The Arrival of Duke
The death of Don so preyed upon Beth's spirits, that one night Mrs.
Davenport took her in her arms and said:
"Do you remember that once when I was sad about something, you slipped
your arms around my neck and asked, 'Mamma, what makes you think of the
unpleasant things? why don't you just think of the nice things? That's
the way I do.'"
"Did I say that really?"
Mrs. Davenport smiled at the mournfulness of Beth's tones.
"Yes, dear, and now mamma wants you to practice what you preached. I
think you and I will have to form a 'Pleasant Club.' Every night we
will tell each other all the pleasant things that happen during the
day. What do you say?"
The child nestled close to her mother.
"It would be nice, mamma, only nothing pleasant happens now that Don is
dead."
"Why, why," exclaimed Mrs. Davenport, "that isn't at all like my happy
Beth. Put on your thinking cap and see if you can't remember something
nice that happened to-day."
Beth remained silent for a moment, and then suddenly smiled.
"Why, yes, mamma, now that I think of it, a whole lot of nice things
happened. Do you know, ever since Don died, Julia has been perfectly
lovely. She always plays just as I want to. And what do you think?
Harvey played with Julia and me to-day, and he would never stay before
when Julia was here. We even got him to play dolls with us, although
he said dolls were beneath a boy."
Mrs. Davenport smiled. "Why should he feel that way?"
"Well, you see, mamma, he doesn't think much of girls and their play.
He's always saying to me, 'Beth, don't you wish you were a boy?' So
one day I answered, 'No, indeed, Harvey.' It wasn't quite the truth,
mamma, for I should like to be a boy, but I wouldn't let him know it.
Then I asked him: 'Don't you wish you were a girl, Harvey?'"
"What did he say, dear?"
"He grunted and said, 'Eh--be a girl? I'd rather be nothing than be a
girl.'"
Mrs. Davenport could hardly keep her face straight; nevertheless, she
said gravely:
"If Harvey ever says that to you again, you tell him your mamma says
that girls are of just as much consequence as boys. God would not have
created them otherwise. Well, what else happened to-day?"
"Oh, Harvey offered me a bird's nest that he'd stolen. Mamma, I
couldn't help scolding him about it. You know papa doesn't think it
right. So I had Harvey take the nest back."
"That was a good girl."
"And oh, mamma, I forgot to tell you how nice Marian has been. This
afternoon after school, she made some candy for Julia and Harvey and
me. It was just lovely. And now that I think of it, Maggie has been
good too. She hasn't scolded us once, although I guess we are in her
way very much sometimes."
Mrs. Davenport now kissed Beth good-night.
"Doesn't my little girl see that there never was a sorrow so great but
that it has its bright side? You have much for which to be thankful,
dear, and you must try to be happy."
This talk helped Beth somewhat. Nevertheless, for weeks thereafter, a
dog did not cross her path without bringing tears to her eyes. And
many a night she cried herself to sleep, grieving for Don.
Sorrow, however, is not eternal, and comfort came to her from an
unexpected source.
One afternoon the Davenports were driving home from Jacksonville, when
Beth chanced to look back. She thereupon uttered such an exclamation
of delight that Mr. Davenport, who was driving, pulled in on the horses.
"Oh, just see the beautiful dog!" exclaimed Beth. "I believe he's
following us."
About three yards behind the carriage was a very large dog, but
possessing a grace and a swiftness of motion unusual to his size. He
was not only beautiful, but also intelligent-looking. His coat was of
dark brown, and smooth as sealskin, showing every muscle of his body.
His broad square head and monstrous jaw reminded the beholder of a
tiger. His ears were close-cropped, which gave a compactness to his
head that brought into prominence his great changeable eyes: eyes that
the Davenports afterwards found so fiery sometimes that they reflected
red lights; at other times so mildly brown that they beamed with the
greatest affection. The dog was a combination of Russian bloodhound
and mastiff.
"He looks the thoroughbred, through and through," declared Mrs.
Davenport. "See how majestically he moves. Duke would be a good name
for him. Here, Duke. Here, Duke."
At the call, the dog raised his head and came bounding up to the
carriage. By a strange coincidence, Mrs. Davenport had hit upon his
name.
"Come here, Duke," cried Beth.
Large as the dog was, he jumped into the back part of the carriage
where Marian and Beth sat. Both children were wild with delight.
"Papa, let's take him home with us," begged Marian.
Mr. Davenport, however, would not listen to the suggestion.
"He is a very valuable dog, and it would not be honorable," he
declared. "Push him out immediately."
Both children began pleading, but Mr. Davenport proved relentless.
Therefore, Duke was finally put out of the carriage.
"Go home, Duke," cried Mr. Davenport, driving on.
The children looked back to see if the dog obeyed. To their joy, they
saw him following as unconcerned as before. Mr. Davenport took out the
whip and waved it at him. Duke stopped a second or two, and then
started after them at a little greater distance.
"Well," said Mr. Davenport, "all we can do is to let him come with us
now. To-morrow, I shall inquire in town and find his owner."
So Duke lodged at the Davenports that night, and was treated by the
children as a royal guest. He captivated their hearts from the first,
and he fully responded to their love.
At breakfast the next morning, Mr. Davenport looked up from his paper
and said:
"Well, here is a notice of Duke's loss. I do not wonder that he ran
away. This Brown who advertises is one of the hardest drinkers in
town. Poor dog, to have such a master."
"Papa, couldn't you buy Duke?" asked Beth.
"I may consider the matter. Don't set your heart on the dog, however.
He is very valuable, and Brown may not wish to part with him."
That day, at noon, Beth and Duke were frolicing near the barn.
Suddenly, without seeming cause, Duke rushed towards the house, looking
crestfallen. Beth, however, soon saw why Duke had run. She beheld a
man walking up the driveway towards her. She had grown accustomed to
Southern politeness, and resented the man's not raising his hat when he
said:
"Hello, little un. I've come after my dog. Where is he?"
Beth's heart sank. "Who are you?" she stammered.
"My name is Brown, and I've come after Duke."
"But I thought my papa was going to buy him."
The man laughed. "The old fellow did offer to buy him, but I wouldn't
sell. I told him I wouldn't take a hundred dollars for the dog. But
hurry up, little un, and get Duke for me."
Beth felt more resentful than ever. The man had dared to call her
father "old fellow," and herself "little un." Besides, he had come for
Duke. There were tears in her eyes, but she brushed them angrily away,
and declared defiantly:
"You can hunt him up for yourself. I don't know where he is."
The man swore under his breath, and muttered something about having no
use for people who tried to steal dogs. However, he moved on towards
the house.
Beth was so anxious about the outcome of his errand that she followed
at a cautious distance.
The man met Maggie at the kitchen door.
"Hello, mammy," he said. "Where is my dog Duke?"
Maggie caught sight of Beth's eyes, and intuitively felt the child's
solicitude. She was up in arms in a minute.
"Yo' needn't mammy me; I ain't yo'r mammy; and what's more if I cotch
yo' takin' any dog from here, I'se gwineter give yo' the worst frailin'
yo' ever had. So yo' jes' bettah be skeedadlin'."
At this instant, Mrs. Davenport came to the door.
"If you wish Duke, you'll have to come into the house and get him.
He's hiding behind the bed in the spare room, and I can't get him to
come out."
Brown, unmindful of Maggie's threat, perhaps realizing that her bark
was worse than her bite, went with Mrs. Davenport to the spare room.
Beth followed after them. Brown got down upon his knees and tried to
entice the dog out. Duke, however, would not budge.
"Beth, if you called him perhaps he'd come," suggested Mrs. Davenport.
Beth burst into tears. "Mamma, I can't do it. It breaks my heart to
have him go."
The man arose. There was a kindlier light in his eyes. "Little un,
get him for me and I'll promise not to whip him."
"Dear," whispered Mrs. Davenport, "call him; it is a kindness to Duke.
He belongs to the man."
So Beth called, and immediately Duke answered the summons. However, he
shrank from his owner.
"Duke," said Beth, "we'd like to keep you, but we can't. You must go
quietly."
Mr. Brown had a leather collar which he fastened on the dog. Then he
led him quietly away. Beth cried, and even Mrs. Davenport's eyes were
suspiciously moist.
That night it rained, and the Davenports had a wood-fire around which
they gathered. Beth was just saying, "I wish I could have kept Duke,"
when she was interrupted by a noise upon the piazza.
"It sounds like a convict with chains," suggested Marian, who had a
lively imagination.
Beth looked towards the front window and cried:
"It's Duke."
Sure enough, with his paws upon the window ledge, and his great
intelligent eyes looking at them, there was Duke looking very
triumphant.
Marian and Beth rushed to the front door, and called him into the
house. He came all wet and muddy, dragging a great chain which he had
evidently broken. Notwithstanding his drabbled condition, both
children were demonstrative in their greeting, and their parents could
not find it in their hearts to object. In fact, Duke was brought in
beside the fire and made much of that night.
The next forenoon his owner came to carry Duke away. In leaving, he
remarked to Maggie that he'd see--well, that the dog didn't get away
again.
That day passed without any new developments, but the next morning the
Davenport family was wakened by a series of barks.
Marian and Beth immediately jumped out of bed, and rushed out upon the
upper piazza. In the yard below, looking as conscious as a truant
child, was Duke.
Beth, not waiting to put on anything over her night-dress, rushed
down-stairs and opened the door for the dog. At once, she noticed an
ugly gash on the front of his chest. The Davenports could not imagine
how he received it, but they doctored and petted him to his great
delight.
Soon after breakfast, Mr. Brown again appeared, very indignant over
Duke's truancy.
"I'll make the ugly beast pay for all the trouble he has caused me," he
muttered, flourishing before the cowering dog a riding whip which he
carried.
"You shan't whip him," declared Marian, her eyes blazing. "I'll--I'll
have you arrested if you do."
Beth looked as if she would like to hug Marian for her boldness. The
man laughed.
"I ain't going to whip him. It wouldn't do no sort of good. But I'll
outwit the ugly beast yet. It seems as if I couldn't keep him from
you, but I'll get the better of him yet. Last night I locked him in a
room in the barn where all the lower sashes are barred with iron. He
kept me awake howling most of the night. Not till morning was he
quiet. I thought I'd conquered him, but when I went to the barn my dog
was gone. I found the upper glass in one of the windows broken, and
saw that he must have jumped and escaped that way, though it seems
incredible."
"That's the way he cut himself," declared Marian, giving Duke a parting
love pat.
That day, Mr. Brown, by means of a heavy chain, led Duke down to one of
the river boats.
"Keep an eye on this dog," he said to the captain; "I'll chain him up
well here. At Silver Lake a man'll come aboard for him. I'm sending
him there because he runs away."
Duke howled so pitifully that after the boat was well under way from
Jacksonville one of the sailors took pity on him and unloosed him,
supposing him perfectly safe aboard boat in midwater.
However, Duke was not to be hindered by obstacles. With one bound, he
leaped to the side of the boat and jumped overboard.
"Well," the captain muttered, "I don't know what Brown'll say, but it
can't be helped."
Duke swam immediately to shore. There one of the wharf hands saw him
as he landed, and exclaimed:
"Why, that's Brown's dog. Perhaps he'll give me something if I take
him home."
So the wharf hand caught Duke and took him up to Brown's home at noon.
Brown, who had been drinking and was in a very unpleasant mood, was
struck with amazement at sight of the dog. He gave the wharf hand some
small change, and, when he was gone, took Duke into the back yard and
beat him. Next, he tied the dog with an extra heavy chain.
"There," he exclaimed, "you're stronger than I think you are if you
break that."
Ill-usage had thoroughly aroused Duke. When Mr. Brown was out of
sight, he struggled so vigorously that the collar around his neck
worked into the raw flesh. Undaunted, however, he struggled on until
he again broke his fetters. Away he bounded over the four miles to the
Davenports'. Needless to say, the children were overjoyed to see him.
To their surprise, Mr. Brown did not appear that day, nor the following
morning. Consequently, Mr. Davenport went up to his house at noon, and
asked to see him. Brown by this time was sober, and at heart ashamed
of his treatment of Duke.
"Brown," said Mr. Davenport in greeting, "I've come to tell you that
your dog is out at our place again."
"I supposed as much," he answered curtly.
"Well, why haven't you been out for him?"
"It's labor lost. I can't keep the dog."
Mr. Davenport hesitated a moment.
"Brown, perhaps we've been somewhat to blame in this matter, but,
really, I couldn't help the children's making a fuss over the dog.
Beth, my youngest child, was grieving herself sick over the death of a
favorite dog, and Duke won her heart at once. For her sake, I'd be
very glad if you'd sell the dog."
"I won't sell the dog."
Mr. Davenport walked to the door.
"I don't see that there is anything that I can do then except to send
Duke back to you. I'll have one of my darkies bring him in to-morrow
morning."
Mr. Brown did not answer a word. However, when Mr. Davenport was
halfway down the steps, he stopped him and said:
"I'm the only one to blame. I see that love is more powerful that
hate. Tell your little girl to keep the dog. I make her a present of
him with one condition. If you ever leave Florida, I want the dog
back. Good-morning."
Before Mr. Davenport could utter a word, Brown closed the door as if
fearful of gratitude.