Marian and Beth were getting ready for bed. Marian looked tragic. She brushed her hair so energetically that it seemed as if she must be pulling it out by the handfuls. Suddenly, she threw down the brush, and clasped her hands dramatically.
"I simply must have the money."
Beth, interested, looked up at her,
"What's the matter, Marian? I thought you had plenty of money. You've been saving your allowance for weeks to spend at the Fair."
"So I have, but I lost my pocketbook with every bit of the money at the Fair to-day."
"Why, Marian Davenport," Beth gasped.
Marian burst into tears. Beth rushed up to her sister and threw her arms around her neck.
"I'm awfully sorry, Marian."
Marian brushed the tears away and continued:
"I hate to have papa and mamma think me so dreadfully careless, so I'm not going to let them know, but I've just got to have some money. Beth, won't you lend me part of yours? I'll pay you just as soon as I can get some more."
Beth hung her head. "I'm awfully sorry, but I've spent all my money."
Marian looked at her in surprise. "Why, Beth Davenport, how is that?"
Beth seated herself upon the floor. "Well, Marian, you know both you and I decided to buy mamma's birthday present before the Fair began for fear we wouldn't have anything left to buy it with. Well, after that I had only a dollar."
"But that dollar was to last you all the week."
Beth took down a brush and brushed out the snarls while she talked.
"Yes, I know it was, but you see, Marian, Julia and Harvey were with me to-day. They were my guests. Papa gave me the tickets to take them. Well, it was dreadfully hot, and we did want some ice cream awfully, so I asked them to have some. There was thirty cents gone."
Marian looked judicial. "Well, what about the other seventy?"
Beth brushed snarls so vigorously that she winced once or twice.
"Well, you may think me dreadfully foolish, but I invited them to the Punch and Judy show. That took thirty cents more."
"Well, but you still should have forty cents."
Beth stopped brushing and clasped her hands.
"Well, I just couldn't help it. I—well, this is how it happened. You know papa gave Gustus tickets for the Fair for himself, his brothers and sisters, and mamma let him have the afternoon off. Well, just as we came out of the Punch and Judy show we met them. You know mamma gives Gustus clothes, but the others looked dreadfully ragged. I stopped and spoke to them and asked them if they were going into the show. Marian, tears came into Gustus's eyes, as he said, 'Missy Beth, the likes of us don't go to shows. I'se never been to a show in my life.'"
"Never been to a show in his life? How was that, Beth?"
"That was just what I asked him, Marian. I knew mamma paid him for waiting on us. He told me that he took all his money to his mother. Marian, I just couldn't help it. I spent my last forty cents for four Punch and Judy tickets for four of them, and Harvey and Julia bought some for the others. Do you think we were foolish?"
Marian hesitated for an instant.
"I suppose I should have done the same thing in your place. I am awfully sorry, though, you haven't any money to lend me."
"Maybe my dress and cake will take prizes. Then I'll have some to lend you."
Beth could hardly wait for the last day of the exhibition to see if she would be awarded any prize. She thought that nothing could mar her happiness if she received one.
The prices were decided upon on Friday night, but were not to be made public until Saturday morning. Beth was up bright and early, therefore, on Saturday. She was all impatience to be through breakfast that she might learn her fate, but she found that she might as well possess her soul in patience, as Maggie proved provoking, and would not hurry in the least.
To pass away the time, Beth hunted up Don. At sight of her, he barked and wagged his tail. She threw her arms about his neck. "Yes, Don, I know you're glad to see me, and I love you with all my heart. Come on and we'll have a play."
But, for some unaccountable reason, he did not seem ready for a frolic. As soon as she let go of him, he walked back by the stable and lay down.
"Come on, Don," she called coaxingly.
He did not budge. She stamped her foot impatiently.
"Oh, everybody's provoking this morning. You're horrid and mean, Don, and I don't believe I love you, after all."
He looked up at this. His gaze seemed a reproach to her, but she grew only the crosser.
"Oh, you needn't be looking that way at me. You're lazy, and you know it. If you were sorry, you'd play with me. No, I don't love you one little bit."
She walked back to the house, and then sulked until the breakfast gong sounded.
To make up for being somewhat late, Maggie had prepared an extra fine meal. Mr. and Mrs. Davenport and even Marian proved unusually talkative that morning, and they started their breakfast very happily. Beth, too, could not withstand the general good humor, and soon her spirits began to rise. She said, however:
"Do you know, that horrid old Don would not play with me this morning. He——"
At that instant, January came running up on the piazza, where they were eating breakfast.
"Missy Beth," he cried, "come quick; Don acts mighty queer. 'Pears like he's dying."
Not only Beth, but Mr. and Mrs. Davenport and Marian jumped up from the table and ran out to the barn.
They found the noble dog where Beth had left him. He was, in truth, in the very throes of death.
Beth fell on her knees beside him, and lifted his head upon her lap. Tears were streaming from her eyes so that she could hardly see him.
"Don," she cried, "you know I didn't mean it. You know I love you."
His fast glazing eye brightened momentarily at the sound of her voice. If he could have spoken, he would have said:
"Little mistress, I never doubted your love. I wasn't lazy. You know now why I wouldn't play."
"Oh, we must do something for him. It would break my heart if he died," cried poor Beth.
"I'm skeered it's too late, but mebbe, if I fotch," began January. But Don, with one long, loving look at Beth, gave up his breath with a gasp, stretching out in the rigidity of death.
"It is too late," said Mr. Davenport huskily.
"No, no, no," cried Beth; "God wouldn't be so cruel as to let him die. Don, look at me. Dear old doggie, I love you, I love you."
But Don was beyond range of her call. Mrs. Davenport and Marian were crying softly, too, and there were tears even in the eyes of Mr. Davenport and January.
"You'se breakfasts all gettin' cole," called Maggie, not knowing of the trouble.
"Food would choke me," declared Marian.
"I couldn't eat either. Do you want anything, James?" asked Mrs. Davenport.
"No,—I'm not hungry now," there was a break in Mr. Davenport's voice.
"Clear off the table, Maggie. Don is dead."
"Don dead?" cried Maggie, running out, "Why what am de mattah?"
"I 'lows he got hole some of de rat pizen," said January.
At sight of Beth's intense grief, Maggie's heart melted.
"Dar, dar, honey, don't yo' cry. Yo'se pah'll get you anoder dog."
"I don't want another dog. I—want—my—Don. I want him, I'll never be happy again," and Beth cried so hard that Mr. Davenport tried to comfort her.
"Beth," he said, "I have some news that will make you happy. I knew all about it last night, but I wouldn't tell you because I wanted you to find it out for yourself. Both your dress and cake have taken prizes—first prizes at that."
Her sobs did not lessen in the least. She hid her face on her father's shoulder and murmured:
"A hundred prizes wouldn't make up for dear old Don,—my dear old doggie who saved my life."
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.
One day, a strange white dog appeared at the Davenports'. No one knew whence she came. Perhaps Duke enticed her to the house. He tried to bespeak Beth's interest by barking vigorously and jumping up and down wildly, as if begging the child to keep her.
At first, it was hard for Beth to feel any interest in the dog. It was fearfully thin, and always acted as if it expected to be kicked. It had one redeeming feature in that its eyes were very beautiful. They were large and brown, with a mildly pathetic look that appealed to Beth's soft heart so that she decided to keep the dog.
For the first few days the newcomer sneaked under the house when any one was around. When she saw, however, that she was left unmolested, she gained courage. Duke was all devotion, and the white dog thrived under such attention. She freshened up so well that Beth wondered how she ever thought the dog ugly. Kindness and good food work wonders with dogs as well as with people. The days of her stay lengthened into months.
One morning, Beth came running in from the barn, her eyes brilliant from excitement.
"Mamma, mamma," she called, "what do you think? White dog"—they had never given her a name—"has seven of the cutest little puppies you ever saw. Duke took me out and showed them to me."
"Duke took you out?"
"Yes, mamma. When I went out to play with him this morning he caught hold of my dress and tried to pull me towards the barn. I thought he was just playing; but when he did it the second time, I followed him, and he led me to white dog and the puppies. Oh, they're the cutest things you ever saw."
"The cutest things you ever saw."[Illustration: "The cutest things you ever saw."]
"The cutest things you ever saw."[Illustration: "The cutest things you ever saw."]
Beth watched the growth of the puppies with great interest. She was delighted when their eyes opened, and when they began to run around she was almost too happy for words.
That night she said to her papa: "I've been thinking about Mr. Brown. He must miss Duke awfully. He wasn't such a horrid man after all, or he wouldn't have let me keep Duke."
Mr. Davenport smiled. "Beth, a man was talking to me about him to-day. The man said Brown was trying to reform; that he hadn't taken any liquor for some time past. I was very glad to hear it."
Beth pondered a minute or two, then asked:
"Do you think if he had a dog now he'd be nice to it?"
"Yes, I believe he would. Brown wasn't half bad except when he drank. But you're not thinking of giving Duke back to him, are you?"
Beth shook her head very vigorously. "I couldn't do that, papa. I love Duke too much."
She said no more but got out paper and pencil. She was backward in all schooling at this time, and could only print. However, she sat down at the table beside her father and went to work. It proved a very difficult task to her, but she persevered until she finished. Most of the correctly spelled words she learned from her father.
This is what she wrote:
"To dukes master duke has puppies wood you like a pup i havent thanked you for duke but i love duke very much and think you a nice man to give duke to me"your little friend"Beth davenport."
She put the note in an envelope and sealed it. Then she said to her father:
"Papa, will you give this to Mr. Brown? He's to have one of Duke's puppies if he wants it."
Mr. Davenport delivered the note as desired.
The next afternoon, Beth saw a buggy turn in at their place, and presently she discerned Mr. Brown within it. She waited, half-bashful, until he drove up.
He leaped from the buggy and raised his hat. Beth was delighted because in every way he seemed so much improved.
"I've come for the puppy."
"It's in the barn, I'll get it for you," cried Beth, running there as fast as she could.
Duke was playing with the puppies. When Beth appeared and took one he followed her out, but at sight of his former owner, he stopped still. Mr. Brown, however, called out pleasantly:
"Hello, Duke, I'm not going to take you away. Won't you come to me? Come, nice dog."
Duke must have felt the transformation in his former master, for he allowed Mr. Brown to pat him. Beth did not say a word, but held out the puppy. Mr. Brown took it, and said a little brokenly:
"I'm not used to making nice speeches to little girls, but you're very good to give this puppy to me."
"Why, it's nothing at all. Didn't you give me Duke?" murmured Beth.
He hesitated an instant. "But it means a great deal to me. It shows that you trust me. Missy, I promise never to strike this one as long as I have him. Good-bye."
Thereupon he jumped into the buggy and drove away.
Beth returned to the barn with Duke. January as usual was idling. He had his fiddle and was playing "Dixie." Beth sat down on the hay near him, while the dog family frolicked around her. She was happy, so happy that from sheer light-heartedness she began to sing.
Duke pricked up his ears. White dog cocked her head to one side, and the six puppies followed their parents' example. Duke uttered a low deep howl that chimed in with Beth's singing. White dog howled in a high soprano and the six little dogs did likewise, but in shriller tones. Beth was so surprised that she stopped singing, and the dogs immediately ceased howling, evidently waiting for Beth to lead them.
She began to sing again, and the dogs began to howl, swaying their heads from side to side.
Their howling was so funny that Beth had to laugh, January joining in. Beth then ran into the house for Mrs. Davenport.
"Mamma, come and hear the concert," she cried.
"What concert?"
"Come with me and you'll see, if they'll do it again. It's the funniest singing you ever heard."
Beth led her mother to the barn.
"Where are the singers?" asked Mrs. Davenport.
"Wait," answered Beth, calling the dogs to her. Then she began singing and the dogs began howling, holding their heads high in the air. Duke, however, proved lazy. He would come in only once in a while with his deep bass, but this made the effect more funny.
Mrs. Davenport laughed over the performance until her sides ached. That afternoon Beth and the dogs had another concert for the benefit of Mr. Davenport and Marian. In the evening the Gordons and the Bakers called, and, hearing of the wonderful concert, they insisted upon a repetition of it. The lantern was brought in, therefore, and, with Beth heading the procession, the party adjourned to the barn. The dogs were asleep, but at the first sound of Beth's shrill little voice, they all, even to the smallest pup, pricked up their ears, and then howled in concert. After that Beth's concert became famous. People drove out from Jacksonville to see and hear the canine musicale. After a time Beth trained the dogs so that they would sit up in a row on their hind legs while they sang. They were apparently carried away by the music, and appeared quite human in their vanity, swaying their bodies and rolling their eyes in a very ludicrous manner, while howling an accompaniment to Beth's singing.
January with his perpetual laugh and fiddle.[Illustration: January with his perpetual laugh and fiddle.]
January with his perpetual laugh and fiddle.[Illustration: January with his perpetual laugh and fiddle.]
Duke greatly endeared himself to the Davenports by his wonderful sagacity. He could almost talk. One of the very smartest things he ever did happened in this wise:
Beth had a sudden attack of fever.
"We must have a doctor," said Mrs. Davenport.
Beth overheard the remark. Since her experience of the stitches under her nose, she hated all doctors; so she declared:
"I don't want any horrid doctor. I'll get well without one. Really I will."
Mrs. Davenport laid a cooling hand on her head, and said soothingly:
"Can't you trust mamma to do what is best?"
Thereupon she gave private instructions to Mr. Davenport to get a doctor as soon as possible, after which she neglected all work, trying to keep Beth quiet.
Two little kittens, brothers of those brought by Gustus in the winter, crawled up on the lounge ready for play. Even their antics tired Beth. When the doctor came, he looked serious over the child's condition.
"She must be put to bed immediately," was his first order.
"I'll have her carried up-stairs," said Mrs. Davenport.
The doctor was a very blunt man and declared plainly:
"She's too sick to be moved. Have a bed brought in here if you can."
Without arguing the question, Mrs. Davenport ordered the servants to bring down an iron cot. Her commands were carried out quietly and with haste, and soon Beth was undressed and in bed. She was delirious by this time, and did not even note that a doctor was present.
He studied the case silently for a few minutes. He was a well-meaning man, but a doctor of the old school. He believed that if medicine was a good thing, the more one took the better. Also, if dieting was good, semi-starvation was better.
He therefore wrote out five or six prescriptions, all of very strong drugs. He also ordered that she should be fed only on gruels.
Duke seemed to grieve over Beth's illness extremely. He would not play with the puppies, and would eat hardly anything. At first, he walked into the room where Beth was and lay down beside her cot. When he saw he was in the way there, he took up his position on the piazza outside the door, and could hardly be induced to move. Even white dog failed to entice him away.
Anxious times followed for the Davenports. The fear of losing Beth made each member of the family realize, as never before, how very dear the little, mischievous child was to them. She was mischievous no longer, however. She was so patient that Mrs. Davenport feared more than ever that she would die. Often Beth would smile so beatifically that her mother thought she must be thinking of angels and heaven.
"Dearie, of what are you thinking?" she once asked.
Beth's face was illumined with a more heavenly light than ever as she drew a long breath and answered:
"Oh mamma, I was thinking how good some Bologna sausage, or anything besides horrid old gruel, would taste."
The truth of the matter was that the child was half-starved. Still the doctor insisted that she should have nothing but mutton or rice gruel, and those only in very small quantities. Under such treatment she wasted to a mere shadow of her former chubby self.
She proved a tyrant in one respect, in that she would have no one but her mother to watch her. If Mrs. Davenport left the room when Beth was awake, Beth at once worried herself into a high fever. The strain was telling upon Mrs. Davenport, but so great was her anxiety that she would hardly take needed rest.
One day Beth was asleep, and Maggie tip-toed into the room and whispered to Mrs. Davenport:
"Dear Miss Mary, won't yo' please let dis ole mammy watch de honey lamb for jes' a little while. Yo' knows I lub her wid all my heart, an' I wouldn't let nuffin harm de pet for de world. Yo' go into de odder room an' rest awhile. If de precious lamb wants yo', I'll call right away, honest."
Thus urged, Mrs. Davenport decided to grant Maggie's request, and she left the room without disturbing Beth's slumbers.
Maggie sat down by the cot. The sight of Beth so emaciated melted Maggie almost to tears. She thus soliloquized:
"Dat horrid ole medicine man, he jes' ought to be made to live on gruels de rest of his life, so he ought. It's jes' ter'ble to starve de chile de way he does. I'd like to be her doctah awhile. I'd order chicken and possum, an'——"
Suddenly Beth's eyes opened. "Maggie, what did you cook for dinner to-day?"
Maggie confided to her husband afterwards:
"Law, Titus, does yo' tink I could sit up dar an' tell dat precious chile we had chicken when I knew her little stomack was jes' groanin' for chicken? No, 'deed. Do I am deaconess, I'd rather be burned for a lie. So I jes' answers as pert-like as pos'ble. 'Law, honey, we jes' had mutton like yo'r brof is made of.'"
Beth, however, was not to be deceived. Her senses had grown unusually acute during her sickness. She pointed her finger at Maggie and said:
"Maggie, that's not true. You had chicken and biscuits, for I smelled them. Oh, I'm so hungry."
Maggie sighed sympathetically. "Law, honey, would yo' like some brof?"
"Broth," repeated Beth almost in tears. "I hate broth. I'll starve before I eat any more. I want chicken. Please, please get me some."
The appeal melted Maggie completely. She arose and called Duke from the doorway.
"Duke," she said, pointing to the cot, "don't yo' let any one come near missy till I come back. Do yo' understand?"
The delighted dog wagged his tail, and Maggie left the room.
Duke's first impulse was to rush up to the cot, and show his joy in true dog fashion. He longed to cover Beth's face and hands with kisses. He knew, however, that excitement was bad for her. He therefore walked quietly up to the cot and laid his head down beside his little playmate as if inviting a caress. She put a weak little hand on his head.
"Yes, Dukie, I know you love me."
Maggie re-entered the room. In her hand was a plate, and on that plate was a large slice of white chicken meat. Beth's eyes glistened at sight of it.
"Dar, honey chile, dey jes' shan't starve yo' to death. Here am a whole lot ob chicken for yo'."
Beth grabbed the plate. "Oh, Maggie, it's—it's heavenly."
Suddenly, Maggie heard Mrs. Davenport approaching. Her eyes rolled tragically.
"Law, honey, it's yo'r maw. Hide de chicken under yo'r pillow. I'll get rid of her, an' den yo' can eat de chicken in peace. Quick, honey, or she'll take it away from yo'."
Beth put the plate with the chicken under her pillow. Maggie tried to look unconcerned.
Mrs. Davenport entered the room. "Well, my dearie is awake, is she?"
"Oh, mamma, I'm so hungry. I do wish I could have a piece of chicken."
"No, no, dearie, that would never do. I'll get you some lovely mutton broth."
Tears rose in Beth's eyes. "I don't want broth."
"Oh, yes, you do, dearie." Mrs. Davenport left the room to get the broth. Maggie went to the bed and drew out the chicken.
"Quick, honey, yo' eat it while she's gone and she need neber know."
Beth's eyes feasted on the chicken for a second or two. She halfway put out a hand for it, but quickly drew it back again.
"No, Maggie, it wouldn't be honorable."
"Law, child, yo'd bettah eat it. Yo'r maw'll find me with it, and den she'll blame me."
Beth held out her hand for the plate. She looked at the chicken very longingly, and Maggie thought that she had made up her mind to eat it. She did take up the meat, but she held it out to Duke, saying:
"It'll be honorable for you to eat it. Duke, and then mamma'll never blame Maggie. It was very nice of you, Maggie, to get it for me, but I couldn't deceive mamma."
Duke gulped the meat down at one swallow much to the envy of Beth. She held out the empty plate to Maggie.
"Take it away, Maggie. The smell of it makes me so dreadfully hungry."
Maggie took it and left the room, muttering:
"It's a ter'ble shame, a ter'ble shame."
Mrs. Davenport came in with the steaming broth.
"Here, dearie, is your broth."
Beth burst into tears. "I can't eat it. I just can't touch the horrid stuff. Please take it away."
Her mother did not attempt to argue the question. That afternoon, when the doctor came, she asked:
"Isn't there something else we can feed her on, doctor?"
He pondered for a moment. "Well, she seems to be improving a little, and if we could get a bird or a rabbit we might make her some broth out of that."
"I think rabbit broth would be delicious," cried Beth rapturously.
Mrs. Davenport said:
"We'll send January to town to see if we can get a rabbit or a quail."
An hour later January returned and reported: "Dere ain't no rabbit or no bird in de market, Miss Mary."
Beth was very much disappointed, but was pacified, however, by the assurance that darkies would be sent out to hunt rabbits in the morning. She even consented to take a little rice gruel, cheered by the prospects of having something better on the morrow.
In the morning, when the darkies were ready for hunting rabbits, Mrs. Davenport said to Duke:
"Go with them, old fellow. Perhaps you can chase a rabbit down for your little mistress. She wants a rabbit very, very much."
He seemed to understand, for he rose and went with the hunters. Rabbit hunting was his favorite pastime. Therefore he displayed the first signs of joy that he had shown since Beth's sickness. He bounded lightly across the fields, sniffing the ground expectantly.
At first the darkies were encouraged by his manner, and followed him on and on. When, however, they had gone many miles, and most of the forenoon passed without Duke's scaring up a single rabbit for them, they became discouraged. In fact, they returned to the house and reported their ill-luck to Mrs. Davenport.
"I reckon dis ain't time for rabbits. We didn't see a single one all dis time."
"Where is Duke?" asked Mrs. Davenport.
The darkies grinned. "Oh, dat fool dog, he ain't no sense at all. We tried to get him to come wid us, but he went on sniffin' as if he was jes' bound to have a rabbit, even when dar ain't none."
"Well," said Mrs. Davenport, with feeling, "I only wish you had half the perseverance of Duke. If he could understand like you, he would go until he dropped before he'd give up."
She therefore had to go to Beth and report their failure. The poor child cried and cried, she was so very much disappointed.
"I'll—I'll starve, and I'm so terribly hungry," she moaned.
"Dearie, if you'll only take some gruel, I'll get you the most beautiful doll you ever saw, or a ring, or anything you wish."
At the moment, even this promise failed in appealing to Beth. She desired rabbit more than anything else in the world.
"Won't you please try some gruel, dear? Won't you, to please me?"
"I'll—I'll try, but I don't believe I can swallow a bit of the nasty stuff. I want rabbit."
Mrs. Davenport hurried away to get the gruel.
Left to herself, Beth continued to cry.
"I don't believe God cares for me, or He'd have sent me a rabbit. I asked Him last night when I prayed. Miss Smith"—her Sunday-school. teacher—"says God always answers prayer if it is good for one, and I'm sure rabbit is good for me."
The tears came a little faster.
"She says, though, one must ask awfully hard. Perhaps I don't ask hard enough. I'll ask again."
Beth folded her hands and closed her eyes.
"Dear God, I can't eat gruel any more. I'll die if I have to eat gruel, and I don't want to die. I want rabbit."
It would seem that the days of miracles had not passed; for even while she prayed, she felt two paws rest on her cot. She opened her eyes and there was Duke waiting impatiently for her to notice him. She could hardly believe her eyes, for in his mouth he held a little live rabbit as if for her to take it. To make sure she was not dreaming, she stretched forth her hand for the rabbit. Duke let her take it without offering the least resistance. In fact, he looked at her as much as to say:
"I heard them say that my little mistress wanted a rabbit. I was bound she should have a rabbit, and here it is."
Mrs. Davenport entered the room. "Here is your broth, dear."
"Take it away," cried Beth exultingly. "I'm going to have a rabbit. God sent Duke to bring me one. Wasn't he good not to eat it himself—he always used to eat them when he caught them, and God was so good to me, too."
The speech appeared a little ambiguous to Mrs. Davenport, but it was all very plain to the child.
Never did a stew seem more delicious to any one than did that rabbit stew to Beth. In fact, it proved a turning point with her, the fever subsiding thereafter very rapidly.