Aileen Aroon, A Memoir
Page 8
came fromquite a long distance to join in it. I saw Nellie the same evening. Ithad been a day of sorrow for her. Tray had found his long lostmistress.
"`And, oh, such an ugly little old woman!' said Nellie almostspitefully, through her tears. `Oh, my poor Tray, I'll never, never seehim more!'
"Facts are stranger than fiction, however, and the little old lady whomNellie thought so ugly adopted her (for she was an orphan), and Nelliebecame in time very fond of her. The dog Tray, whose real name by theway was Jumbo, had something to do with this fondness, no doubt.
"The old lady is not alive now; but Nellie has been left all shepossessed, Jumbo included. He is by this time very, very old; his lipsare white with age, he is stiff too, and his back seems all one bone.As to his temper--well, the less I say about that the better, but he isalways cross with everybody--except Nellie."
CHAPTER FIVE.
EMBODYING A LITTLE TALE AND A LITTLE ADVENTURE.
"Reason raise o'er instinct as you can-- In this 'tis Heaven directs, in that 'tis man."
If ever two days passed by without my seeing the portly form of myfriend Captain D--, that is Frank, heaving in sight about twelve o'clocknoon, round the corner of the road that led towards our cottage, then Iat once concluded that Frank either had the gout or was gardening, andwhether it were the fit of the gout or merely a fit of gardening, I feltit incumbent upon me to walk over to his house, a distance of littlemore than two miles, and see him.
Welcome? Yes; I never saw the man yet who could give one a heartierwelcome than poor Frank did. He was passionately fond of my two dogs,Nero and Aileen Aroon, and the love was mutual.
But Frank had a dog of his own, "Meg Merrilees" to name, a beautiful andkind-hearted Scotch collie. Most jealous though she was of her master'saffections, she never begrudged the pat and the caress Nero and Aileenhad, and, indeed, she used to bound across the lawn to meet and be thefirst to welcome the three of us.
On the occasion of my visits to Frank, I always stopped and dined withhim, spending the evening in merry chatter, and tales of "auld langsyne," until it was time for me to start off on the return journey.
When I had written anything for the magazines during the day, I made apractice of taking it with me, and reading over the manuscript to myfriend, and a most attentive and amused listener he used to be. Thefollowing is a little _jeu d'esprit_ which I insert here, for no otherreason in the world than that Frank liked it, so I think there _must_ bea little, _little_ bit of humour in it. It is, as will be readily seen,a kind of burlesque upon the show-points and properties of theSkye-terrier. I called the sketch--
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"THAT SKYE-TERRIER."--A BURLESQUE.
"He's a good bred 'un, sir." This is the somewhat unclassical Englishwith which "Wasp's" Yorkshire master introduced the puppy to me as heconsigned it to my care, in return for which I crossed his hand fivetimes with yellow gold. "And," he added, "he's a game 'un besides."
I knew the former of these statements was quite correct from youngWasp's pedigree, and of the latter I was so convinced, before a week wasover, that I consented to sell him to a parson for the same money I gavefor him--and glad enough to get rid of him even then. At this time theyouthful Wasp was a mere bundle of black fluff, with wicked blue eyes,and flashing teeth of unusually piercing properties. He dwelt in adistant corner of the parson's kitchen, in a little square basket orcreel, and a servant was told off to attend upon him; and, indeed, thatservant had about enough to do. Wasp seemed to know that Annie was hisown particular "slavey," and insisted on her being constantly withinhail of him. If she dared to go upstairs, or even to attend thedoor-bell, Wasp let all the house hear of it, and the poor good-naturedgirl was glad to run back for peace' sake. Another thing he insisted onwas being conveyed, basket and all, to Annie's bedroom when she retiredfor the night. He also intimated to her that he preferred eating thefirst of his breakfasts at three o'clock every morning sharp, upon painof waking the parson; his second at four; third at five, and so on untilfurther notice.
I was sorry for Annie.
From the back of his little basket, where he had formed a fortress,garrisoned by Wasp himself, and provisioned with bones, boots, andslippers enough to stand a siege of any length of time, he used to bealways making raids and forays on something. Even at this early age thewhole aim of his existence seemed to be doing mischief. If he wasn'ttearing Annie's Sunday boots, it was because he was dissecting thefootstool; footstool failing, it was the cat. The poor cat hadn't adog's life with him. He didn't mind pussy's claws a bit; he had a wayof his own of backing stern on to her which defied her and saved hiseyes. When close up he would seize her by the paw, and shake it tillshe screamed with pain.
I was sorry for the cat.
If you lifted Wasp up in your arms to have a look at him, he flashed hisalabaster teeth in your face one moment, and fleshed them in your nosethe next. He never looked you straight in the face, but aslant, fromthe corners of his wicked wee eyes.
In course of time--not Pollok's--Wasp's black puppy-hair fell off, anddiscovered underneath the most beautiful silvery-blue coat ever you sawin your life; but his puppy-manners did not mend in the least. In hiscase the puppy was the father of the dog, and if anything the son wasworse than the father.
Talk of growing, oh! he did grow: not to the height--don't make anymistake, please; Wasp calculated he was plenty high enough already--butto the length, if you like. And every day when I went down to see himAnnie would innocently ask me--
"See any odds on him this morning, doctor?"
"Well, Annie," I would say, "he really does seem to get a little longerabout every second day."
"La! yes, sir, he do grow," Annie would reply--"'specially when I putshim before the fire awhile."
Indeed, Annie assured me she could see him grow, and that the littleblanket with which she covered him of a night would never fit in themorning, so that she had to keep putting pieces to it.
As he got older, Wasp used to make a flying visit upstairs to see theparson, but generally came flying down again; for the parson isn'tblessed with the best of tempers, anyhow. Quickly as he returned, Waspwas never down in time to avoid a kick from the clergyman's boot, forthe simple reason that when Wasp's fore-feet were at the kitchen-doorhis hindquarters were never much more than half-way down the stairs.
N.B.--I forgot to say that this story may be taken with a grain of salt,if not found spicy enough to the taste.
There was a stove-pipe that lay in a back room; the pipe was about twoyards long, more or less. Wasp used to amuse himself by running in atone end of it and out at the other. Well, one day he was amusinghimself in this sort of way, when just as he entered one end for thesecond time, what should he perceive but the hindquarters of a pure-bredSkye just disappearing at the other. (You will please to remember thatthe stove-pipe was two yards long, more or less.) Day after day Waspset himself to pursue this phantom Skye, through the pipe and throughthe pipe, for Wasp couldn't for the life of him make out why the animalalways managed to keep just a _little_ way ahead of him. Still he washappy to think that day after day he was gaining on his foe, so he keptthe pot a-boiling. And one day, to his intense joy, he actually caughtthe phantom by the tail, in the pipe. Joy, did I say? I ought to havesaid sorrow, for the tail was his own; but, being a game 'un, hewouldn't give in, but hung on like grim death until the plumber came andsplit the pipe and relieved him. (Don't forget the length of the pipe,please.) Even after he _was_ clear he spun round and round like a SaintCatherine's wheel, until he had to give in from sheer exhaustion. Yes,he was a long dog.
And it came to pass, or was always coming to pass, that he grew, and hegrew, and he grew, and the more he grew, the longer and thicker his hairgrew, till, when he had grown his full length--and I shouldn't like tosay how long that was--you couldn't have told which was his head andwhich was his tail till he barked; and even Annie confessed that shefrequen
tly placed his dish down at the wrong end of him. It was funny.If you take half a dozen goat-skins and roll them separately, incylinders, with the hairy side out, and place them end to end on thefloor, you will have about as good an idea of Wasp's shape andappearance as any I can think about. You know those circularsweeping-machines with which they clean the mud off the country roads?Well, Wasp would have done excellently well as the roller of one ofthose; and indeed, he just looked like one of them--especially when hewas returning from a walk on a muddy morning. It was funny, too, thatany time he was particularly wet and dirty, he always came to the frontdoor, and made it a point of duty always to visit the drawing-room tohave a roll on the carpet previously to being kicked downstairs.
Getting kicked downstairs was Wasp's usual method of going below. Ibelieve he came at last to prefer it--it saved time.
Wasp's virtues as a house-dog were of a very high order: he alwaysbarked at the postman, to begin with; he robbed the milkman and thebutcher, and bit a half-pound piece out of the baker's leg. Nopoliceman was safe who dared to live within a hundred yards of him. Oneday he caught one of the servants of the gas company stooping downtaking the state of the metre. This man departed in a very great hurryto buy sticking-plaster and visit his tailor.
I lost sight of Wasp for about six months. At the end of that time Ipaid the parson a visit. When I inquired after my longitudinal friend,that clergyman looked very grave indeed. He did not answer meimmediately, but took two or three vigorous draws at his meerschaum,allowing the smoke to curl upwards towards the roof of his study, andfollowing it thoughtfully with his eyes; then he slowly rose andextracted a long sheet of blue foolscap from his desk, and I imagined hewas going to read me a sermon or something.
"Ahem!" said the parson. "I'll read you one or two casual items ofWasp's bill, and then you can judge for yourself how he is getting on."
There is no mistake about it--
Wasp was a "well bred 'un and a game 'un." At the same time, I wassorry for the parson.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"I am really vexed that it is so dark and wet," said Frank that night,as he came to the lawn-gate to say good-bye. "I wish I could walk inwith you, but my naughty toe forbids; or, I wish I could ask you tostay, but I know your wife and Ida would feel anxious."
"Indeed they would," I replied; "they would both be out here in the ponyand trap. Good-night; I'll find my way, and I've been wet beforeto-night."
"Good-night; God bless you," from Frank.
Now the lanes of Berkshire are most confusing even by daylight, andcabmen who have known them for years often go astray after dark, andexperience considerable difficulty in finding their way to theirdestination. It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that I, almost astranger to them, should have lost myself on so dark a night.
Aileen Aroon and Nero were coupled together, and from the centre of theshort chain depended a small bicycle lamp, which rendered the darknessvisible if it did nothing else.
I led the dogs with a leathern strap.
"It is the fourth turning to the right, then the second to the left, andsecond to the right again; so you are not going that way."
I made this remark to the dogs, who had stopped at a turning, and wantedto drag me in what I considered the wrong direction.
"The fourth turning, Aileen," I repeated, forcing them to come with me.
The night seemed to get darker, and the rain heavier every moment, andthat fourth turning seemed to have been spirited away. I found it atlast, or thought I had done so, then the second to the left, and finallythe second to the right.
By this time the lights of the station should have appeared.
They did not. We were lost, and evidently long miles from home. Lost,and it was near midnight. We were cold and wet and weary; at least Iwas, and I naturally concluded the poor dogs were so likewise.
We tried back, but I very wisely left it to the two Newfoundlands now tofind the way if they could.
"Go home," I cried, getting behind them; and off they went willingly,and at a very rapid pace too.
Over and over again, I felt sure that the poor animals were bewildered,and were going farther and farther astray.
Well, at all events, I was bewildered, and felt still more so when Ifound myself on the brow of a hill, looking down towards station lightson the right instead of on the left, they ought to have been. They wereour station lights, nevertheless, and a quarter of an hour afterwards wewere all having supper together, the Newfoundlands having beenpreviously carefully dried with towels. Did ever dogs deserve suppermore? I hardly think so.
CHAPTER SIX.
AILEEN AND NERO--A DOG'S RECEIPT FOR KEEPING WELL--DOG'S IN THE SNOW INGREENLAND--THE LIFE-STORY OF AILEEN'S PET, "FAIRY MARY."
"Give me a look, give me a face, That makes simplicity a grace."
Simplicity was one of the most prominent traits of Aileen's character.In some matters she really was so simple and innocent, that she couldhardly take her own part. Indeed, in the matter of food, her own partwas often taken from her, for any of the cats, or the smaller dogs,thought nothing of helping the noble creature to drink her drop of milkof a morning.
Aileen, when they came to her assistance in this way, would raise herown head from the dish, and look down at them for a time in her kindlyway.
"You appear to be very hungry," she would seem to say, "perhaps more sothan I am, and so I'll leave you to drink it all."
Then Aileen would walk gently away, and throw herself down beneath thetable with a sigh.
There was a time when illness prevented me from leaving my room for manydays, but as I had some serials going on in magazines, I could notafford to leave off working; I used, therefore, to write in my bedroom.As soon as she got up of a morning, often and often before she had herbreakfast, Aileen would come slowly upstairs. I knew her quiet butheavy footsteps. Presently she would open the door about half-way, andlook in. If I said nothing she would make a low and apologetic bow, andwhen I smiled she advanced.
"I'm not sure if my feet be over clean," she would seem to say as sheput her head on my lap with the usual deep-drawn sigh, "but I reallycould not help coming upstairs to see how you were this morning."
Presently I would hear more padded footsteps on the stairs. This wasthe saucy champion Theodore Nero himself, there could be no mistakeabout that. He came upstairs two or three steps at a time, and flungthe half-open door wide against the wall, then bounded into the roomlike a June thunderstorm. He would give one quick glance at Aileen.
"Hallo!" he would say, talking with eyes and tail, "you're here, areyou, old girl? Keeping the master company, eh? Well, I'm not veryjealous. How goes it this morning, master?"
Nero always brought into the sick-room about a hundredweight at least ofjollity, sprightliness, life, and love. It used to make me better tosee him, and make me long to be up and about, and out in the dear oldpine woods again.
"You always seem to be well and happy, Nero," I said to him one day;"how do you manage it?"
"Wait," said Nero, "till I've finished this chop bone, and I'll tell youwhat you should do in order to be always the same as I am now."
As there is some good in master Nero's receipt, I give it here in fall.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
A DOG'S RECEIPT FOR KEEPING WELL.
"Get up in the morning as soon as the birds begin to sing, and if you'renot on chain, take a good run round the garden. Always sleep in theopen air. Don't eat more breakfast than is good for you, and take thesame amount of dinner. Don't eat at all if you're not hungry. Eatplenty of grass, or green vegetables, if you like that better. Takeplenty of exercise. Running is best; but if you don't run, walk, andwalk, and walk till you're tired; you will sleep all the better for it.One hour's sleep after exercise is deeper, and sweeter, and sounder, andmore refreshing than five hours induced by port-wine negus. Don
'tneglect the bath; I never do. Whenever I see a hole with water in it, Ijust jump in and swim around, then come out and dance myself dry. Dogood whenever you can; I always do. Be brave, yet peaceful. Begenerous, charitable, and honest. Never refuse a bit to a beggar, andnever steal a bone from a butcher; so shall you live healthfully andhappy, and die of the only disease anybody has any right to die of--sheer old age."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
I never saw a dog appreciate a joke better than did poor Nero. He hadthat habit of showing his teeth in a broad smile, which is common to theNewfoundland and collie.
Here is a little joke that Nero once unintentionally perpetrated. Hehad a habit of throwing up the gravel with his two immense hinder paws,quite regardless of consequences. A poor little innocent mite of aterrier happened one day to be behind master Nero, when he commenced toscrape. The shower of stones and gravel came like the discharge from a_mitrailleuse_ on the little dog, and fairly threw him on his back.Nero happened to look about at the same time, and noticed what he haddone.
"Oh!" he seemed to say as he broke into a broad grin, "this is reallytoo ridiculous, too utterly absurd."
Then bounding across a ditch and through a hedge, he got into a greenfield, where he at once commenced his usual plan of working off steam,when anything extra-amusing tickled him, namely, that of running roundand round and round in a wide circle. Many dogs race like this, nodoubt for this reason: they can by so doing