THE DOG-KING.
“They shooked hands,” said Bruno, who was trotting at my side, in answer
to the unspoken question.
“And they looked _ever_ so pleased!” Sylvie added from the other side.
“Well, we must get on, now, as quick as we can,” I said. “If only I knew
the best way to Hunter’s farm!”
“They’ll be sure to know in this cottage,” said Sylvie.
“Yes, I suppose they will. Bruno, would you run in and ask?”
Sylvie stopped him, laughingly, as he ran off. “Wait a minute,” she
said. “I must make you _visible_ first, you know.”
“And _audible_ too, I suppose?” I said, as she took the jewel, that hung
round her neck, and waved it over his head, and touched his eyes and
lips with it.
“Yes,” said Sylvie: “and _once_, do you know, I made him _audible_, and
forgot to make him _visible_! And he went to buy some sweeties in a
shop. And the man _was_ so frightened! A voice seemed to come out of the
air, ‘Please, I want two ounces of barley-sugar drops!’ And a shilling
came _bang_ down upon the counter! And the man said ‘I ca’n’t _see_
you!’ And Bruno said ‘It doosn’t sinnify seeing _me_, so long as oo can
see the _shilling_!’ But the man said he never sold barley-sugar drops
to people he couldn’t _see_. So we had to—_Now_, Bruno, you’re ready!”
And away he trotted.
Sylvie spent the time, while we were waiting for him, in making
_herself_ visible also. “It’s rather awkward, you know,” she explained
to me, “when we meet people, and they can see _one_ of us, and ca’n’t
see the _other_!”
In a minute or two Bruno returned, looking rather disconsolate. “He’d
got friends with him, and he were _cross_!” he said. “He asked me who I
were. And I said ‘I’m Bruno: who is _these_ peoples?’ And he said ‘One’s
my half-brother, and t’other’s my half-sister: and I don’t want no more
company! Go along with yer!’ And I said ‘I ca’n’t go along _wizout_ mine
self!’ And I said ‘Oo shouldn’t have _bits_ of peoples lying about like
that! It’s welly untidy!’ And he said ‘Oh, don’t talk to _me_!’ And he
pushted me outside! And he shutted the door!”
“And you never asked where Hunter’s farm was?” queried Sylvie.
“Hadn’t room for any questions,” said Bruno. “The room were so crowded.”
“Three people _couldn’t_ crowd a room,” said Sylvie.
“They _did_, though,” Bruno persisted. “_He_ crowded it most. He’s such
a welly _thick_ man—so as oo couldn’t knock him down.”
I failed to see the drift of Bruno’s argument. “Surely _anybody_ could
be knocked down,” I said: “thick or thin wouldn’t matter.”
“Oo couldn’t knock _him_ down,” said Bruno. “He’s more wider than he’s
high: so, when he’s lying down, he’s more higher than when he’s
standing: so a-course oo couldn’t knock him _down_!”
“Here’s another cottage,” I said: “_I’ll_ ask the way, _this_ time.”
There was no need to go in, this time, as the woman was standing in the
doorway, with a baby in her arms, talking to a respectably dressed man—a
farmer, as I guessed—who seemed to be on his way to the town.
“—and when there’s _drink_ to be had,” he was saying, “he’s just the
worst o’ the lot, is your Willie. So they tell me. He gets fairly mad
wi’ it!”
“I’d have given ’em the lie to their faces, a twelvemonth back!” the
woman said in a broken voice. “But a’ canna noo! A’ canna noo!” She
checked herself, on catching sight of us, and hastily retreated into the
house, shutting the door after her.
“Perhaps you can tell me where Hunter’s farm is?” I said to the man, as
he turned away from the house.
“I can _that_, Sir!” he replied with a smile. “I’m John Hunter hissel,
at your sarvice. It’s nobbut half a mile further—the only house in
sight, when you get round bend o’ the road yonder. You’ll find my good
woman within, if so be you’ve business wi’ _her_. Or mebbe I’ll do as
well?”
“Thanks,” I said. “I want to order some milk. Perhaps I had better
arrange it with your wife?”
“Aye,” said the man. “_She_ minds all _that_. Good day t’ye, Master—and
to your bonnie childer, as well!” And he trudged on.
“He should have said ‘_child_,’ not ‘_childer_’,” said Bruno. “Sylvie’s
not a _childer_!”
“He meant _both_ of us,” said Sylvie.
“No, he didn’t!” Bruno persisted. “’cause he said ‘bonnie’, oo know!”
“Well, at any rate he _looked_ at us both,” Sylvie maintained.
“Well, then he _must_ have seen we’re not _both_ bonnie!” Bruno
retorted. “A-_course_ I’m much uglier than _oo_! Didn’t he mean
_Sylvie_, Mister Sir?” he shouted over his shoulder, as he ran off.
But there was no use in replying, as he had already vanished round the
bend of the road. When we overtook him he was climbing a gate, and was
gazing earnestly into the field, where a horse, a cow, and a kid were
browsing amicably together. “For its father, a _Horse_,” he murmured to
himself. “For its mother, a _Cow_. For their dear little child, a
_little_ Goat, is the most curiousest thing I ever seen in my world!”
“Bruno’s World!” I pondered. “Yes, I suppose every child has a world of
his own—and every man, too, for the matter of that. I wonder if _that’s_
the cause for all the misunderstanding there is in Life?”
“That _must_ be Hunter’s farm!” said Sylvie, pointing to a house on the
brow of the hill, led up to by a cart-road. “There’s no other farm in
sight, _this_ way; and you _said_ we must be nearly there by this time.”
I had _thought_ it, while Bruno was climbing the gate, but I couldn’t
remember having _said_ it. However, Sylvie was evidently in the right.
“Get down, Bruno,” I said, “and open the gate for us.”
“It’s a good thing we’s with oo, _isn’t_ it, Mister Sir?” said Bruno, as
we entered the field. “That big dog might have bited oo, if oo’d been
alone! Oo needn’t be _flightened_ of it!” he whispered, clinging tight
to my hand to encourage me. “It aren’t fierce!”
“Fierce!” Sylvie scornfully echoed, as the dog—a magnificent
Newfoundland—that had come galloping down the field to meet us, began
curveting round us, in gambols full of graceful beauty, and welcoming us
with short joyful barks. “Fierce! Why, it’s as gentle as a lamb!
It’s—why, Bruno, don’t you know it? It’s——”
“So it _are_!” cried Bruno, rushing forwards and throwing his arms round
its neck. “Oh, you _dear_ dog!” And it seemed as if the two children
would never have done hugging and stroking it.
“And how _ever_ did he get _here_?” said Bruno. “Ask him, Sylvie. I
doosn’t know how.”
And then began an eager talk in Doggee, which of course was lost upon
_me_; and I could only _guess_, when the beautiful creature, with a sly
glance at me, whispered something in Sylvie’s ear, that _I_ was now the
subject of conversation. Sylvie looked round laughingly.
“He asked me who you are,” she explained. “And I said ‘He’s our
_friend_.’ And he said ‘What’s his name?’ And I said ‘It’s _Mister
Sir_.’ And he said ‘Bosh!’”
“What is ‘Bosh!’ in Doggee?” I enquired.
“It’s the same as in English,” said Sylvie. “Only, when a _dog_ says it,
it’s a sort of a whisper, that’s half a _cough_ and half a _bark_. Nero,
say ‘_Bosh!_’”
And Nero, who had now begun gamboling round us again, said “_Bosh!_”
several times; and I found that Sylvie’s description of the sound was
perfectly accurate.
“I wonder what’s behind this long wall?” I said, as we walked on.
“It’s the _Orchard_,” Sylvie replied, after a consultation with Nero.
“See, there’s a boy getting down off the wall, at that far corner. And
now he’s running away across the field. I do believe he’s been stealing
the apples!”
Bruno set off after him, but returned to us in a few moments, as he had
evidently no chance of overtaking the young rascal.
“I couldn’t catch him!” he said. “I wiss I’d started a little sooner.
His pockets _was_ full of apples!”
The Dog-King looked up at Sylvie, and said something in Doggee.
“Why, of _course_ you can!” Sylvie exclaimed. “How stupid not to think
of it! _Nero_’ll hold him for us, Bruno! But I’d better make him
invisible, first.” And she hastily got out the Magic Jewel, and began
waving it over Nero’s head, and down along his back.
“That’ll do!” cried Bruno, impatiently. “After him, good Doggie!”
“Oh, Bruno!” Sylvie exclaimed reproachfully. “You shouldn’t have sent
him off so quick! I hadn’t done the tail!”
Meanwhile Nero was coursing like a greyhound down the field: so at least
I concluded from all _I_ could see of him—the long feathery tail, which
floated like a meteor through the air—and in a very few seconds he had
come up with the little thief.
“He’s got him safe, by one foot!” cried Sylvie, who was eagerly watching
the chase. “Now there’s no hurry, Bruno!”
So we walked, quite leisurely, down the field, to where the frightened
lad stood. A more curious sight I had seldom seen, in all my ‘eerie’
experiences. Every bit of him was in violent action, except the left
foot, which was apparently glued to the ground—there being nothing
visibly holding it: while, at some little distance, the long feathery
tail was waving gracefully from side to side, showing that Nero, at
least, regarded the whole affair as nothing but a magnificent game of
play.
“What’s the matter with you?” I said, as gravely as I could.
“Got the crahmp in me ahnkle!” the thief groaned in reply. “An’ me fut’s
gone to sleep!” And he began to blubber aloud.
“Now, look here!” Bruno said in a commanding tone, getting in front of
him. “Oo’ve got to give up those apples!”
The lad glanced at me, but didn’t seem to reckon _my_ interference as
worth anything. Then he glanced at Sylvie: _she_ clearly didn’t count
for very much, either. Then he took courage. “It’ll take a better man
than any of _yer_ to get ’em!” he retorted defiantly.
[Illustration: A ROYAL THIEF-TAKER]
Sylvie stooped and patted the invisible Nero. “A _little_ tighter!” she
whispered. And a sharp yell from the ragged boy showed how promptly the
Dog-King had taken the hint.
“What’s the matter _now_?” I said. “Is your ankle worse?”
“And it’ll get worse, and worse, and worse,” Bruno solemnly assured him,
“till oo gives up those apples!”
Apparently the thief was convinced of this at last, and he sulkily began
emptying his pockets of the apples. The children watched from a little
distance, Bruno dancing with delight at every fresh yell extracted from
Nero’s terrified prisoner.
“That’s all,” the boy said at last.
“It _isn’t_ all!” cried Bruno. “There’s three more in that pocket!”
Another hint from Sylvie to the Dog-King—another sharp yell from the
thief, now convicted of lying also—and the remaining three apples were
surrendered.
“Let him go, please,” Sylvie said in Doggee, and the lad limped away at
a great pace, stooping now and then to rub the ailing ankle, in fear,
seemingly, that the ‘crahmp’ might attack it again.
[Illustration: ‘SUMMAT WRONG WI’ MY SPECTACLES!’]
Bruno ran back, with his booty, to the orchard wall, and pitched the
apples over it one by one. “I’s welly afraid _some_ of them’s gone under
the wrong trees!” he panted, on overtaking us again.
“The _wrong_ trees!” laughed Sylvie. “Trees _ca’n’t_ do wrong! There’s
no such things as _wrong_ trees!”
“Then there’s no such things as _right_ trees, neither!” cried Bruno.
And Sylvie gave up the point.
“Wait a minute, please!” she said to me. “I must make Nero _visible_,
you know!”
“No, _please_ don’t!” cried Bruno, who had by this time mounted on the
Royal back, and was twisting the Royal hair into a bridle. “It’ll be
_such_ fun to have him like this!”
“Well, it _does_ look funny,” Sylvie admitted, and led the way to the
farm-house, where the farmer’s wife stood, evidently much perplexed at
the weird procession now approaching her. “It’s summat gone wrong wi’ my
spectacles, I doubt!” she murmured, as she took them off, and began
diligently rubbing them with a corner of her apron.
Meanwhile Sylvie had hastily pulled Bruno down from his steed, and had
just time to make His Majesty wholly visible before the spectacles were
resumed.
All was natural, now; but the good woman still looked a little uneasy
about it. “My eyesight’s getting bad,” she said, “but I see you _now_,
my darlings! You’ll give me a kiss, wo’n’t you?”
Bruno got behind me, in a moment: however Sylvie put up _her_ face, to
be kissed, as representative of _both_, and we all went in together.