall love you and you will help me give Topaz back,
because my stepmother told me that you know everything, and she always told
the truth."
Then Gabriel arose and, taking the package of food, went on with a light
heart until he came to Mother Lemon's cottage. Even that poor shanty looked
pleasant in the morning beams. The tall sunflowers near the door flaunted
their colors in the light, and their cheerful faces seemed laughing at
Mother Lemon as she came to the entrance and called anxiously to the
approaching boy:--
"Come quick, lad, hasten. My poor Tommy is distracted, for your dog whines
and threatens to dig his way out of his prison, and I will not answer for
the consequences."
Indeed, the tortoise-shell cat was seated on the old woman's shoulder. The
fur stood stiffly on his arched back, his tail was the size of two, and his
eyes glowed.
Gabriel just glanced at the cat as it opened its mouth and hissed, then he
gazed at Mother Lemon.
"Did you know there was a God?" he asked earnestly.
"To be sure, lad," replied the old woman, surprised.
"I've just learned about Him in this wonderful book; the Book of Life is
its name. Saw you ever one like it?"
The boy placed the rusty little volume in her hands.
"Ay, lad, many times."
"Does every one know it?" he asked incredulously.
"Most people do."
"Then why is not every one happy?" asked Gabriel. "There is a God and He is
love. Do people believe it?"
"Ah," returned the old woman dryly, "that is a different thing."
Gabriel scarcely heard her. He opened his precious book.
"There," he cried triumphantly, "see the living words:--
"'_Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate
us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord_.'"
"H'm," said the old woman. "The print is too fine for my old eyes."
"Yes, perhaps 'tis for that that the letters flame like threads of fire.
You see them?"
"Ahem!" returned Mother Lemon, for she saw no flaming letters, and she
looked curiously at the boy's radiant face. Moreover, Tommy suddenly leaped
from her shoulder to his. All signs of the cat's fear and anger had
vanished, and as it rubbed its sleek fur against Gabriel's cheek, it purred
so loudly that Mother Lemon marveled.
"Had my father studied this book he might have been happy," continued the
boy; "but he is offended with me and has sent me out into the world, and
well I know that an unhappy heart drives him."
"Go back, boy, and make your peace with him," cried Mother Lemon excitedly,
"or you will get nothing."
"Oh, I have received what I asked for. I asked to have this cottage, and he
gave it to me, and I have come now to give it to you, Mother Lemon."
"My lad!" exclaimed the amazed woman, and her eyes swam with sudden tears.
"You will have no more rent to pay," said Gabriel, stroking the cat.
"And what is to become of you?" asked the woman, much moved.
"I cannot go home," replied the boy quietly; "and in any case I have to
give Topaz, the dog, back to his owner. Why do you weep, Mother Lemon?
Haven't I God to take care of me, and isn't He greater than all men?"
"Yes, lad. The Good Book says He is king of heaven and earth."
"Then if you believe it, why are you sad?"
Mother Lemon dried her eyes, and at this moment they heard a great
scratching on the door of the shed; for Topaz had wakened from a nap and
heard Gabriel's voice.
"Ah, that I had never given you the penny!" wailed the old woman, "for then
you would not have bought the yellow dog and gone away where I shall see
you no more."
Gabriel's sober face smiled. "Yes, you will see me again, Mother Lemon,
when my fortune is made. You have God, too, you know."
"Ay, boy. I'm nearer Him to-day than for many a long year. My blessing go
with you wherever you are; and now let me have Tommy, that he does not fly
at your dancer, to whom I say good riddance. Good-by, lad, good-by, and God
bless you for your goodness and generosity to a lonely old creature!"
So saying, Mother Lemon took the cat in her arms, and, going into the
house, fastened the door and pulled down the windows, while Gabriel went to
the shed, and taking out the wooden staple released his prisoner.
Like a living nugget of gold the little dog leaped and capered about the
boy, expressing his joy by the liveliest antics, barking meanwhile in a
manner to set Tommy's nerves on edge; but Gabriel ran laughing before him
into the forest, not stopping until they reached the brookside, where they
both slaked their thirst. Then he put the Book of Life carefully into his
blouse, and opening the package gave Topaz some of the bread and meat it
contained.
All the time there was a pain in Gabriel's heart because Topaz, by the
morning light, was gayer, prettier, more loving than ever, and his clear
eyes looked so trustfully into Gabriel's that it was not easy to swallow
the lump that rose in the boy's throat at the thought of parting with him.
At last the package of food was again tied, and Gabriel was ready to start.
Topaz stood expectantly before him, his eyes gleaming softly, the color of
golden sand as it lies beneath sunlit water.
The boy sat a moment watching the alert face which said as plainly as
words: "Whatever you are going to do, I am eager to do it, too."
Gabriel thoughtfully drew the silky ears through his hands. "God made you,
too, Topaz, and He knows I love you. If it please Him, we shall not find
your master this first day."
Then he jumped up and searched for a good stick. He tried the temper of a
couple by whipping the air, and when he found one stiff enough, ran it
through the string about the bundle and looked around for Topaz. To his
astonishment the dog had disappeared. He whistled, but there was no sign.
Gabriel's face grew blank, then flushed as the reason of the dog's flight
flashed upon him. It forced tears into his eyes to think that any one could
have struck the pretty creature, and that Topaz could have suffered enough
to distrust even him.
He threw down stick and bundle and walked around anxiously, whistling from
time to time. At last his quick eyes caught the gleam of golden color
behind a bush. Even Topaz's fright could not take him far while a doubt
remained; but he was crouching to the ground, and his eyes were appealing.
Gabriel threw himself down beside the little fellow, and for a minute his
wet eyes were pressed to the silky fur, while he stroked his playmate.
Topaz licked his face, and the dog's fear fled forever. He followed Gabriel
back to the place where the bundle was dropped, and the boy patted him
while he took up the stick and set it across his shoulder.
Topaz's ears flapped with joy as they started on their tramp.
Gabriel put away all thought of the future and frolicked with his playmate
as they went along, throwing a stick which Topaz would bring, and beg with
short, sharp barks that the boy would throw once more, when he would race
after it like a streak of sunshine, his golden curls flying.
From time to time Gabriel ran races with him, and no boy at school could
beat Gabriel at running, so Topaz had a lively morning.
By the time the sun was high in the heavens they were both hungry and glad
to rest. They found the shade of a large tree, and there Gabriel opened his
package again, and when he tied it up it made a very small bundle on the
end of the stick he carried over his shoulder.
There was not so much running this afternoon. Gabriel and Topaz had come a
long way, and toward evening they began to see the roofs of the town ahead
of them.
The dog no longer raced to right and left after butterfly and bird, but
trotted sedately at the boy's heel, and after a time Gabriel picked him up
and carried him, for the thought came that perhaps Topaz could earn them a
place to sleep, and Gabriel wished to rest the little legs that could be so
nimble.
It was nearly dusk when they reached a cultivated field and then a
farmhouse. Some children were playing in the yard, and when they saw a
dusty boy turn in at the gate, they ran to the house crying that a beggar
was coming.
Their mother came out from the door, and the expression of her face told
plainly that she meant to drive the dusty couple away.
Gabriel set down the dog and took off his hat, and his clear eyes looked
out of his grimy face.
"I am not a beggar," he said simply. "I go to the town to return this dog
to its master, but night is coming on, and we should like to sleep on the
hay."
"How do I know you are not a thief?" returned the woman. "It is not a very
likely story that you are tramping way to town to give back a yellow dog."
"He is a dog of high degree," declared Gabriel, "and if you will let us
sleep in your barn he will dance for you."
Upon this the children begged in chorus to see the dog dance, and the
mother consented; so Topaz, when he was bade, sat up, and then, as Gabriel
whistled, the dainty, dusty little white feet began to pirouette, and the
children clapped their hands for joy and would have kept the dancer at his
work until dark, but that Gabriel would not have it so.
"We have come far," he said. "Let us rest now, and in the morning Topaz
will dance for you again."
So all consented and escorted the strangers to the barn, where there was a
clean, sweet hay-loft.
The little dog remembered the night before, and whined under his breath and
wagged his tail as he looked at Gabriel, as if begging the boy not to leave
him.
Gabriel understood, and patted the silky coat. It took him some minutes to
get rid of the children, who wished to continue to caress and play with
Topaz; but at last they were gone and the two weary wanderers could lie
down on the sweet hay. As Topaz nestled into his arms Gabriel felt very
thankful to God for their long happy day. If the master should come
to-morrow--well, the only thing to do was to give up his playfellow, and he
should still be grateful for the day and night they had spent together.
Bright sunlight was streaming through the chinks of the rafters when the
travelers awoke. Sounds of men and horses leaving the barn died away, and
then Gabriel arose and shook himself. Topaz jumped about in delight that
another day had commenced. The boy looked at him wistfully. Was this to be
their last morning together?
He felt the little book in his blouse and taking it out, opened it. It was
dark in the barn, but, as ever, this wonderful book had a light of its own,
and in tiny letters of flame there appeared this verse:--
"_For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power and of love
and of a sound mind._"
Much comforted, Gabriel put the dear book back in its hiding-place, and
taking his small bundle, left the barn, the dog bounding after him.
No sooner had the children of the house seen them coming than they ran
forth to meet them, singing and whistling and crying upon Topaz to dance,
but the dog kept his golden eyes upon his master and noticed no one beside.
The mother came to the door with a much pleasanter face than she had worn
yesterday.
"You may go to the pump yonder and wash yourself," she said; and Gabriel
obeyed gladly, wiping his face upon the grass that grew long and rank about
the well.
The clean face was such a good one that when the woman saw it she hushed
the children. "Be still until they have had some breakfast," she said,
"then the dog will dance again."
So Gabriel and Topaz had a comfortable meal which they enjoyed, and
afterward the boy whistled and the dog danced with a good heart, and the
children danced too, for very pleasure. They were all so happy that Gabriel
for the moment forgot his errand.
"If you will sell your dog I will buy him," said the woman, at last, for
the children had given her no peace when they lay down nor when they rose
up, until she had promised to make this offer.
Gabriel looked at her frankly, and a shadow fell over his bright face.
"Alas, madam, he is not mine to sell."
"Where dwells his master, then?"
"That I know not, for he had strayed and I found him and must restore him
if I can."
"'Tis a fool's errand," said the woman, who liked the dog herself, and,
moreover, saw that there was money in his nimble feet. "I will give you as
many coppers as you can carry in your cap if you will leave him here and go
your way and say nothing about it to any one."
Gabriel shook his head. "Alas, madam, he is not mine," was all the woman
could induce him to say, and she thought his sadness was at the thought of
the cap full of pence which she believed he dared not accept for fear of
getting into trouble. Little she knew that if only the golden dog were
Gabriel's very own, no money could buy from the boy the one heart on earth
that beat warmly for him, and the graceful, gay coat of flossy silk which
he loved to caress; so the farmer's wife and children were obliged to let
the couple go.
Gabriel had seen, the night before, a creek that wandered through the
meadow, and before entering the town he ran to it and, pulling off his
clothes, jumped in and took a good swim. Barking with delight, Topaz joined
in this new frolic, splashing and swimming about like the jolly little
water dog that he was.
When, at last, they came out and were dried, and Gabriel was dressed, they
were a fresh looking pair that started out for the town.
Now Gabriel was not so stupid as his brothers believed, and, as he said
over to himself the verse he had read that morning in the barn, and looked
at Topaz, so winsomely shining after his bath, he began to see how unwise
it would be to tell every one he met that he was searching for Topaz's
owner. There were people in the world, he knew, who would not scruple to
pretend that such a pretty creature was their own, even if they had never
seen him before; so Gabriel determined to be very careful and to know that
God would give him power and a sound mind, if he would not be afraid, as
the Book of Life had said.
Now the two entered the town; but from the moment their feet struck the
pavements, Topaz's manner changed. He kept so close to Gabriel that the boy
often came near to stepping on him.
"What ails you, little one?" asked Gabriel, perplexed by his companion's
strange actions. "Don't you know that you are going home?"
But Topaz did not bark a reply. His feathery tail hung down. He looked at
Gabriel only from the tops of his eyes as he clung close to his heels, and
he even seemed to the boy to tremble when they crossed the busy streets.
"You mustn't be afraid, Topaz," said Gabriel stoutly. "No one likes a
coward."
But Topaz only clung the closer, sometimes looking from left to right,
fearfully. At last his actions were so strange that Gabriel took him up
under his arm. "Perhaps if we meet his owner he can see him the better so,"
thought the boy, and he looked questioningly into the faces of men, women,
and children as they passed him by. No one did more than stare at him after
observing the beautiful head that looked out from under his arm.
One good-natured man smiled in passing and said to Gabriel: "Going to the
palace, I suppose."
This remark astonished the boy very much, and he looked around after the
man.
Now there had been some one following Gabriel for the last five minutes,
and when he looked around, this person, who was an organ-grinder, quickly
turned his back and began grinding out a tune. At the first sound of it
Topaz started and trembled violently and snuggled so close to Gabriel that
the latter, who did not connect his action with the music, was dismayed.
"Topaz, what _is_ the matter?" he asked, and hurried along, thinking to
find some park where he could sit down and try to discover what ailed his
little playfellow.
As he began to hurry, the organ-grinder's black eyes snapped, and he
stopped playing and beckoned to a big officer of the law who stood near.
"My dog has been stolen," he exclaimed. "Come with me, after the thief. I
will pay you."
The big man obeyed and walked along, grumbling: "Is the city full of
stolen dogs, I wonder?" he muttered.
"It is my dancing dog!" explained the organ-grinder. "The boy yonder is
carrying him in his arms and running away. He will deny it, but I will pay
you a silver coin. It is a week since I lost him."
"Stop, thief," roared the officer, beginning to run. The organ-grinder ran
as well as he could with his heavy burden, and there began to be an
excitement on the street, so that Gabriel, hugging his dog, stopped to see
what was the matter.
What was his surprise to be confronted by the big officer and the
black-eyed Italian.
"Drop that dog!" ordered the officer gruffly.
"Not till I get a string around his neck," objected the organ-grinder, and
produced a cord which he knotted about Topaz's fluffy throat. Then he
pulled the dog away roughly.
"Is he yours?" cried Gabriel, eyes and mouth open in astonishment. "No, it
cannot be. He is afraid of you. Oh, see!"
"Ho, this boy has stolen my whole living," said the organ-grinder, "and now
he tries to claim my property."
"Do not believe him!" cried Gabriel, appealing to the big officer. "It
cannot be his. The dog loves me. Let me show you."
"Stand off, stand off," ordered the organ-grinder, for a crowd had
gathered. "Would the dog dance for me if he were not mine? See!" He drew
from his coat a little whip and struck the organ with a snap, at which
Topaz jumped. Then he dropped the dog and began to grind, and the crowd
saw the trembling animal raise itself to its hind legs and begin to dance.
Oh, the mincing little uncertain steps! No tossing of the yellow curls was
here.
Gabriel's heart bounded hotly. Did these people think they were seeing
Topaz dance?
"Oh, believe me, let me show you!" he cried, trying to come near; but the
big officer pushed him away roughly.
"Can you pay your debts?" he said, coming close to the organ-grinder. The
man stopped turning his crank and taking a silver coin handed it to the
officer, but slyly, so that no one saw. Then the big man turned to Gabriel.
"Now be off from here!" he said sternly. "If you hang about a minute
longer, into the lock-up you go!"
Gabriel, white and sorry, clasped his hands helplessly, and watched while
the organ-grinder caught Topaz up under his arm and made off with him, down
a side street.
The boy felt that he must pursue them. He turned his tearful gaze on the
big officer. "I found that dog, sir," he said.
"The more fool you, then, not to take it to the palace," returned the
other. "It is gaudy enough to have perhaps pleased the princess, and the
organ-grinder would have had to get another slave."
So saying, the officer laughed and carelessly turned away.
Gabriel stood still, choking. It must be that the princess wished to buy a
pet. Ah, if he might even have parted with his little friend to her, how
far better it would have been than this strange, wrong thing that had
happened with such suddenness that the boy could scarcely get his breath
for the way his heart beat.
He pressed his hand to his streaming eyes, then, seeing that people were
staring at him curiously, he stole away, walking blindly and stumbling over
the rough pavement.
At last he came to a place in a quiet street where a seat was built into a
wall, and there he sat down and tried to think. In his despair the thought
of the great King of heaven and earth came to him.
"Dear God," he murmured breathlessly, "what now? What did I wrong, that you
did not take care of Topaz and me?"
The breeze in the treetops was his only answer; so after listening for a
minute to the soothing sound, he took the Book of Life from his blouse and
opened it.
Oh, wonderful were the words he saw. How they glowed and seemed to live
upon the gray page.
"_Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them; for the
Lord thy God, He it is that doth go with thee: He will not fail thee nor
forsake thee_."
Gabriel caught his trembling lip between his teeth. He knew no one in this
crowded city. He had no home, no friends, no money except the few coppers
in his pocket. How, then, was help to come?
"Dear God," he whispered, "I have no one now in all the world but you.
Topaz is gone and I am grieved sore, for he is wretched. Let me save him. I
am not afraid, dear God, not afraid of anything. I trust you."
Comforted by a little blind hope that crept into his heart, the boy looked
up; and the first thing that his swollen eyes rested upon was a large
poster affixed to the opposite wall, with letters a foot high. "REWARD!" it
said. "H.R.H. the princess has lost her golden dog. A full reward for his
return to the palace!"
Gabriel's heart gave a great bound. What golden dog was there anywhere but
Topaz? The color that had fled from his cheeks came back. But would an
organ-grinder dare claim for his own a dog that belonged to a princess of
the country? And yet--and yet--the little dog's joy and light-heartedness
with himself showed that he had been well treated by whomever taught him
his pretty tricks. The organ-grinder did not treat him well, and who that
really knew Topaz would dream of taking a whip to force him to his work!
Gabriel, young as he was, saw that there was some mystery here, and beside,
there had been the glowing words in the Book of Life, telling him again not
to be afraid, and promising him that the greatest of all kings would not
fail him or forsake him.
He started up from the seat, but forced himself back and opened the small
bundle of dry bread and meat; for there was no knowing when he should eat
again. He took all that remained, and when he had swallowed the last
crumbs, arose with a determined heart and hurried up the street.
He asked the first man he met if he could direct him to the palace.
The man shrugged his shoulders. "Where is your yellow dog?" he asked.
"I have none," returned Gabriel, "but I have business at the palace."
The man laughed down at the shabby figure of the country lad. "And don't
know where it is? Well, Follow your nose. You are on the right road."
Gabriel sped along and he was indeed much nearer than he had supposed; for
very soon he met a sorry-faced man with a yellow dog in his arm; then
another; then another; and in fact he could trace his way to the palace by
the procession of men, women, and children, all returning, and each one
carrying a yellow dog and chattering or grumbling according to the height
from which his hopes had been dashed.
When Gabriel reached the palace gates he saw that there were plenty more
applicants waiting inside the grounds. The boy had never realized how many
varying sizes and shades of yellow dogs there were in the world.
The guard had received orders to deny entrance to no person who presented a
gold-colored dog for examination, but Gabriel was empty-handed and the
guard frowned upon him.
"I wish to see the princess," said the boy.
"I dare say," replied the guard. "Be off."
"But I wish to tell her about a golden dog."
"Can't you see that we are half buried in golden dogs?" returned the guard
crossly.
"No, sir. I have seen none but yellow dogs since I drew near this place. I
have a tale to tell the princess."
The guard could not forbear laughing at this simplicity. "Do you suppose
ragamuffins like you approach her highness?" he returned. "A dog's tail is
the only sort she is interested in to-day. See the chamberlain yonder. He
is red with fatigue. He is choosing such of the lot as are worthy to be
looked at by the princess, and should he see you demanding audience and
with no dog to show, it will go hard with you. Be off!" and the guard's
gesture was one to be obeyed.
Gabriel withdrew quietly; but he was not daunted. The princess would,
perhaps, grow weary and drive out. At any rate there was nothing to do
except watch for her. He looked at the splendid palace and gardens and
wondered if Topaz had ever raced about there. Then he wondered what the dog
was doing now; but this thought must be put away, because it made Gabriel's
eyes misty, and he must watch, watch.
At last his patient vigil was rewarded. A splendid coach drawn by
milk-white horses appeared in the palace grounds.
Gabriel's heart beat fast. He knew he must act quickly and before any one
could catch him; so he made his way cautiously to the shelter of a large,
flowering shrub by the roadside.
The coach approached and the iron gates were flung wide. Gabriel plainly
saw a young girl with troubled eyes sitting alone within, and on the seat
opposite an older woman with her back to the horses.
Suddenly, while the carriage still moved slowly outside the gates that
clanged behind it, Gabriel started from his hiding-place and swiftly leaped
to the step of the coach and looked straight into the young girl's eyes.
"Princess," he exclaimed breathlessly, "I know of a golden dog, and they
will not let me"--but by this time the lady-in-waiting was screaming, and
the guard, who recognized Gabriel, rushed forth from the gate and, seizing
him roughly, jerked the boy from the step.
"Unhand him instantly!" exclaimed the princess, her eyes flashing, for the
look Gabriel had given her had reached her heart. "Stop the horses!"
Instantly the coach came to a standstill.
"_I will not fail thee, nor forsake thee_," sounded in Gabriel's ears amid
the roaring in his head, as he found himself free. He did not wait for
further invitation, but jumped back to the coach.
"Stop screaming, Lady Gertrude!" exclaimed the princess.
"But the beggar's hands are on the satin, your highness!" exclaimed the
lady-in-waiting, who had had a hard week and wished there was not a yellow
dog in the world.
"Princess, hear me and you will be glad," declared Gabriel. "I beg for
nothing but to be heard. I believe I know where your dog is and that he
suffers."
No one could have seen and heard Gabriel as he said this, without believing
him. Tears of excitement sprang to his gray eyes and a pang went through
the heart of the princess. How many times she had wondered if her lost pet
had found such love as she gave him!
She at once ordered the door of the coach to be opened and that Gabriel
should enter.
"Your highness!" exclaimed Lady Gertrude, nearly fainting.
"You may leave us if you please," said the princess, with a little smile;
but Lady Gertrude held her smelling-salts to her nose and remained in the
coach, which the princess ordered to be driven through a secluded
wood-road.
Gabriel, sitting beside her on the fine satin cushion, told his story, from
the moment when he found the dingy, brown dog in the hands of the teasing
boys, to the moment when the organ-grinder bore him away.
The hands of the princess were clasped tightly as she listened. "You called
him Topaz," she said, when the boy had finished. "I called him Goldilocks.
Ah, if it should be the same! If it should!"
"Surely there are not two dogs in the world so beautiful," said Gabriel.
"That is what I say to myself," responded the princess.
"Had he been less wonderful, your highness, he would be safe now, for I
should have kept him. He loved me," said Gabriel simply.
"You are an honest boy," replied the princess gratefully, "and I will make
you glad of it whether Topaz turns out to be Goldilocks or not. But you say
he danced with so much grace?"
"Yes, your highness, and tossed his head for glee till his curls waved
merrily."
"'Tis the same!" cried the princess, in a transport. "His eyes _are_ like
topazes. Your name is the best. He shall have it. Ah, he has slept in a
shed and eaten cold scraps! My Goldilocks!"
"Yes, your highness, and would be glad to do so still; for he fears his
dark-browed master, and dances with such trembling you would not know him
again."
"Ah, cruel boy, cease! Take me to him at once. Show my men the spot where
you left him."
"Your highness must use great care, for if once the organ-grinder suspects
that you are searching for him, no one will ever again see the golden dog;
for the man will fear to be found with him."
"You are right. I can send out men with orders to examine every hand-organ
in the city."
"If they were quiet enough it might be done, but I have a better plan."
"You may speak," returned the princess.
"When we are alone, your highness," said Gabriel; and the lady-in-waiting
was so amazed at such effrontery that she forgot to use her salts.
"To the palace," ordered the princess.
Lady Gertrude gave the order.
"Does your highness intend to take this--this person to the palace?" she
inquired.
"I do. He loves my dog, and therefore I would give more for his advice at
this time than for that of the Lord High Chamberlain."
"Then I have nothing more to say," returned the Lady Gertrude, leaning back
among the cushions; and this was cheering news to her companions.
What was the astonishment of the guard to see the coach return, still
carrying the rustic lad, who sat so composedly beside the princess, and
dismounted with her at the palace steps.
Once within, nothing was too fine for Gabriel. A gentleman-in-waiting was
set to serve him in an apartment, which made the boy pinch himself to make
sure he was not dreaming.
When he had taken a perfumed bath and obediently put on the fine clothing
that was provided for him, he was summoned to a splendid room where the
princess awaited him, surrounded by her ladies. She was scarcely more than
a child, herself, and the boy wondered how she liked to have so many
critical personages about, to watch her every action.
As he entered the room, every eye was turned upon him, and the Lady
Gertrude, especially, put up her glass in wonder that this handsome lad
with the serious, fearless eyes, who seemed so at ease in the silks and
satins he now wore, could be the peasant who had jumped on the step of the
coach.
The princess looked upon him with favor and smiled. "We are ready now," she
said, "to hear what plan you propose for the rescue of the golden dog."
"Then will your highness kindly ask these ladies to leave us?" returned
Gabriel.
"Ah, to be sure. I forgot your wish that the communication should be
private."
Then the princess gave orders that every one should leave the room, and her
companions obeyed reluctantly, the Lady Gertrude above all. She remained
close to the outside of the closed door, ready to fly within at the
slightest cry from her mistress; for the Lady Gertrude could not quite
believe that a boy who had ever worn a calico shirt was a safe person to
leave alone with royalty.
For a few minutes there was only a low buzz of voices behind the closed
door, then a merry laugh from the princess assailed Lady Gertrude's ears.
It was the first time she had laughed since the disappearance of the golden
dog.
Before Gabriel slipped between the sheets that night in his luxurious
chamber, he took the little brown book which had been folded away with his
shabby clothing. His heart glowed with gratitude to God for the help he had
received that day, and when he opened the page it was as if a loving voice
spoke:--
"_Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on thee; because
he trusteth in thee_."
"Dear God, I trust in thee!" he murmured; then he climbed into the soft bed
and slept dreamlessly.
The following morning, the king and queen having given consent to their
daughter's request, two children drove out of the palace grounds in a plain
black carriage. The coachman drove to a confectioner's near the centre of
the town, where the horses stopped. A tall man in dark clothes, who was
also in the carriage, stepped down first and handed out the girl, and
afterward the boy jumped down. Then the carriage rolled away.
"Remember," said the girl, turning to the tall man, "you are not to remain
too near us."
He bowed submissively, and in a minute more the girl and boy, plainly
dressed, middle-class people, were looking in at the confectioner's window
at a pink and white frosted castle that reared itself above a cake
surrounded with bon-bons to make one's mouth water.
"Saw you ever anything so grand, your highness?" exclaimed Gabriel, in awe.
The princess laughed. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes sparkled. This was
the first time her little feet had ever touched a city street, and she
loved the adventure.
"Find me Topaz, and all the contents of this window shall be yours," she
returned.
"I shall not care to have anything until we do find him, your highness,"
replied Gabriel simply.
"You must not call me that. Some one might hear you."
"I know it. There is danger of it," declared Gabriel; "but the gentleman
who is to follow us said I should lose my head if I treated you
familiarly."
The princess laughed again. She was in a new world, like a bird whose cage
door had been opened.
"We need your head until we find Topaz," she replied, "for you have clever
ideas. Nevertheless, my name is Louise, and you may remember it if
necessity arises. Now where shall we go first?"
"Straight down this street," said the boy, leading the way. "I am expecting
God will show us where to go," he added.
His companion looked at him in surprise, and Gabriel observed it. "Don't
you know about God?" he asked.
"Of course. Who does not?" she returned briefly.
"I did not," answered Gabriel, "until I found the Book of Life. It speaks
to me in words of flame. Have you such a book?"
"No. I will buy it from you," said the princess.
"No one can do that," declared the boy, "for it is more precious than all
beside. This morning I looked into it for guidance through the day, and the
glowing words were sweet:--
"'_For He shall give his angels charge over thee to keep thee in all thy
ways_.'"
Gabriel smiled at the princess with such gladness that she gazed at him
curiously.
"You cannot refuse to sell me your book," she said at last, "for I can
have your head taken off if I wish. I am the king's daughter."
"God is greater than all kings," returned Gabriel, "and He would not allow
it. He helped me to get your attention yesterday, and to-day He is sending
his angels with us to find Topaz. The Book of Life is for every one, I
believe. I am sure you can have one, too."
Here both the boy and girl started, for there came a metallic sound of
music on the air. "Be cautious, be very cautious," warned Gabriel, and as
the princess started to run, he caught her by the arm, a proceeding which
horrified the tall man in dark clothes who was at some distance back, but
had never taken his eyes from them. "You must not be too interested," added
the boy, as excited as she. "A hand-organ is an every-day affair. We even
hear them in the country at times."
But they both followed the sound, veiling their eagerness as best they
might. When they came in sight of the organ-grinder they both sighed, for
he had no assistance from a little dog nor from any one else.
The princess was for turning away impatiently.
"Wait," said Gabriel, "we are interested in organ music." So he persuaded
her to stand a minute, while her bright eyes roved in all directions; and
the organ man saw a hope of coppers in the pair, for they were decently
dressed and lingered in apparent pleasure. He kept his eyes upon them and
at last held out his cap.
The princess had plenty of pence in the bag at her side, placed there by
the thoughtful Gabriel in place of the handful of silver with which she had
intended to reward street musicians.
"You are one of the common people, your highness; or else you need have no
hope of Topaz," he had reminded her; so now the impatient girl tossed some
coppers into the outstretched cap and hurried along as if they were wasting
time.
The next organ they found had, sitting upon it, a monkey dressed in red cap
and jacket, and Gabriel insisted on waiting to watch him, although the
sight of his antics only swelled the princess's heart as she thought that
somewhere Topaz was being forced to such indignity.
The little monkey did not seem to object, and gladly ran to his master with
the coppers that Gabriel dropped in his cap.
The next organ-grinder they found had with him a little Italian girl with a
red silk handkerchief knotted about her head. She sang and played on a
tambourine, and Gabriel persuaded his companion to watch and listen for a
few minutes.
If only they could find Topaz first, her royal highness, princess of the
country, would ask nothing better than to roam freely about the streets,
listening and gazing like any other young girl out for a holiday; but Topaz
was on her mind, and she was not accustomed to being forced to wait.
"Listen to me," murmured Gabriel, as they moved on after making the little
Italian show her white teeth in pleasure at their gift. "Do not frown. You
must look pleased. It is the only way."
So the princess put a restraint upon herself. With the next organ they
met, she saw a yellow dog who wore a cap fastened under his chin, and sat
up holding a cup in his teeth for pennies, and she set her lips in the
effort to control herself. The dog had long ears and white paws. Gabriel's
own heart beat in his throat, but he grasped the woolen stuff of his
companion's gown as the man began to play. It was not the man of yesterday,
but that mattered not to Gabriel. They waited till the tune was finished,
the gaze of the princess devouring the dog meanwhile. Then the little
creature trotted up to them very prettily on his hind legs, offering his
cup, and the children dropped into it coppers while they looked into the
yellow eyes.
"Hi--Oh--Hi--Oh"--and another tune broke into the one which their
organ-grinder commenced. Following the sound of the call, Gabriel and the
princess looked a little way off, across the street, and beheld a street
musician grinding away and beckoning to them with his head, while his teeth
gleamed in an attractive smile.
"Pay no attention to him," said the man with the yellow dog, grinding
lustily, and making a frightful discord. "'Tis Pedro and his little brown
beast. He seeks to draw my listeners away as if I had not the most
intelligent dog in the universe, and, moreover, of the color which the
princess has made fashionable. I doubt not if her highness saw my dog she
would give me for him as many gold eagles as I have fingers on my hand; but
he is not for the princess, who has joys enough without depriving the
children on the street of their pleasures."
The girl in the brown woolen gown was clasping her hands painfully
together, and her heart was beating with hope; but Gabriel shook his head
at her, and she remained quiet. He had already seen that the dog was not
Topaz, although astonishingly like him in size and shape.
Pedro, across the street, kept drawing nearer, as he played and smiled and
beckoned with his head. There trotted after him an unpromising little brown
dog with limp tail and ears. The man, in his good-nature and success,
looked very different from the organ-grinder of yesterday; and as he
laughed aloud, the master of the yellow dog frowned and shouted something
in Italian back at him, before shouldering his organ and tramping away, his
dog very glad to go on all fours again.
Pedro pulled off his hat, smiling at the lingering girl and boy. "He says
you have given him all your coppers," he said. "I don't believe it; but in
any case I will give you a tune."
"You are letting him go," murmured the princess breathlessly, starting to
run after the yellow dog.
"Saw you not 'twas not Topaz?" asked Gabriel, under cover of the lively
tune, and again seizing a fold of the woolen gown, he held the girl in her
place. "Wait," he said aloud, with a show of interest, "I wish to hear the
music."
"Let me go, my heart is sick," returned the princess, turning her head
away.
Gabriel pretended to frown at her and pulled some pence from his pocket, at
sight of which the organ-grinder's eyes brightened and he played harder
than ever.
"Can you be strong, princess?" asked the boy distinctly. "Don't look now,
but Topaz has come to us."
The princess started, and instead of obeying, looked closely first at the
dejected little brown dog and then up and down the street and behind her,
but in vain.
"If those pence are for me, my boy," said the organ-grinder, stopping his
music, "you and your sister shall see my dog dance. He is the wonder of the
world, although he is not much to look at. We cannot all be royal and own
golden dogs."
Gabriel threw him the pennies, for he did not yet wish to come too near
Topaz, lest the little dog might see deeper than the respectable raiment in
which his own brother would not have known him.
The boy clapped his hands above his head; the organ-grinder thought it was
for joy, but it was a signal agreed upon. A shrill whistle sounded on the
air. The organ-grinder knew the sound and knew that it was intended to
summon the officers of the law. He wondered what poor wretch was getting
into trouble; but it was none of his business. He took a whip from within
his coat, and with it struck the organ a violent snap.
At the sound the little dog jumped. The princess noticed that Gabriel's
eyes were fixed on him, and wondered what he could be thinking of to
confound this sorry-looking, dull-colored animal with her gay companion of
the palace garden.
The music began, the dog reared himself patiently upon his hind feet and
stepped about so slowly that the organ-man growled at him and struck the
organ again. Then the dancer moved faster; but the ears did not fly and
every motion was a jerk. Nevertheless, the princess's heart had now begun
to suffocate her. She recalled Gabriel's story of washing off the brown
color from the dingy fur in the brook, and her eyes swam with tears at the
mere possibility that this might be the object of her search. She had just
sense enough to keep still and leave everything to Gabriel. Here, too,
approached the tall gentleman, followed by an officer of the law. Gabriel
saw at a glance that it was the same big fellow who had driven him away
yesterday.
The tall, dignified gentleman-in-waiting looked in disgust at the stiff
little brown dancer.
"This foolish peasant is but getting us into trouble," he thought, "but he
will suffer for it."
Indeed, Gabriel knew the law of the land; knew that if he accused the
organ-grinder wrongfully he would be walked off to prison in his place; but
Gabriel had seen the brown dog's eyes. There were no doubts in his heart,
which bounded so that it seemed as if it could hardly stay within his
bosom.
"Come away, your highness," murmured the gentleman-in-waiting, in the
princess's ear. "This is a farce."
"Stand back and wait," she replied sternly, and he obeyed.
Meanwhile the organ-grinder had observed the newcomers and was showing
every tooth in his head at the prospect of a rich harvest of coppers. In a
minute he ceased playing. The brown dog dropped to all fours, and his
hopeless air sent a pang through the princess.
The organ-grinder held out his cap.
"I don't think much of your dog's dancing," said Gabriel, looking him in
the eye. "I could make him do better, myself."
"It doesn't do to use the whip too much," replied the organ-grinder, but
Gabriel had already gone on his knees beside the dog and whispered to him.
Instantly the little creature went into a transport of delight. Bounding to
the boy's breast, it clung there so closely that Gabriel gave up the
experiment that he had intended of trying to show the organ-man how his
slave could dance.
Rising, Gabriel held the panting Topaz in his arms. "I declare," he said
aloud, "I declare this to be the princess's lost dog."
The organ-grinder scowled and grew pale. "'Tis a lie," he cried, "hers was
a golden dog."
"This is a golden dog," said Gabriel.
Even the gentleman-in-waiting was impressed by the certainty of the boy's
voice. The organ-grinder turned to the officer and shook his fist. "'Tis
that boy again!" he cried. "If this is the princess's dog, that boy stole
him. As for me, I found the poor creature, friendless and lost, and I took
pity on him."
"Why, then, did you stain his coat?" asked Gabriel.
The organ-grinder looked wildly up and down the street. For some reason he
felt that a silver coin would not affect the officer of the law to-day.
The gentleman-in-waiting pointed sternly at the culprit. "Take him away,"
he said to the officer. "Should this prove to be indeed the princess's dog,
he has committed treason."
And now the black carriage and spirited horses drove up. The three entered
it with the dog and were whirled away.
By noon it was rumored in that street that her royal highness, the princess
of the land, had walked through it, dressed like one of the common people.
Within the carriage the princess was weeping tears of joy above her pet.
"If it is you, Goldilocks, if it is you!" she kept repeating; but the dog
clung to the one who had recognized his topaz eyes in spite of everything.
"He is not fit, yet, for your highness to touch," said Gabriel, "but if you
will give me one hour, I will show him to you unchanged."
That afternoon there was rejoicing at the palace. All had felt the
influence of the princess's grief, for she was the idol of the king and
queen; and now, as Topaz capered again, a living sunbeam, through corridor
and garden, all had a word of praise for the peasant boy who had restored
him to his home.
At evening the princess received a message from Gabriel and ordered that he
be sent to her.
In a minute he entered, dressed in the shabby garments in which he had
leaped upon the coach step. In his hand he held a little rusty book, and
his clear eyes looked steadily at the princess, with the honest light which
had first made her listen to him.
"I come to say farewell, your highness," he said.
A line showed in her forehead. "What reward have they given you?"
"None, your highness."
"What have you in your hand?"
"The Book of Life."
"Come nearer and let me see it."
The ladies-in-waiting were, as usual, grouped near their mistress, and they
stared curiously at the peasant boy.
Only Topaz, who at his entrance had bounded from a satin cushion as golden
as his flossy coat, leaped upon him with every sign of affection.
Gabriel approached and handed the book to the princess.
She opened it and ran her eye over the gray pages. "I see no fiery
letters," she said, and handed it back. The boy opened it. As usual a
flaming verse arrested his eye. He pointed with his finger at the words and
read aloud:--
"'_He shall call upon me and I will answer him: I will be with him in
trouble: I will deliver him and honor him_.'"
"'Tis a fair promise," said the princess, "but I see no flaming letters."
"I do, your highness," returned Gabriel simply, and looking into his eyes
she knew that he spoke the truth.
She gazed at him curiously. "Where go you now, and what do you do?" she
asked, after a pause.
"That I know not," replied Gabriel, "but God will show me."
"By means of that book?"
"Yes, your highness," and Gabriel bowed his head and moved toward the door.
Topaz followed close at his heel. If Gabriel were going for a walk, why, so
much the better. He was going, too.
The boy smiled rather sadly, for he knew the golden dog loved him, and
there was no one else anywhere who cared whether he went or came. He
stooped and, picking up the little creature, carried him to the princess.
"You will have to hold him from following me, your highness."
The girl took the dog, but he struggled and broke from her grasp, to leap
once again upon his departing friend.
"Wait," said the princess, and rose. Gabriel stood, all attention, and
gazed at her, where she stood, smiling kindly upon him. "I promised a full
reward to whomever returned me my dog. You have not yet received even the
window-full of pink and white sweetmeats which I promised you this
morning."
Gabriel smiled, too.
"Where is your home, Gabriel, and why are you not returning there?"
"I have no home. It is a long story, your highness, and would not interest
you."
"Ah, but it does interest me," and the princess smiled more brightly than
ever; "because if you have no home you can remain in our service."
A light flashed into Gabriel's sober face. "What happiness!" he exclaimed.
No answer could have pleased the princess better than the pleasure in his
eyes. "Topaz is not willing you should leave him, and neither am I. When
you are older, his majesty, my father, will look after your fortunes. For
the present you shall be a page."
"Your highness!" protested the Lady Gertrude, "have you considered? The
pages are of lofty birth. Will it not go hard with the peasant? Give him a
purse and let him go."
The princess answered but did not remove her gaze from the boy's flushed
face, while Topaz's cold little nose nestled in his down-dropped hand.
"Gabriel is my friend, be he prince or peasant," she said slowly, "and it
will go hard with those who love him not." The young girl's eyes met
Gabriel's and then she smiled as light-heartedly as on this morning when
she wore the woolen gown. "And now make Topaz dance," she added, "the way
he danced in the woods."
The boy's happy glance dropped to the dog, and he raised his finger. With
alacrity Topaz sat up, and then Gabriel began to whistle.
How the court ladies murmured with soft laughter, for no one had ever seen
such a pretty sight. Not for any of them, not for the princess herself, had
Topaz danced as he danced to-day.
"Ah," murmured the princess, "how much more powerful than the whip is
love!"
When music and dancing had ceased, she smiled once more upon Gabriel, whose
happy heart was full.
"Go now," she said, "and learn of your new duties; but the chief one you
have learned already. It is to be faithful!"