WE got up very early indeed the next morning, and of course we both
rushed straight to the yard. We had had a dreadful feeling that perhaps
somebody would have come to claim the dog, and that we should find him
gone. But no--there he was, the beauty, and as soon as ever he saw us,
out he came wagging his dear tail and looking as pleased as pleased.
"Do you see how he knows us already, Archie?" said Persis. "Isn't he
_too_ sweet? Couldn't you really think the fairies had sent him to be
our very own?"
We could scarcely eat any breakfast, and the moment it was over we
dragged mamma out to look at him. She was as nearly much taken with him
as we were, we could see, only she said one thing which I wished she
hadn't.
"How unhappy his owners must be at having lost him!" it was.
And then she began talking about what could be done to find them.
Persis and I didn't say anything. We wouldn't speak even to each other
about what we both knew deep down in our hearts--we wouldn't even think
of it.
Papa was not to be back till the next day. Nothing could be done till he
came, any way, so all that day Persis and I had the full happiness of
Bruno. He was so good and obedient and seemed so perfectly at home with
us, that we even ventured to take him out a walk, though not of course a
very long one. He gambolled over the moor with us, seemingly as happy as
could be, and the very moment we called him back he came. It was
wonderful how he seemed to know his name, especially when we called it
out rather long, making the last "o" sound a good deal--"Bru_no_--_o_,"
like that, you know. Oh, he was so delightful! All our fancies about
having a dog seemed nothing compared to the reality.
The next day papa came back. He was almost as pleased with Bruno as we
were.
"Yes," he said, after looking him well over, "he is a beauty and no
mistake. A collie of the very best kind. But some one or other must be
in trouble about him."
"That's just what I have been saying," mamma put in. "If this weren't
such an out-of-the-way place, no doubt we should have seen
advertisements about him."
"I'll look in the local papers," said papa.
And that evening when we were at tea, he came in with a little
thin-looking newspaper in his hand, which he seemed to be searching all
through for something. Persis and I shivered, but we didn't dare to say
much.
"Have you been at Local, papa?" I asked. "Is it far from here?"
"Been at where?" papa said. "What in the world is the child talking
about?"
Papa has _rather_ a sharp way sometimes, but he doesn't mean it, so we
don't mind.
"At Local," I said again, "the place where you said there was a
newspaper. Is it anywhere near the station?" (I _hoped_ of course it was
not, for the nearer the station the more likely that the dog should be
advertised for in the newspaper. You know of course what I mean by "near
the station.")
To my surprise papa burst out laughing.
"You little goose," he said, holding out the paper. "There, look for
yourself;" and I saw that the name of the paper was _The Wildmoor
Gazette_. I was quite puzzled, and I suppose my face showed it.
"Local," said papa, "only means connected with the place--with any
place. I just meant that I would get the newspaper of this place to see
if any such dog as Bruno was advertised for. But I don't see anything of
the kind. I think I must put in an advertisement of having found him."
"Oh, papa, you surely won't!" Persis burst out.
Papa turned upon her with a sort of sharpness we did mind this time, for
we saw he was quite in earnest.
"My dear child," he said, "what are you thinking of? It would not be
honest not to try to restore the dog to those he belongs to. I have
already told all the neighbours about him."
Persis said no more, but she grew very red indeed. I think I did too,
but I'm not quite sure, and I couldn't ask Persis afterwards, for we had
fixed in our minds we wouldn't speak of that thing. I turned my face
away, however, for fear of papa seeing it. He would have thought there
was something very queer the matter if he had seen we were both so red.
That afternoon he went out without saying where he was going, but we
both felt quite sure he had gone about putting that horrid
advertisement in the paper. And even without that, we knew that if he
went telling about Bruno to everybody he'd be _sure_ to be claimed. The
country's not like town, you see. Everybody knows everybody else's
affairs in the country.
We took Bruno out, feeling that we only loved him the more for not
knowing how soon he might be taken from us. We both hugged him and cried
over him that afternoon, and the dear fellow seemed to understand. He
looked up in our faces with such _very_ "doggy" eyes.
And after that, there never, for some days, came a knock at the door, or
the sound of a strange voice in the kitchen, without our trembling. And
we never came in from a walk with Bruno without getting cold all over at
the thought that perhaps some one might be waiting for him.
But nothing of the sort did happen. And time went on, till it grew to be
nearly three weeks that our dear dog had been with us.
One evening papa came to us in the yard when we were saying good-night
to Bruno.
"I suppose you're getting to think him quite your own," he said. "It
certainly does not seem as if he were going to be owned. But what will
mamma say to taking him home with us--eh, little people?"
"I don't think she'll mind," said Persis. "She loves him too--awfully.
And Archie and I are full of plans about how to manage him in London."
"Ah, indeed," said papa. "Well, one of the first things to be done, it
seems to me," he went on, "is to get him a collar," and he drew a yard
measure out of his pocket and measured Bruno's neck. "I am going up to
town to-morrow for two nights," he then told us. "You two can come to
meet me at the station when I come back, with Eliza, of course, and this
fellow, and you shall see what I can get in the way of a collar. I'll
tell mamma the train, and you can all drive home with me."
We thanked papa--it was very kind of him, and we said we'd like to go to
meet him very much. But things seldom turn out as one expects. The day
papa was to come mamma had to go to the little town near the station
herself--something about a washerwoman it was--so she ordered a
carriage, and we drove over with her. We were all at the station
together to meet papa, and when he came he had brought the loveliest
collar for Bruno--with his name on, and ours, and our address in
London!
"_We_ won't risk losing him," papa said.
Then he asked us if we wouldn't rather walk home, and we said we should,
as we had driven there, and mamma didn't mind going back alone. So we
set off, us two and papa. And we were so happy and so sure now of Bruno
being ours, that we didn't notice that papa took the way down the lane
that we had been once before.
We never noticed it, till we were close to the gate of the farm--the
very farm where we had got milk--the very gate where----
And, just as we got up to it, it opened, and a girl, a lady, _the very
one_, came out, not running and jumping, but walking quite quietly. But
when she caught sight of us, of Bruno, and when he caught sight of her!
Oh! He rushed at her, and she threw her arms round him.
"Oh, my Rollo, my own dear naughty Rollo," she called out, and I believe
she was crying. "Have you come back to me at last? Where _have_ you
been?"
And Bruno--_our_ Bruno--went on wagging his tail and rubbing his nose on
her, and pawing at her, just as he had done to us, only _more_!
Persis and I stood stock-still, feeling as if we _couldn't_ bear it.