andperhaps found his way to our new lodgings; but the old soldier, seeingthat something must be amiss, took him in, kept him all night, found myrooms in the morning, and fetched him home. You may guess whether Ithanked the old man or not.
"When Dolls (_see_ page 76) came to me first, he was in great grief forthe loss of his dear master [Note 1]. Nero seemed to know it, andthough he seldom made much of a fuss over dogs of this breed, he tookDolls under his protection; indeed, he hardly knew how kind to be tohim.
"I ought to mention that Mortimer Collins and Nero were very greatfriends indeed, for the poet loved all things in nature good and true.
"There was one little pet that Nero had long before you knew him, Ida.His name was Pearl, a splendid Pomeranian. Perhaps Pearl reminded Nerovery much of his old favourite, Vee-vee. At all events he took to him,used to share his bed and board with him, and protected him from theattacks of strange dogs when out. Pearl was fat, and couldn't jumpwell. I remember our coming to a fence one day about a foot and a halfhigh. The other dogs all went bounding over, but Pearl was left towhine and weep at the other side. Nero went straight back, bounded overand re-bounded over, as if showing Pearl how easy it was. But Pearl'sheart failed, seeing which honest Nero fairly lifted him over by theback of the neck.
"I was going to give a dog called `Pandoo' chastisement once. Pandoowas a young Newfoundland, and a great pet of Nero, whose son he was. Igot the cane, and was about to raise it, when Nero sprang up andsnatched it from my hand, and ran off with it. It was done in afrolicsome manner, and with a deal of romping and jumping. At the sametime, I could see he really meant to save the young delinquent; so Imade a virtue of necessity, and pardoned Pandoo.
"But Nero's love for other animals, and his kindness for all creaturesless and weaker than himself, should surely teach our poor humanity alesson. You would think, to see him looking pityingly sometimes at acreature in pain, that he was saying with the poet--
"`Poor uncomplaining brute, Its wrongs are innocent at least, And all its sorrows mute.'
"One day, at the ferry at Hotwells, Clifton, a little black-and-tanterrier took the water after a boat and attempted to cross, but the tideran strong, and ere it reached the centre it was being carried rapidlydown stream. On the opposite bank stood Nero, eagerly watching thelittle one's struggles, and when he saw they were unsuccessful, with oneimpatient bark--which seemed to say, `Bear up, I'm coming'--he dashedinto the water, and ploughed the little terrier all the way over withhis broad chest, to the great amusement of an admiring crowd.
"On another occasion some boys near Manchester were sending aDandie-Dinmont into a pond after a poor duck; the Dandie had almostsucceeded in laying hold of the duck, when Nero sprang into the water,and brought out, not the duck, but the Dandie by the back of the neck.
"I saw one day a terrier fly at him and bite him viciously behind. Heturned and snapped it, just once. Once was enough. The little dog satdown on the pavement and howled piteously. Nero, who had gone on, mustthen turn and look back, and then _go_ back _and lick the place he hadbitten_.
"`I really didn't intend to hurt you so much,' he seemed to say; `butyou did provoke me, you know. There! there! don't cry.'"
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"Now then, Ida, birdie, let us have one good scamper through the pinewood and meadow, and then hie for home. Come on, dogs; where are youall? Aileen, Nero, Bob, Gipsy, Eily, Broom, Gael, Coronach? Hurrah!There's a row! There's music! That squirrel, Ida, who has been cockingup there on the oak, listening to all we've been saying, thinks he'dbetter be off. There isn't a bird in the wood that hasn't ceased itssong, and there isn't a rabbit that hasn't gone scurrying into its hole,and I believe the deer have all jumped clean out of the forest; the harethinks he will be safer far by the river's brink; and the sly, wily oldweasel has come to the conclusion that he can wait for his dinner tillthe dogs go home. The only animal that doesn't run away is thefield-mouse. He means to draw himself up under a burdock leaf and waitpatiently till the hairy hurricane sweeps onward past him. Then he'llcreep out and go nibbling round as usual. Come."
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Note 1. The poet Mortimer Collins. He came into my possession shortlyafter his death.
CHAPTER THIRTY.
IDA'S ILLNESS--MERCY TO THE DUMB ANIMALS.
"Then craving leave, he spake Of life, which all can take but none can give; Life, which all creatures love and strive to keep, Wonderful, dear, and pleasant unto each, Even to the meanest; yea, a boon to all Where pity is, for pity makes the world Soft to the weak and noble to the strong."
E. Arnold's "Light of Asia."
It was sadly changed times with all of us when Ida fell ill.
Her illness was a very severe one, and for many weeks she literallyhovered 'twixt death and life. Her spirit seemed like some beautifulbird of migration, that meditates quitting these cold intemperate shoresand flying away to sunnier climes, but yet is loath to leave oldassociations and everything dear to it.
There was little done during these weeks, save attending to Ida'scomforts, little thought about save the child.
Even the dogs missed their playmate. The terriers went away to thewoods every day by themselves. Eily, the collie, being told that shemust make no noise, refrained from barking even at the butcher, orjumping up and shaking the baker by his basket, as had been her wont.
Poor Aileen Aroon went about with her great head lower than usual, andwith a very apologetic look about her, a look that, beginning in herface, seemed to extend all the way to the point of her tail, which shewagged in quite a doleful manner.
Nero and she took turn and turn about at keeping watch outside Ida'sroom door.
Ida's favourite cat seldom left her little mistress's bedside, andindeed she was as often in the bed as out of it.
It was winter--a green winter. Too green, Frank said, to be healthy;and the dear old man used to pray to see the snow come.
"A bit of a frost would fetch her round," he said. "I'd give ten yearsof my life, if it is worth as much, to see the snow on the ground."
The trees were all leafless and bare, but tiny flowers and things keptgrowing in under the shrubs in quite an unnatural way.
But Frank came in joyfully one evening, crying, "It's coming, Gordon,it's coming; the stars are unspeakably bright; there is a steel-blueglitter in the sky that I like. It's coming; we'll have the snow, andwe'll have Ida up again in a month."
I had not quite so much faith in the snow myself, but I went out to havea look at the prospect. It was all as Frank had said; the weirdgigantic poplars were pointing with leafless fingers up into a sky offrosty blue, up to stars that shone with unusual radiance; and as Iwalked along, the gravel on the path resounded to my tread.
"I'll be right; you'll see, I'll be right," cried Frank, exultant. "I'man older man than you, Gordon, doctor and all though you be."
Frank _was_ right. He was right about the snow, to begin with. It cameon next morning; not all at once in great flakes. No, big storms neverbegin like that, but in grains like millet-seed. This for an hour; thenmingling with the millet-seed came little flakes, and finally aninfinity of large ones, as big as butterflies' wings. It was a treat togaze upwards, and watch them coming dancing downwards in a dazzling andinterminable maze.
It was beautiful!
It wanted but one thing at that moment to make me happy. That was thepresence of our bright-faced, blue-eyed little pet, standing on thedoorstep as she used to, gazing upwards, with apron outstretched tocatch the falling flakes.
Frank was so overjoyed, he must needs go out and walk about in the snowfor nearly an hour. I was in the kitchen engaged in some mysteriousinvalid culinary operation when Frank came in. He always came inthrough the kitchen now, instead of the hall, lest he might disturb thechild.
Frank's face was a treat to look at; it was redder, and appea
red rounderthan usual, and jollier.
"There's three inches of snow on the ground already," he remarked,joyfully. "Mary, bring the besom, my girl, to brush the snow off myboots. That's the style."
Strange as it may appear, from that very morning our little patientbegan to mend, and ere the storm had shown signs of abatement--in lessthan a week, in fact--Ida was able to sit up in bed.
Thin was her face, transparent were her hands; yet I could see signs ofimprovement; the white of her skin was a more healthful white; hergreat, round eyes lost the longing, wistful look they had before.
I was delighted when she asked me to play to her. She would choose themusic, and I must play soft and low and sweet. Her fingers would deftlyturn the pages of the book till her eyes rested on
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