I see us next at the little inland settlement surrounding two small lakes for which we had started.
It had been long years since we had seen the relative who was living there, and childish memories did not tell us that he was the most visionary and unpractical of men. We could not trust our own judgment in such a topsy-turvy country as Florida, where the conditions were all so new to us; so it is no wonder that we took his word for a number of wild statements and decided to buy and settle there. We bought a tract of land from a friend and client of his, who offered us the use of a small homestead shanty near our land, to live in while we were building. This shanty looked decidedly uninviting, but the alternative was a room in the house of our relative, a full mile away from our place; so we decided in favor of the shanty. It was built of rived boards, slabs split out of the native logs. It had one door and no windows. In fact, it needed none; for the boards lapped roughly on each other, leaving cracks like those in window-blinds, so we could put our fingers through the walls almost anywhere. Besides affording a means of light and ventilation, this was vastly convenient for various flying and creeping things. The floor was of rough ten-inch boards, with inch-wide cracks between them. Julius escorted me over to inspect it, saying,—
"If we try to live in this excuse for a house, we shall be pioneering with a vengeance."
After a searching glance around the premises, I answered,—
"The pioneering is all right, if we can just make it clean."
"Oh, that's easy enough!" exclaimed Julius, in a relieved tone. "If you think we can stand its other short-comings, I can whitewash the whole thing, and make it so fresh and sweet you won't know it."
We sent a message for our freight, which we had left at Jacksonville, and Julius took a team to the nearest town to buy a few necessaries. We had brought no furniture South with us, knowing that what we had in our Northern home would be unsuitable for pioneering. Ourfreight, therefore, was mostly books and pictures, with a few boxes of clothes, bedding, etc. The shanty was wonderfully improved by a coat or two of whitewash, and after an old tapestry carpet had been put down to cover the cracks in the floor, extending up on the walls to form a dado, it began to look quite livable.
The bed and a row of trunks filled one end, there being just room to squeeze in between them. At the foot of the bed was a table, used by turns as kitchen, dining, and library table; there was also a box holding a kerosene stove, with shelves above it for dishes and supplies.
We had two wooden chairs, and a bench which we put to various uses. When these things were all in place, and our books arranged on boards which were laid across the rafters overhead, we felt as snug as was Robinson Crusoe in his cave.
As soon as we were comfortable, Julius got a man to help him, and began to improve our land. A few of the large pine-trees had to be felled, and this performance filled Bruno with the wildest excitement. His natural instincts told him there was only one reason for which a tree should ever be cut,—to capture some wild creature which had taken refuge in its top. Atthe first blow of the axe he would begin to yelp and dance, breaking into still wilder antics when the tree began to sway and stagger, finally rushing into the top as it fell, in a state of excitement that bordered on frenzy.
As he, of course, found nothing there, he seemed to think he had not been quick enough, and that the creature had escaped; so he became more and more reckless, until Julius was alarmed for his safety, and said I must keep him shut in-doors till the trees were down, or he would surely end by being crushed.
I had my hands full. I would coax him in, and shut the door. As soon as he heard the chopping begin, he would whine and bark, coaxing to be let out. I always temporized until I heard the tree falling, then off he would dash, and bounce into its top to yelp and explore.
He never found anything in the trees, but he never grew discouraged. He "assisted" at the felling of every one.
Bruno was much happier in Florida than he had been in our Northern home. He had all the woods to stretch his legs in, and for amusement he had the different kinds of wild creatures.
One moonlight night we three had walked over to the post-office for the mail. As Julius and I were slowly sauntering homeward, enjoying the night air, while Bruno made little excursions in all directions, he suddenly came up in front of us, and paused in that questioning way which showed he had found something of which he was not quite sure.
"What is it, Boonie?" asked Julius.
Bruno made a short run, then came back, pausing as before, and glancing first in the direction he had started to go, then at Julius.
"It is probably a 'possum," I suggested.
Bruno had shown himself to be very careful about attacking strange animals. He seemed to remember our adventure with the hens, his first meeting with Rebecca, and some of his other experiences.
Julius answered his evident question with,—
"Yes. It's Boonie's 'possum. Go get him!"
Off he sprang, dashing into a little clump of trees, about a bow-shot from us, then with a yelp retreated, throwing himself on the ground, uttering short cries, rubbing and rooting his nose down into the grass and sand. Alas, poor Bruno! We knew what it was. We did not see it, we did not hear it, but we knew. Hefelt that he had been a victim of misplaced confidence; but we suffered with him, for it was days before he got rid of the "bouquet." Then it was as if by an inspiration. He seemed, all at once, to remember something. There was a tiny lake near our place, that was going dry. Day by day its waters had receded, until it was a mere mud-hole. Bruno went down to it, and buried himself up to the eyes in the black mud.
He lay there until late afternoon, then trotted off to a wet lake near by, and took a thorough bath. With this, he regained his lost self-respect, but he never forgot the experience. It was only necessary to say,—
"Kitty, kitty, where's kitty?" to make his ears and tail droop in the most dejected manner; then he would creep away, out of sight, till some more agreeable topic of conversation was broached.
It was not strange, after such a trying adventure, that Bruno was rather timid about approaching "Br'er 'Possum" when he did meet him. One night, he was found lurking around outside, sniffing some odds and ends that Bruno had disdained. After a little urging, Bruno was induced to seize him. Finding that nothing unpleasant followed, he became from that moment an enthusiastic 'possum-hunter, and used to bring one in every night or two. I usually cooked them for him, and he ate them with a relish, which we thought was fortunate, as we were about twelve miles from a butcher. Another substitute for beef we found in the Florida gopher. This is a grass-eating tortoise, which digs a house for itself in the sand.
Bruno soon became a most ardent gopher-hunter. Their hard shells make them difficult to handle, as they promptly draw in the head and legs on being approached; so Bruno would nose one over until he could seize the shovel, a protruding piece of the lower shell. Getting this small bit between his side-teeth, he balanced the weight by holding his head stiffly sideways, and came trotting in. The shadow of the house reached, he dropped the gopher, carefully turning it over on its back, and lay down beside it, to cool off and rest. Then off he would go for another.
He kept this up day after day, sometimes having as many as a dozen around the place at once. As often as the creatures managed to flop over so they could use their feet again and start to escape, Bruno, yelping and barking, brought them back, and turned them on their backs.
Sometimes, when he returned after a protracted hunt, bringing in a fresh victim, he found several of them escaping at once. Then he would hurriedly drop his latest catch, to speed away, tracking the truants until they were all found and recaptured, to be brought back and nosed over again.
He never wearied of this sport, and after our house was finished, and a well-stocked "chicken-park" was added to our estate, we bought a large camp-kettle, which we arranged on bricks in a secluded place; in this we would heat water and cook Bruno's gophers, so that he and the hens had constant feasts of them and throve apace.
Julius and I always like to experiment with new articles of food. We have no sympathy with the kind of fussiness that travels around the world with its own lunch-box, disdaining everything strange or new. It is to us part of the charm of changed surroundings to test the native articles of diet.
He was hissing at Bruno.He was hissing at Bruno.—Page 62.
We had tried roast 'possum and stewed gopher; we now began to long for a taste of alligator steak. We had heard that to be at all eatable the steak must be taken from the fleshy part of the tail of a young animal before the creature grows large enough to lose its shiny skin; so we were quite delighted one day when we found that Bruno had cornered a young one about four feet long. It was in a little glade about three hundred yards from the house; and as soon as Julius found the cause of Bruno's excitement, he hurried to the house for the axe, and soon put a stop to the creature's demonstrations. He was hissing at Bruno like a whole flock of geese, the while snapping at him with his teeth and striking at him with his tail, which he had a most astonishing way of flourishing around.
When the steak was cut the meat looked white and fine-grained, like the more delicate kinds of fish. When cooked it was very inviting, being a compromise between fish and the white meat of domestic fowls.
We enjoyed it very much and were loud in our praises of alligator steak, but—we didn't want any more!
I cooked the rest of it for Bruno, and he ate one more meal of it; then he struck. We have since heard that most people who try alligator steak have the same experience. A first meal is thoroughly enjoyed, but one not brought up on such a diet never gets beyond the second. It is a useful article of food in southern camp-life, because it makes the campers go back to bacon and beans with renewed relish. The same may be said of roast 'possum and stewed gopher,—that is, for the human campers.
Just before our house was ready for us, while we were still living in the little shanty, I noticed one night when Julius came in that he was empty-handed. He had been in the habit ofbringing his tools home every evening; so I asked,—
"What have you done with the saws and things?"
"I left them under the building," he answered, "wrapped in an old coat I had there. They will be perfectly safe, and I am tired of carrying them."
I was always glad when he had discovered an easier way of doing things; so I made no objection to this, and went on preparing the evening meal, for which we three were ready. Bruno had been over at the new house all the afternoon; so I waited on him first, seeing that his water-basin was full to the brim and heaping a plate with food for him. Then Julius and I sat down with keenest enjoyment to such a meal as we would have scorned in our old home, but which our open-air life in the pine-woods made exceedingly welcome. Afterwards I cleared the table, and we sat down to our usual evening of reading, interrupted with occasional snatches of conversation.
Bruno lay at our feet—dozing when we were quiet, thumping the floor with his tail whenever we spoke. Towards nine o'clock he got up, shook himself, sighed deeply, then askedme in his usual manner to open the door for him. This was the way he asked. He rested his head on my knee until I looked up from my book. Then his tail began to wag, and he glanced quickly from me to the door, then back at me again. I asked,—
"Boonie want to go?"
At this his tail wagged faster than ever, and he went to the door and stood waiting. Julius got up and opened the door for him; standing for a few moments after Bruno had disappeared in the darkness, looking at the stars and listening to that sweet sound the pine-needles make when the wind blows through them.
The night was rather cool, and it was not long before we both began to feel sleepy. Bruno had not returned; so Julius went to the door, whistling and calling to him.
But there was no answer.
We waited a little while; then Julius said:
"He will probably be here by the time we are ready to put out the lamp; so let's to bed."
I felt troubled. It reminded me of the old days in Bruno's giddy youth when he was off sheep-chasing. As I brushed out my hair, I was turning over in my mind all those vague fears I had felt when I had formerly dreamedof Florida as a country full of unknown dangers. At last I spoke,—
"Julius, do you think a big alligator could have caught Bruno?"
"I don't know," answered Julius, slowly.
Then I knew that he was worried too.
When the lamp was out, Julius went to the door again and stood for some minutes whistling, calling, and listening; but no sound came except the pine murmurs and the mournful notes of a distant "Whip-Will's-Widow."
It was impossible for us to sleep. Having always had Bruno at our bedside, we had never before felt uneasy, and had provided no way to lock our shanty. There was just an old-fashioned string-latch with a padlock outside; and here we were, deserted by our protector!
Again and again through the night Julius got up to call and listen.
Towards dawn we both slept heavily, worn out with anxious surmises. We were awakened by a well-known whining and scratching at the door, and when we both sprang up to open it, in walked Bruno, looking just as he usually did in the morning,—lively, glad to see us awake, and ready for his breakfast.
We gave him a welcome so warm it surprised and delighted him, while we vainly questioned him for an explanation of his desertion of us for the night. It was of no use. We could see that he had not been running, but wherehadhe been? We gave it up.
Julius said his troubled night had left him without much appetite for work; but the man who was helping him would be there, so he thought it best to go over to the building, anyway.
He surprised me by returning almost immediately. His face was lighted up and his eyes were dancing.
"I came back to tell you where Bruno slept last night," he exclaimed. "You can't guess!"
"No," I answered; "I have already given it up."
"He went back to watch those tools I left over at the building. He dug himself a nest right beside them, drawing the edge of my old coat around for his pillow. The prints are all there as plain as can be!"
We were amazed and delighted at this performance; the reasoning seemed so human. He had watched Julius arranging and leaving the tools, the while making up his own mind that it was an unwise thing to do, and evidently deciding to see to it later. His sitting with us till bedtime, keeping in mind his mental appointment, and then going forth without a word from any one to keep it, seemed to us to be a truly wonderful thing, and so it seems to me yet.
From the first, we had made a constant companion of Bruno, talking to him always as if he could speak our language; and we have since thought that this must have been a sort of education for him, drawing out and developing his own natural gifts of thought and reason. He often surprised us by joining in the conversation. He would be lying dozing, and we talking in our usual tones. If we mentioned Robbie or Charlie, the two children who were his friends in his puppy days before he was our dog, or spoke of Leo, or of going somewhere, he would spring up all alert, running to the door or window, and then to us, whining and giving short barks of inquiry or impatience.
Always, after that first time we had tried to give him away, he was subject to terrible nightmares. In his sleep he would whimper and sigh in a manner strangely like human sobbing. We thought at such times that he was going through those trying days again, in his dreams.So we always wakened him, petting and soothing him till he fully realized that it was only a dream.
He had other ways which we thought noteworthy. Although he loved Julius better than he did me, yet he always came to me with his requests. If hungry or thirsty, he would come to me wagging his tail and licking his lips.
Like "Polly," his general term for food was cracker. If I asked, "Boonie want a cracker?" and if it was hunger, he would yawn in a pleased, self-conscious manner, and run towards the place where he knew the food was kept. If I had misunderstood his request, he continued gazing at me, licking his lips and wagging his tail till I asked, "Boonie want a drink?" Then he would yawn and run towards his water-cup, which I would find to be empty.
Often, when he had made his wants known to me, I passed them on to Julius, who would wait on him; but it made no difference: the next time he came to me just the same. He seemed to have reasoned it out that I was the loaf-giver, as the old Saxons had it, or else he felt that I was quicker to enter into his feelings and understand his wishes.
Not long after Bruno's self-imposed night watch we found ourselves settled on our own estate, ready to carry out our plans for the future. Briefly they were as follows. We had intended to make an orange-grove, and while it was coming to maturity, we expected to raise early vegetables to ship to northern markets. We brought with us only money enough to make our place and live for a year: by that time we had fully expected to have returns from vegetable shipments which would tide us over till another crop. We had plenty of faith and courage, and were troubled by no doubts as to the feasibility of our plans. Nor need we have been, if only our land had contained the proper elements for vegetable growing. It was good enough orange land, but it would be a long time before we could depend on oranges for an income.
All this time we had been learning many things, taking care, as we began to understandthe situation, to go to practical doers for advice instead of to visionary talkers.
There began to be serious consultations in our little home circle. The year was drawing to a close, and our whole crop of vegetables would not have filled a two-quart measure. We had gone on with our planting, even after we felt it to be hopeless, because we did not dare to stop and listen to our fears. It is not strange that we felt depressed and disappointed. We could see that our plans could easily have been carried out, had we only known just what sort of land to select. The whole State was before us to choose from, but we had been misled through the romances of a dreamer of dreams. All we had to show for our money, time, and labor was a small house surrounded by trees so young that they were at least five years from yielding us an income, and there was no more money for experiments.
For a while we felt rather bitter towards our misleading adviser, but I know now that we were wrong to feel so. A man can give only what he has. "Out of the fulness of the heart the mouth speaketh." A dreamer of dreams has only visions to offer to his followers, surely landing them either in the briers of difficulty or the mires of discouragement.
One day Julius returned from the nearest large town, where he had been for supplies, with an unusually thoughtful countenance. As soon as his purchases were unloaded and the horse had been attended to, he came in and, drawing a chair beside my work-table, opened the conversation with these memorable words:
"Judith, how would you like to go up to Lemonville to live?"
"What makes you ask?" questioned I. "It depends altogether on the circumstances how I'd like to live there."
"Well, Hawkes bantered me to-day to come up and keep his books for him, and I have been considering it all the way home. It looks like a way out, and I'll declare I don't see any other!"
"Go back to office work!" I exclaimed; "I thought you were done with that sort of thing!"
"I thought so, too; but after a year of this sort of thing, it begins to look quite different."
We sat up late, discussing this plan in all its bearings. Bruno seemed to know that it was a crisis in our affairs, and sat on end facing us, wrinkling his brows and looking from one to the other as each spoke. We finally decided that Julius was to go back to town in a day or two, and investigate further.
When Julius returned from Lemonville three days later, he brought us the news that he had promised to give the position a trial, and that he had engaged temporary quarters for us in a new house near the office. Moreover, we were to move up there the following week, as Mr. Hawkes was impatient for his help.
While we felt relieved at this decision, there was still something very sad about the breaking up. We had builded so many hopes into our pine-woods home, which had seemed to us to be guarded by a "standing army" of giants carrying silver banners, especially imposing on moonlight nights when the wind kept the banners of moss swaying under the immense pine-trees.
We had seen it in imagination blossoming as the rose, a quiet little nest, far from the madding crowd. And now to abandon it at the beginning and go back to village life,—it was leaving poetry for the flattest of prose.
The first step towards breaking up was to dispose of our fowls. This was soon arranged, and when the cart came to carry them off, Bruno watched the loading of them with the keenest interest, turning his head sideways, with alert ears, and catching his lip between hisside-teeth when a hen squawked, as was his way when nervous. At last they were all in the coop. The driver mounted to his seat, and started off. Bruno trotted along after him, evidently not understanding that they were no longer our chickens. He thought it was the beginning of the move he had heard us discuss. He followed along for perhaps a quarter of a mile. All at once he stopped and looked back; he saw us standing and looking after him. It was a dilemma. He looked after the receding wagon, then back at us, then at the wagon again. Then he turned and galloped back, stomach to earth, and bounded up to us, yelping and panting, while we explained that they were not our chickens any more; they were sold, and had gone away to live in another home.
The poultry disposed of, we began hurriedly to make ready for our own departure. It took a whole long day to pack our books, but we soon stowed our other things, and inside of the agreed time we were transferred and settled in the three rooms Julius had engaged.
There was a sitting-room below, which we used also as a dining-room, with a small kitchen behind it. Over the sitting-room we had alarge chamber. The front windows of this room gave on the sloping roof which covered a lower porch. This seemed to meet Bruno's views; he at once sprang through one of the windows, and took possession of it as a lounging-place—airy and cool.
Again and again friends we had made in our sylvan retreat, who came up to town to visit us, said,—
"I found where you lived by seeing your dog on the porch-roof."
The house stood on rising ground and could be seen from almost any part of the village; so we found Bruno quite useful as a door-plate in a town where there were as yet no street names nor numbers.
We do not like living in the homes of other people, so as soon as possible we made arrangements for two town lots, and put up a little cottage.
One day Julius came home with invitations for a ball in honor of the Governor, to be given in an ambitious embryo city across the lake. He had learned that the little steamer was to make an extra night-trip across on purpose to accommodate those who wished to attend, and that some of our friends had planned to go in company, and wished us to join their party. We had long intended to take the steamer trip across the lake; the Governor's ball sounded inviting, also the night crossing with our friends. We decided to accept.
The evening fell rather threatening, with flurries of wind and rain. Still we were undaunted, and kept hoping it would clear off.
I filled Bruno's basin and platter, telling him he must take care of the house and be a good dog. He seemed to understand all about it, and stood at the window after we had locked him in, watching us go with perfect composure.
It was still twilight when we started, and we could see his eyes shining through the glass, as long as the house was in sight.
The weather, meantime, had not improved, and had we not promised to go, we should certainly have given it up.
When we reached the wharf, we found that the little steamer's cabin was in the sole possession of our party, all the others having backed out on account of the weather.
We kept up each other's spirits with all sorts of absurdities, and the boat was soon ploughing a foamy track across the big waves.
As soon as we steamed out from behind a point of land that sheltered the wharf, we were met by a gale of wind that made the little steamer reel and tremble as if from the shock of a collision. The lights were all promptly extinguished, as the doors were forced open by fierce winds, while we huddled together in a corner, and laughingly reminded each other that it was a "pleasure exertion."
I shudder now whenever I think of that night, though at the time we did not know enough about the possibilities to be frightened.
How the little boat pitched and tossed! The waves washed its lower decks, again and againputting out the engine fires; we meanwhile rolling in the trough of the sea until they could be rekindled. We had expected to cross in about three-quarters of an hour, and return soon after midnight; but it was along towards the wee sma' hours when we reached the other shore. Then, when we heard the crew congratulating each other, exchanging experiences, and telling what they had expected to see happen to all concerned every time big waves had washed out the fire, we for the first time fully realized the risks we had taken in crossing.
We were weary enough not to be sorry that the ball was already over. We looked in at its departed glories for a few minutes; and then, finding it would be impossible to start back home before broad daylight, began to look for a lodging-place.
The town was filled with people who had driven in from the surrounding country for the ball, but we succeeded in getting two small top-story rooms in the hotel, which were vacated for us by some sort of "doubling-up" among the good-natured guests. The three men of our party took one, and we three women the other.
It was about three o'clock when we retired to our room, and while the other two slept on theone bed, I sat by the window trying to hurry the dawn; wondering what Bruno was thinking, and how we should look, a party of people clothed in evening array, returning home in broad daylight. As if we had made a night of it, surely! I chuckled to myself as I compared our plight with that of Cinderella.
We met at breakfast in the hotel dining-room, a queer-looking crowd. As we laughed at each other's appearance, it was hard for each to realize that he or she looked just as absurd; but an unprejudiced observer would have found little to choose between us. As soon as the meal was over, the three men started out to find a way to get us all home again. Everything seemed to conspire to delay us, and it was half-past twelve at noon when we entered our own gate, the click of the latch bringing Bruno's face to the window with a series of joyful barks.
Poor fellow! His long confinement to the house, his empty plate and bowl, his joyful reception of us, and then his springing out to dash round and round the lot, filled our hearts with compassion.
As soon as his first burst of enthusiasm was over, he came in, and crept up to me withdejected ears and tail, which in his language meant "mea culpa." I asked,—
"What is it, Boonie? What's Boonie been doing?"
Still lower sank head and tail, and his knees began to weaken. I made a hasty survey of the sitting-room, and then I understood. He had slept on the lounge, a thing he was strictly forbidden to do.
"Oh, Boonie!" I cried, "you naughty dog! Judith thought she could trust you!"
At this his knees gave way, and he sank to the floor utterly dejected. He would not rise, nor even look up, until I had forgiven and comforted him.
The next time we had to leave him alone in the house, I built a "booby-trap," with two light chairs on the lounge, which left him looking so utterly crushed that I never had the heart to do it again. But he never more transgressed in that way, so I felt that I had dealt wisely with him.
It was a hard necessity which forced us to shut him up when we were going where it would not do to take him. At first we had tried leaving him outside; but we found that after we had been gone awhile, his heart wasalways sure to fail him, and he would track us, turning up invariably just in time to cover us with confusion, his own dejected mien saying plainly,—
"I know this is against orders, but I justhadto do it."
He had a wonderful development of conscience. We sometimes thought that this, as well as the other mental gifts of which he showed himself to be possessed, were due to the shape of his head. His nose was very short, and his forehead unusually high and well-rounded. Of course his life as a close companion to humans and as a full member of a family circle, was calculated to foster these mental gifts; but they were surely there, to begin with. We might treat dozens of dogs just as we treated Bruno, without developing another that would compare with him. He was unique; and I shall always glory in the fact that he loved and trusted us. His was a love not to be lightly won, nor, once given, ever to be recalled.
In spite of our snug little home in Lemonville, we never felt quite settled there. We were not built for village life. Country life is good, and city life is good; but in a village one has all the drawbacks of both, with the rewards of neither. So it was not long before we resolved on another change.
We sold our little home furnished, packed up our books, with a few other personal belongings, and turned our faces towards St. Augustine, to investigate several openings there, of which we had chanced to hear. We were so fortunate as to be able to rent a small cottage, and at once took possession, furnishing it from our trunks, only buying a few necessary articles of the plainest kind.
Just as we had settled ourselves in these temporary quarters, a matter of business came up, making necessary a return to Lemonville for a day or two. The trip was both tedious and expensive, so after some discussion wedecided that Bruno and I should stay and keep house, while Julius made the trip alone "light weight."
I had some trouble in persuading Julius that I should be perfectly safe in Bruno's care. He wished us to close the cottage, and go to some one of the many pleasant boarding-places, where we had friends or acquaintances stopping. This I should certainly have done, had I been alone; but I reminded Julius how more than able Bruno was to take care of me, and how much trouble he always gave in a strange house. So he was finally persuaded that it would be best for us to stay in the cottage.
Julius left on a noon train, carrying only a small hand-bag. When he said good-by to us, he impressed this on Bruno's mind,—"Take good care of Judith."
Bruno stood at the door with me, watching him out of sight, then breathed a deep sigh, and crept off under the bed to have it out with himself alone and unseen. I busied myself picking up the articles which had been scattered in the confusion of packing, then sat down to drown thought in a book.
Towards evening I had a caller. One of our friends, who had seen Julius, bag in hand, atthe station, and had thus learned that I was alone, sent a message by her little son that I was to "come right around" to their house for the night. I sent our thanks, with further message that Bruno and I had agreed to take care of each other. The child went home; then his mother came. She thought I "must be crazy" to think of staying alone. She "wouldn't do it for any money." I assured her I was not staying alone, and had some trouble to convince her that I could not possibly be more safely guarded than by Bruno. I assured her, further, that nothing would now induce me to lock up the house and leave it, for it would be impossible to know just when Julius would return; he would be sure to catch the first boat and train after his business was finished, and I would not for anything have him return to find his nest deserted.
I succeeded, at last, in quieting all of her kind objections, and was left in peace.
Darkness came on, and then Bruno lost courage. As I was preparing his evening meal, he ran to meet me as I crossed the room, and raising himself to an upright position, he rested his paws on my shoulders and gazed with mournful questioning into my eyes. I knew what hewould say, and sitting down, I drew his head to my knee, and told him all about it,—that Julius would only stay a "little, little while," then he would come back and "stay—stay—stay always with us." His ears rose and fell, his forehead wrinkled and unwrinkled as I talked to him. Then he seemed comforted, and ate a good supper.
I sat reading far into the night, until the letters began to blur. Bruno sat beside me, sometimes with his head on my knee while I stroked his silken ears,—which always suggested the wavy locks of a red-haired girl,—and sometimes he lay at full length on the floor, with his head against my feet.
As midnight tolled, I closed my book, covered up the fire, and tried to go to sleep, with Bruno lying on the rug beside my bed. Whenever I stirred, he got up, and putting his forefeet on the side of the bed, reached his head over for me to stroke it. It was the first time I had ever spent a night in a house with no other humans, and Bruno seemed to enter thoroughly into my feelings.
I lay listening to the breakers booming on the outer bar, wondering how far on his journey Julius could be.
Dawn looked in at me before I fell asleep; then I knew nothing until aroused by Bruno's barks, to find that some one was rapping on the front door.
After hastily putting on a dressing-gown, I investigated through a crack made by holding the door slightly ajar, and found that the same kind friends had sent to see how I had spent the night. I gave a glowing account of our comfort and security, for my morning nap had thoroughly rested and refreshed me; then I hastened to prepare some breakfast for Bruno, meanwhile letting him out for a run in the lot.
After the small household duties were attended to, I had sat down to finish some souvenirs I was painting for one of the shops, when I heard a great din and clatter outside. Bruno, who was sitting beside me, gravely watching my work, while now and then he gave a disgusted snort as he got a good whiff of the turpentine I was using to thin my paints, started up, barking and bounding towards the closed door. I sprang to open it, and was met on the very threshold by a trembling, half-grown deer. The gate was open, showing how it had entered, and there, hesitating at the sight of Bruno and me, was a motley crowd of boys and dogs. Iat once grasped the situation. Many people in St. Augustine had such pets, and I was sure this one must have escaped from the grounds of its owner, to fall into the hands of the rabble.
I hurried out to shut the gate. Most boys are more or less cruel; but Spanish boys are intensely so. When I returned to the porch, Bruno and the deer were regarding each other with mutual doubts. I settled Bruno's at once by laying my hand on his head while I stroked our gentle visitor, saying,—
"Pretty deer, Boonie mustn't hurt it!"
The deer seemed satisfied too, and to feel that danger was past. I brought water, and everything I could think of to offer it to eat. It was too warm with running to want food, though, and only took a few swallows of water. Its lovely, deep eyes suggested all sorts of romantic thoughts. Of course I quoted, "Come rest in this bosom," and "I never nursed a dear gazelle." I was sure its name should be Juanita, after the girl in the sweet Spanish song.
All day the pretty creature roamed about our little enclosure, Bruno and I attending to its wants as best we could, having had no experience in catering for such guests.
It turned quite chilly towards evening. WhenI had shut all the doors and built up the fire, I heard a clatter of small hoofs on the porch-floor, and there stood Juanita, looking wistfully in through the window. Bruno and I looked at each other, thoroughly perplexed. We were not prepared for such a hint. I thought afterwards it must have been taken as a baby-deer, and raised in-doors "by hand."
We went out and prepared a warm bed for it in the wood-shed back of the house. It seemed quite satisfied with this arrangement, and settled down cosily as we left it and returned to our fireside. We spent this evening and night as we had the previous one, and were aroused very early in the morning by the sound of Juanita's impatient little hoofs on the porch floor. I had just finished feeding her and Bruno, when I heard the gate-latch click. I looked out. A colored girl was coming up the walk.
"Mawnin', Lady," she said; "ole Miss hyud our deer was hyuh.Dahyou is, you good-f'-nuffin' ole runaway! Thanky, Lady. Come on, Billy!" And hittinghima resounding slap on the back, she went off, accompanied by our romantic Juanita, transformed into meek and prosy Billy.
Thus perish our illusions!
Bruno was inclined to resent this unceremonious taking off of our pet, and began to growl; but as soon as I recovered from the mingled emotions which at first had rendered me speechless, I realized from Billy's actions that he and the colored girl were old friends; so I silenced him by saying,—
"Never mind, Boonie, it wasn't our deer; it only came for a little visit, and now it's going home." Then we stood watching graceful Billy and his uncouth companion till they disappeared through the old City Gates.
Late that evening, Bruno having had his supper, I sat by the fire sipping a cup of chocolate, and thinking those tender, half-melancholy thoughts we are apt to have at twilight when separated from those beloved.
All at once I heard the gate click. Bruno sprang up, thrilled and alert. A footstep on the walk—ah, Bruno knew it, even before I did, and was so eager to get out that he almost held the door shut in his excitement. We finally got it open, and there, weary, eager, and travel-stained, was Julius! Before his lips reached my face, I mentally exclaimed,—
"How glad I am that Bruno and I have stayedhere, instead of leaving a shut-up house, where he would have to drop his bag and start out to look for us!"
That moment, when I felt his arms around me and heard his words of joy mingled with Bruno's ecstatic yelps, paid for all of our endless, lonely hours. I dare say there was not in all the world a happier group of three than sat before our open fire that night.
Every time Bruno dozed, he would awaken with a start, and go to sniff and paw at Julius to make sure it wasn't a dream, that he really had come back to us.
Julius reported his business successfully concluded; a change in one of the time-tables had enabled him to get back sooner than we had dared to hope.
The next day I received his letter, telling me to look for him by the train on which he had come the night before!
In those days our mail not infrequently took an ocean voyage on its way from one Florida town to another quite near by, so we were never surprised at anything in the mail line,—except a prompt delivery!
It was shortly after the events related in the last chapter that we came to a final decision against the various business openings we had been investigating in St. Augustine, and concluded to go on to Jacksonville. We disposed of the few things we had bought for our little cottage, and when we again found ourselves on the train with our household goods, I gave us both a fit of merriment by quoting the words of poor little Joe in "Bleak House,"—
"Wisht I may die if I ain't a-movin' on."
It was by this time mid-season, and Jacksonville was full of tourists. It was then very popular as a winter resort, Southern Florida was not much known; so we had some difficulty in finding a place to live.
We decided to get just one room somewhere, and board at a restaurant till the city emptied so we could secure a cottage.
The first room we found that would do, was too far from the business part of town; so we took it for only a month, and kept on looking.We heard of one, at last, which seemed close to everything. It proved to be large, lofty, and pleasant, with a glimpse of the river from its front windows.
The house was well recommended to us by the few business acquaintances Julius had made, though they all confessed that such places were constantly changing hands and inmates and that it was hard to keep up with them. Time pressed, and nothing better offered; so we moved in. It was entirely bare; so we bought some furniture, and, as it was rather a long room for its breadth, we managed, with a screen or two, to make it seem like three rooms.
When all was in place, it was really quite inviting. I had a small lamp stove, so we need only go out for dinners. We began to feel more settled than for a long time, especially, as Julius had in the meantime found a business opening which was entirely satisfactory. We saw nothing at all of the other lodgers; but this did not disturb us, as we were in no hurry to make acquaintances. We felt that it was best to be circumspect in a city of this size and make-up.
Our evenings were our pleasantest times, sitting on either side of the reading-lamp, withBruno stretched at our feet; so I was inclined to object one evening, when Julius announced at dinner that he had promised to give a few hours to helping a young friend of his to straighten out his accounts. He had promised, though; so I had to yield. He set off betimes, so as to be home earlier. I locked the door after him, as I always did, and began to make myself as comfortable as possible for a quiet hour or two, with a new magazine.
Before I had finished cutting the leaves, I was struck with surprise at Bruno's actions. He crept in a very stealthy manner to the door, and stood there in an attitude of listening, with every nerve and muscle tense.
I watched him a minute, and then asked,—
"What is it, Boonie?"
He did not look around; he waved his tail once or twice, then resumed his tense pose. Thoroughly surprised, I went softly to him, and stood also listening. I could hear nothing but a faint rustling, a suppressed whispering, and the soft click of a latch. I touched Bruno's head; he looked up at me, and I saw he was holding his lip between his side-teeth, as he had a way of doing when he was very much puzzled or excited.
I tried to coax him away from the door, but he refused to come. I made sure the bolt was shot, and then sat down at a little distance to watch him. There was a door in the middle of one side of the room, which, when we took possession, we had found to be nailed up. We utilized the recess with the aid of some draperies, as a place to hang clothing. Bruno went to this door, thrusting his head in among the clothes.
He listened there for a long time, probably ten minutes; he returned again to the other door; then he gave a low growl, followed by several half-suppressed barks, and lay down against it.
I forgot all about my book, and sat watching to see what he would do next. The evening seemed endless. At last I heard Julius below in the hall; Bruno sprang up when I opened the door, and went clattering down the stairs to escort him up. It was not late, only about ten. I at once told Julius of the queer evening we had spent, and had the satisfaction of seeing him as thoroughly puzzled as I had been. We sat until a late hour discussing it, then gave it up as something quite beyond us.
About three o'clock in the morning we wereawakened by an alarm of fire. The room was full of light, and when we looked out of the window we found that it was close by—only about two squares away. It was a big blaze and, as it was on the opposite side of the street, we had a fine view of it. I was terribly frightened. My uneasiness earlier in the evening had unnerved me, and this terrible fire so near us upset me completely. A fire fills me with horror, especially if it breaks out in the night: it always reminds me of the burning of a big steamer that happened one awful night in my tenth year.
I watched the flames, fascinated by their lurid splendor;—imagining that the three white pigeons which had been awakened by the light and were circling around the tower of smoke—now hidden by it, and now silhouetted against it—were the souls of those who had perished in the flames. Overcome by horror, I finally exclaimed:—
"Suppose it had been this big building that had caught fire!"
"But it wasn't," said Julius.
"No: but it might have been. I don't like this at all. I want to be in a little house by ourselves, close to the ground."
"Yes, it would be better," said Julius, who saw by the light of the flames how pale I had become, and noted how I was trembling. "It will not do to have you so terrified: we'll make a change at once. But it will be difficult to find a house until the tourists begin to scatter."
We thoroughly discussed the situation, and by breakfast-time had reached a decision.
I was to return to Lemonville for a stay of a week or two, and while there to see to the packing and shipping of a piano we had left in storage. Julius meanwhile was to find a cottage, and have our belongings transferred to it. We did not like the arrangement very well, but it seemed to be the only thing we could do.
Thus ended our experience as lodgers.
I was gone two weeks. It was pleasant to meet old friends, after a separation long enough to have plenty of news to exchange, without having had time to lose interest in each other's affairs, but my heart was back in Jacksonville.
Julius and I wrote to each other every day, but the mails were so tedious and uncertain that we usually got each other's letters by threes or fours, with days full of anxiety and heart-ache between.
I still have the package of letters received then. I have just been reading them over again. Bruno pervades them all. It is—
"Took Bruno with me to the office to-day, he begged so hard when I started to leave him; it's lonely for him, poor fellow!"
And—
"While I ate breakfast, I had the waiter put up a good lunch for Boonie; he's getting tired of biscuit, and I don't like to give him raw bones."
On Sunday,—
"I took Bruno a long walk in the suburbs to-day. It did him a lot of good."
A letter written just before I returned says,—
"Bruno seems down-hearted to-night; I think he misses somebody."
I returned as soon as Julius wrote that he had procured a house. The welcome I received told me that Bruno was not the only one who had missed "somebody."
All that season we lived in a rented cottage, but before the next summer came we were planting roses in our own grounds. We had been renting just about a year, when we bought our little home in one of the suburbs; so we could fully appreciate the joys of being on our own place again.
We found a kitten, the "very moral" of Rebecca, striped black and blue-gray. She was a dear little thing, and she and Bruno soon became fast friends.
The only creature we ever knew him to bite—except, indeed, wild animals, which he considered fair game—was in defending Catsie.
His victim was a handsome coach-dog, following some friends who one day drove out to call on us. He was a thoroughbred dog, but he had not Bruno's gentlemanly instincts. The first thing he did was to go trotting around to the back porch, where he spied Catsie enjoying a fine meaty bone. He sneaked upbehind her, and snatching it in his teeth, made off with it.
Bruno could not stand that. It seemed to make a perfect fury of him. I think he felt that the fault was worse, because the coach-dog was so sleek and plump; there was not even the excuse of hunger.
Poor fellow! Bruno sent him howling and limping from the yard.
The call came to an untimely end, our visitors declaring,—
"That great savage brute of yours has almost killed our beautiful dog!"
I am afraid we did not feel very contrite. We never took our "great savage brute" anywhere to visit, except when he was especially invited; and besides, we had our own opinion, which was similar to Bruno's, of big dogs that robbed little cats.
It took a great deal to rouse Bruno, so much that we sometimes mistook his amiability for lack of courage.
We had often watched him chasing the animals that lax town laws had allowed to roam the streets of the only two villages we had ever known. He would go dashing after a pig or a cow. If the creature ran, he would chase ituntil he was exhausted; but if it stood its ground and calmly returned his excited gaze, he would stop, look at it for a minute, then turn and come trotting back, with an air that said plainly,—
"I was only in fun; I wanted to see what it would do."
There was a big watch-dog which lived in an enclosure we had to pass on our way to town. When we took Bruno that way for a stroll, as soon as he reached this lot, he and the other dog would greet each other through the picket-fence with the most blood-curdling growls and snarls. They seemed fairly to thirst for each other's life-blood. Then, each on his own side of the fence, they would go racing along, keeping up their growls and snarls, till they reached a place where there were half a dozen pickets broken out, so that either could have leaped through with ease.
Then what a change!
Their ears would droop, and their coats and tempers smooth down to the most insipid amiability. But at their next meeting they were quite as savage, till they again reached the opening in the fence. It was the same program, over and over.
Bruno liked to play at anger just for a little excitement, but when he found anything really worth a spell of the furies, it was quite another story.
The butcher-boy, who came every other day, took Bruno's tragic demonstrations for the real thing, and was terribly afraid of him. He used to shout to me, "Come out and hold the dog!" until he could run to the kitchen and get safely back outside the gate.
It was all in vain for me to assure him there was no danger. He thought I did not know what I was talking about. His terror was so real, I pitied the child—he was not more than twelve or fourteen—so I used to shut Bruno up in the front hall on butcher-boy days until after he had made his call.
Our colored woman used to spend her nights in the bosom of her family, coming back every morning in time to get breakfast. One morning she failed to appear. It was butcher-boy morning, and the weather was quite chilly. When I called Bruno in to shut him up, I noticed that the house next to ours was closed. Our neighbors were off for the day. There were two vacant lots opposite our place, and on the other side, a church. So when our neighbors went off for a day's jaunt, as they frequently did, we were quite isolated.
After I had shut Bruno in the hall, I sat down by the kitchen fire to toast my toes and wait for the butcher-boy. I was impatient for him to come, so I could release Bruno, who did not like being shut up. He was perfectly willing to lie in the hall,—in fact, it was a favorite dozing-place with him,—but, like some people, he did not enjoy the idea of being forced to do even what he liked best. I was glad when I heard a step on the back porch, and sprang eagerly to open the door. There stood the dirtiest, most evil-looking tramp I had ever seen. He was so taken aback at the way the door flew open, that I had slammed it and shot the bolt before he recovered. I hurried in for Bruno, who had heard the strange step and was eager to investigate. As soon as I returned and unfastened the bolt, the tramp threw his weight against the door to force it open. Bruno sprang to the opening with a whole volley of barks and growls. I caught his collar, saying to the tramp,—
"You'd better run; I can't hold him long!"
I never saw a man make better time. I gave him a minute's start, then loosed Bruno. Hereached the fence just as the tramp had fallen over it without stopping to open the gate. When I saw all was safe, I felt so limp I fell back in a chair weak and nerveless. Bruno watched the tramp around the corner, then returned to look after me. He was much exercised to find me in such a state, and relieved his feelings by alternately trying to lick my face, and dashing out to bark again after the vanished tramp.
After that, Bruno seemed to feel more than ever responsible for me. He had all along been my especial protector, but seeing me overcome with fright seemed to make a deep impression on him.
Julius and I had been in the habit of taking evening walks, and as Bruno stayed with me through the day when Julius was gone, it was his only chance for a run.
One evening, when Julius came home, it had been raining, and I felt that it would not do for me to go out.
"You'd better take Boonie for a little run, though," I said; "he has been in the house all day."
"I have an errand down at the corner," answered Julius, "and he can race around the square while I am attending to it. You won't be afraid?"
"Not for that little while; you will be back again before I have time to miss you."
Julius went into the hall for his overcoat and hat.
"Come on, Boonie," he said; "Boonie can go."
Bruno bounced up, all excitement, showing how he had felt the confinement. He dashedinto the hall, where Julius was putting on his overcoat, then came trotting back into the sitting-room and stood, ears erect, looking at me and wagging his tail. I understood him, and answered,—
"No, Boonie; Judith must stay. Just Julius and Boonie are going."
He knew us only by the names he heard us call each other.
He sat down at my feet, all his excitement gone.
"Come, Boonie," called Julius from the door. "Come on, Boonie's going!"
Bruno looked at him, wagged his tail, looked at me, and refused to stir.
"Don't you see?" I said; "he thinks I ought not to be left alone." Then to him, "Go on, Boonie; Boonie must go. Judith isn't afraid."
He looked gratefully at me, and wagged his tail, saying plainly, in his dog-fashion,—
"Thank you, but I'd rather not."
Julius waxed impatient.
"You Boon! come along, sir! come on!" he thundered. Bruno's ears and tail drooped. He looked up sideways in a deprecating manner at Julius, then came and laid his head on my knee. It was of no use. Neither threats norcoaxing could move him. Noble creature! His ideas of chivalry were not to be tampered with, even by those who were his gods, his all!
The next morning at breakfast I said to Julius,—
"I am afraid Bruno will be ill staying in-doors so closely. Can't you take him for a little run before you go to the office?"
"Yes," answered Julius, "I'll take him if he'll go."
"Oh, he'll go fast enough. Dinah is here, and he will think it safe to leave me."
Bruno was delighted at the invitation, and went tearing around the square four times while Julius walked it once; then came in, hot and happy, to tell Catsie and me all about it.
There was something so peculiarly tender about our feelings for Bruno and his for us. He was at once our protector and our dependent. It is not strange that we never failed to be thoroughly enraged when dog-lovers tried, as they sometimes did, to coax us to sell him. Sell our Bruno! True, we had tried to give him away, but that was for his own good. But to take money for him! To sell him!! Unspeakable!!!
Three times we had nursed him through trying illnesses,—twice the blind staggers, and once the distemper; and when either of us was ill, he could not be coaxed from the bedside. No matter who watched at night, Bruno would watch too, and no slightest sound nor movement escaped his vigilance.
How often since he left us have I longed in weary vigils for the comfort of his presence!