The general company naturally viewed Murphy's performance from many
standpoints. Among his contemporaries his reputation went up with a
bound, though there was not wanting a leaven of jealous ones even amidst
those who crowded most closely round him. Among those a little older than
himself, the best-natured commended him outspokenly and in honest
generosity of heart. Others, with more mundane outlook, judged his
achievement reflected lustre on the kennel, and therefore--this with a
sniff and the chuck of the chin--also on themselves. A few more vowed, in
true sporting spirit, that they would do their level best to go one
better if such a chance as that should come their way. To these last, the
puzzle was why, with such results, the whole of those present had not
tasted blood; and among themselves they voted the action of the Over-Lord
incomprehensible, certainly womanly, very certainly misjudged. If the
young dog had gone up therefore in their estimation, the Man had
correspondingly gone down.
As for the older generation, some spoke patronisingly, as if they wished
to convey that the deed was nothing more than they could easily have
achieved, and in fact ended by talking so much that they persuaded
themselves, to their own satisfaction, that they were in the habit in
their younger days of doing things of the kind not less infrequently than
once a week. The moralists wagged their heads as the fountain of all
truths, and asserted that such success was a very bad thing for the
young. The swaggerers, who held somewhat aloof, but who had never done
anything in their lives, put on more side than usual and endeavoured to
carry matters off that way, oblivious, as ever, of the laughter round the
corner. Lastly, there was that other class, the crabbed and the crusty,
who would, had they belonged to Us, have retired behind their papers in
the Club windows, but as it was, and being dogs, merely made off out of
earshot, with their ruffs up, grumbling to themselves and crabbing all
things.
There were some of all classes here as elsewhere. It is indeed surprising
how closely the dog family approximates to the human. The same
counterparts are to be found in both. We mostly hunt in packs. And if
dogs are wont to bark and bite and rend, We, on our part, are often not
behind in practising the same strange arts, though not always with the
same sportsmanship and generosity.
As for Murphy, he took the whole matter with a skip and a laugh, as if it
was all part of the jolly fun of life, and as not in any way reflecting
credit on himself. By nature he was modest and shy, and if he did things
occasionally that were out of the common, he never seemed to grasp the
fact, invariably looking puzzled and impatient at all praise. "Never mind
all that; let's come on and look for something else," was what he said,
exhibiting in this way, perhaps, one of those traits of character that
made him so lovable, and that grew to such fair proportions as he
advanced in years. His disposition was happy and generous, and though
essentially manly--if such a term, without offence, is applicable to
dogs--there was also about him a peculiar gentleness that was exemplified
in all his actions, right down to his inability to use his teeth. He was
never known to fight; and, what was still more strange, bones were to him
altogether negligible things.
For a character such as this to meet with harsh treatment, much less
cruelty, was, if not to ruin it completely, at least to undermine all
confidence. Yet this, sad to relate, was now precisely what befell. Up to
this, life had been without a cloud. Of course, as in every other
society, there had been the necessity of fending for oneself--of picking
up a scrap, for instance, quickly, if you wanted it at all. Such things
are good, and make for progress and development. But harshness and
unkindness, like injustice, had been altogether foreign to the mill and
all who lived or worked there. Life sped on in that favoured spot with as
even a surface as that of the river, whose waters flowed sluggishly up to
the mill, barring the dam, and then went bubbling down the race,
revivified and having done its spell, for the time.
How it came about is not now exactly discoverable; but just at this
period of Murphy's life a decree was issued that several of the family
were to be boarded out; and the next day the young dog found himself
moved to the home of one of the mill-hands, half a mile and more away.
The cottage stood alone, and the family inhabiting it consisted of a man
and his wife, and a daughter just finishing her schooling. Once there had
been a son; but he, like many another in our villages, had gone out--all
honour to them!--to strike a blow for his country some five or six years
before, and had in quite a short while found a soldier's death. His
photograph hung crookedly just above the mantelpiece, with another of a
group of his regiment by which he had once set much store, and yet
another of the girl whom he had hoped some day to make his wife.
When the glow fell, and the bald, laconic message was delivered one
winter evening at the door, the mother bent her head low; and later, when
she found speech and had dropped the corner of her apron, was heard to
whisper to herself, "'Twas the Almighty's will." Then the tears welled up
afresh, as she rocked herself in her chair, gazing at the fire.
The effect upon the father was different. "What...!" he cried, as though
some one had struck him. A single candle flickered on the table; his lips
were drawn tight across his teeth; his fingers clutched the table-lid
convulsively, and he leant across in the direction of his wife.
"What...!" he exclaimed again.
"They've killed un," repeated the wife, the candle-light reflected in her
staring eyes. "Seth, Seth," she continued, following her husband, who had
taken up his hat, and was making for the door--"oh, Seth, Seth--'tis the
Almighty's will, man; I do know for sure it be;--Seth, Seth...!"
But Seth Moby had gone out into the night; and from that time forward he
walked as one suffering some injustice. He had always been a man of
uncertain temper, but this blow appeared to sour him. It is well to
remember that once at least in his life he had loved deeply.
* * * * *
The Over-Lord brought Murphy to the door, and arranged matters with
Martha Moby, just as he had often done with others in the same way. The
day had been wet; the lane on to which the garden-gate opened was muddy;
the dog had dirty feet. "You'll take care of him, I know. He's a good
dog--a good dog," he repeated, when he left.
It was after dark when Moby returned. "Wants for us to kep the dog, do
'e? There be a sight too many on 'em about; and for what he do want to
kep such a lot o' such curs, nobody can't think. A-bringin' a' the dirt
into our housen too. Err ... I'll warm yer!" he added, making as though
he would fling something at the dog.
Murphy looked puzzled, and crept into a corner.
"Don't carry on like that, Seth; don't do it, man. The dog's a poor,
nervous little thing with we, and don't mean to do no hurt."
But it was of no avail. Seth Moby looked upon Murphy as an interloper,
and when he could do anything to frighten him he did, and by any brutal
means in his power. Even the mill-hands remarked to one another that
their mate, Moby, was a changed man. "'Twas like that wi' some," they
said. "Trouble sowered 'em, like, and made 'em seem as though they 'ould
throw the Almighty o' one side. And once folk got on a downward grade,
same as that, it wasn't often as they was found on the mending hand--no,
it wasn't for sure."
On one occasion, after the first week was over, Murphy escaped, and
appeared at the mill with a foot or more of rope trailing from his
collar, for latterly he had been kept tied up. Seth chanced at that
moment to be leaving work, and brought the dog up short by the head, by
putting his foot upon the rope end almost before the dog knew that he was
there. He half hanged him taking him back, and flung him into the house
with an oath that frightened his child, and made her run to the back
kitchen that she might not hear what followed; while the dog crept on his
stomach to the corner, his tail between his legs: he always moved in this
way now, though it is said he never whimpered.
"Oh, Seth, if you goes on like this," said Mrs. Moby reproachfully,
"there'll be murder, and then trouble to follow: the Master is not one to
put up with cruelty to any dog. Bless the man--you're gettin' like a mad
thing. Leave the dog alone, I tell yer." Seth had taken off his boots,
and flung them at the dog before going up to bed: Mrs. Moby had been
engaged trying to disconcert his aim.
That night another foot was heard on the stairs; there was whispering in
the kitchen; and for several succeeding weeks, and unknown to others, the
dog slept happily with the child, though not without serious risks of
trouble being thereby made for both.
At the end of that time the Over-Lord called. He had been away. He had
heard on his return that all was not well with the dog, and had come to
see for himself. Murphy had been lying curled up on a sack in his corner,
but when he heard the well-known footstep he crawled out, hugging the
wall nervously till he reached the door.
"Murphy, lad!" exclaimed the Over-Lord, looking intently at the
dog--"Murphy, my little man; that you...!" The dog was fawning on him,
saying as plain as speech, "Take me away with you; take me away."
The Over-Lord put his hand down and patted him. He did not say another
word, as Murphy followed him out, save "It's not you, Mrs. Moby; it's not
you." He had a great heart for dogs, and began to blame himself on his
way home for what had evidently occurred. "If the man did not want the
dog," he muttered, "he had only got to say so; besides it was his rent to
him: it was not done on the cheap--that never does in any line."
When he reached his own house, he took the young dog in with him--a thing
almost unprecedented, so far as the rest of the outside company were able
to recall. They judged their former companion spoilt, or on the high road
to being so.
"It was all that hare," remarked the middle-aged.
"Yes," agreed the moralists--"success is always pernicious to the young!"
Lookers-on generally misjudge, though they claim to see most of the game.
The next morning, by strange coincidence, a letter was delivered at the
mill, destined to alter Murphy's future altogether.