"I never in my world seen how they all makes""I never in my world seen how they all makes"
At the end she made a short address to victors and audience alike. She thanked them for their great effort to give her pleasure, and for the great pleasure they had given her, and then added:
"When I brought your prizes this morning I had no idea what the party was to be like, and so of course I didn't get just what I would have given you if I had known. But now that I do know how wonderfully our boys can jump and run, I shall bring for each boy on Monday morning a regular running suit, and whenever you have 'Games in Gardens' again you won't have to borrow anything. Perhaps the Principal would like you to have 'Games in Gardens' on the roofsome afternoon, and you could invite the other classes. I am sure they'd love it."
"You liked it all right, all right, didn't you, Teacher?" demanded Patrick.
"Liked it!" she echoed. "Why, I was simply delighted."
"Und s'prised?" questioned Morris.
"I was never more so in all my long, long life," answered Constance Bailey with entire conviction.
"Where did you get him?" said the Principal.
"In the back yard of one of those double-deckers down by the river," answered the Truant Officer. "Ain't he the bird!" he added in professional enthusiasm. "I've been chasing him for two or three days. He's just about as easy to handle as an eel, and to-day he bit me as we were coming along. He's a beauty, he is!"
"And you say he doesn't speak Yiddish?" queried the Principal.
"He don't speak the kind I do," the other answered. "I get on all right with the rest of the folks around here, and I certainly never expected to have troublerounding up a kid that ain't knee-high to a grasshopper. No, you don't, sonny!" he broke off as his charge was sliding toward the door. "You've got to stay here now and have a nice lady learn you how to read and write and cipher."
The boy looked up at his captor with the wide, desperate eyes of an animal at bay, recognizing his helplessness, but determined to bite and fight to the very end.
"Will you look at that now?" the Truant Officer exclaimed; "he thinks every one's going to hurt him. That's the way some of those kids feel."
"Oh, he'll soon get over that here," the Principal laughed. "I've seen them much wilder on their first appearance. The teachers know how to handle them."
Left alone with his new charge, the Principal turned and studied him. The boy was in the corner, his eyes fixed onthe closed door, his whole little body tense. His visible clothing consisted of a man's coat, cut short at the sleeves and pinned across the breast. The child was so small that this reached far below his knees, where it was supplemented by ragged stockings and shoes. He was unkempt and dirty, even according to the unexacting East Side's standard. But there was something about the poise of his head and the slow, lithe movements of his body that differentiated him from the ordinary street waif. There was no fear in him—no pleading, no snivelling, nothing but a harsh, almost mature, defiance.
"Come here!" said the Principal. At the sound of his voice the child turned and looked at him, and the man found himself returning the cool regard of a pair of violet-blue eyes. Blue eyes picked up in the heart of that duskyneighborhood, where he had learned to expect all children's eyes to be either black or brown!
"I wonder what he is, and where he comes from," he sighed, as he rang the bell and summoned the teacher who generally acted as his interpreter. "David Copperfield's poor old friend, Mr. Dick, would find plenty of use for his famous prescription, 'wash him,' if he were in my place."
Miss Rosen soon arrived and began her usual inquiries as to name, age, residence. The little stranger heard her through, and then he uttered a sharp three or four word sentence, clear cut, imperious; and Miss Rosen, a sweet and portly lady of fifteen years' faithful teaching, flushed to the edge of her hard black pompadour, and stared, incredulous, at the ragged form before her.
"Well," said the Principal, as shemade no effort at translation. "What does he say?"
"I do not speak his language," she answered.
"And yet you understand him?"
"I understand him—yes——"
"Well," repeated the Principal, in no mind to allow one small boy to upset his morning's routine, "well, if you understand him, tell me what he said. What language was that he used?"
"Russian," she replied, "pure Russian, and what he said is the only Russian phrase which many of the Jewish people ever hear. I have not heard it since I escaped from Russia with my parents years and years ago. I had hoped never to hear it again. I must refuse to translate it to you."
When she had gone, all shaken, back to her class, the Principal shook a remonstrating head at his captive, who was bythis time examining the book-case with a disparaging eye. Catching the man's glance, he made some remark in his liquid speech, and thumped his chest.
"Perhaps so, my boy," Mr. Trevar agreed. "But I'm studying your case. No English, horrid temper, young wild animal, in fact. It's hard on the girl," he admitted to his own conscience; "but I guess it's a case for Room 18," and rang the bell again and sent word to Room 18 to summon Miss Bailey to his office.
"We've caught a tartar," he told her, "almost literally a Tartar. He seems to have strong racial prejudices, and I shall have to assign him to you until he learns a little English."
"I must refuse to translate it to you""I must refuse to translate it to you"
"But if he speaks no English at all," Miss Bailey remonstrated—for children of this kind were her greatest trial, and she was already laboring with three ofthem—"would he not be happier with one of the teachers who could understand him?"
"Ah! but they wouldn't," he replied; "that's just the point. Miss Rosen tells me he's a Russian and not a Jew. He said something extremely rude to her just now. No, you'll have to take him, at least for a few days, until I can make some inquiries about him. We shall have to get the Truant Officer to give us the child's name and address. Will you take him with you now?"
Constance Bailey had a smile to which many a lonely frightened little novice had yielded a shy and sweet response, but there was no answering smile here. She stretched out a hand to take the boy's, but he eluded her, reached the door, opened it, and stood at stiff attention until she had preceded him into the hall.
"Well, I'll be blamed!" reflected the Principal. "Manners, and princely ones at that!"
On the way to Room 18, Miss Bailey's newest responsibility walked beside her with a free and upright carriage strangely at variance with the shoes he walked in. Once or twice she spoke to him, and his answer was an uncomprehending but courteous inclination of the little head. Once he spoke to her. It was when they passed the platform in the Assembly Room. He pointed to the piano and said something eagerly, authoritatively, in that language whose like Miss Bailey had never heard. She nodded and smiled at him, and they fared on together.
Again, at the door of Room 18, he punctiliously allowed her to precede him. But as he entered after her and met the full regard of Room 18's dark eyes, he stopped and returned the glances bentupon him with a cool, insulting indifference.
"This is a new little boy," announced Miss Bailey, "to whom I want you all to be very kind. He doesn't speak much English, but we shall teach him that. Morris, he will sit near you."
Morris Mowgelewsky, all timid friendliness, approached the stranger. Here surely was a queer new little boy in a "from man's" coat, and an exceeding dirty face; yet if Miss Bailey hailed him as a new little friend, then as a new little friend he must be made welcome.
"Talk to him a moment, Morris," Teacher commanded. "See if he won't tell you what his name is."
Morris obeyed, and the child answered him in the words that had so upset Miss Rosen. But Morris had left Russia when he was only two years old, and the phraseheld no meaning for him, though the tone made him pause.
"I don't know how he says," Morris reported to Miss Bailey. "I says out of Jewish, 'What is your name, little boy?' und I don't know what he says. On'y it ain't names, und it ain't lovin'."
"Very well, dear, you may go back to your place. I'll keep him here beside me for a while," answered Teacher, more than ever at a loss, for the winningness of Morris had never failed to charm a stranger.
At the recess hour, when all the other children filed down into the yard, Teacher sent Patrick Brennan with a little note to Mr. Eissler, the teacher of the biggest boys, those nearly ready for graduation. He was an elderly man wearing well in the service to which the noblest of his race have always devoted themselves. He and Miss Bailey were great friends,and much of the understanding of this alien race—its habits, its emotions, and its innate refinement—the understanding which made her reign in Room 18 so peaceful and beneficent, she had acquired from him, and from the books he lent her.
"Dear Mr. Eissler," ran the note. "Will you come to Room 18 when you are at leisure? I have rather an interesting specimen of Child Life which I am keeping for your inspection."
During the short period which had elapsed between the stranger's arrival and the departure of First Readers, the new-comer had undergone an entire change of manner. Not that he had softened toward his little future companions. Rather he grew in hatred and vindictiveness as the busy morning progressed. It was his attitude toward Miss Bailey which changed. In the Principal's office and on the way through thehalls he had seemed to waver on the brink of friendliness. But he had sat beside her desk and had seen her moving up and down through the narrow streets of her kingdom, encouraging here, laughing there, explaining with patient care and detail, laying a friendly hand on bent little shoulders and setting hair ribbons more jauntily erect—behaving, in fact, with a freedom and affection most evidently reflected and magnified by her subjects. And as he watched her his little mouth lost all its softness, and the hard, inscrutable look disfigured him again.
When Mr. Eissler, in response to the summons, opened the door, the newcomer's back was toward it. He wheeled at the sound, and clear and quick he lashed out his single phrase.
Miss Bailey chanced to be looking at her old friend, and at the child's voicesaw him cringe and shrink as if from a blow.
"There it is again," she cried. "That's all we can get him to say. Tell me, Mr. Eissler,whatdoes it mean?"
She got no answer.
The man, in all the dignity of his cutaway and his white linen, was glaring at the child, and the child, in his ridiculous rags, pitiful, starved, and dirty, was looking the man over from top to toe with contemptuous, careless eyes. They stood so for some space, and it was the man who turned away.
"I will not pretend not to understand," said he to Teacher; "but I must decline to translate those words. They bring back—they bring back! Ah, God! what they bring back!"
"Ah, yes, I know!" said Miss Bailey, in vague but ready sympathy. "I'm very, very sorry."
While this conversation was in progress its object was wandering about Room 18, surveying its pictures, the canary, the gold-fish bowl, and the flowery window-boxes with a blasé air. Occasionally he glanced at Miss Bailey with unfriendly disillusionment. And upon one of these occasions Mr. Eissler, at Teacher's request, asked him his name.
The boy answered at greater length than before, but, judging by the man's face, in equally offensive language, and Mr. Eissler turned to Miss Bailey.
"The Principal will have some difficulty," said he, "in finding a teacher who could speak that child's language. It's Russian, pure Court Russian, and not spoken by our people except when they make a special study of it. I know it, a little."
"And do you care to tell me," asked Miss Bailey, "any part of what he said just now?"
"He says," the man replied, "that he will not speak to Jews or to—and by this he means you—a seeming Christian, who makes the Jew her friend, and allows Jewish babies to touch her hands. You've read of the Russian autocratic spirit. Well! there you see it. Even in a little child. It's born in them."
"But how did it get here?" marvelled Miss Bailey. "Here, on the East Side of New York, where he must be just about as popular as a wolf cub?"
"Just about," answered Eissler. "Of course I'm not going to pretend to tell you how this particular specimen got here. We've had one or two cases where the Jews, driven out, kidnapped a Russian child in revenge. And sometimes Nihilism and other Socialistic societies draw Jew and Russian together. Perhaps the boy's mother is in Siberia digging sulphur. Perhaps she's in Petersburg,designing becoming mourning. But from the look of the boy and the Truant Officer's account of him, I feel pretty safe in saying she isn't about here."
"Yes, I think you're safe in that. He hasn't been washed in a month."
"He'll be better after you've had him awhile," said Mr. Eissler gallantly. "I back you against Hagenbeck as a taming influence."
"You flatter me," laughed Miss Bailey. "But I'll try. Of course I'll try." But she had scant opportunity.
At luncheon time the new little boy departed with the others, and at afternoon session he was not among them, as by law prescribed.
Day after day passed and brought no sign of him. Teacher reported her bereavement to the authorities, and enjoined the First Readers to produce the boy or tidings of him, and although theyfailed to procure the boy, the tidings were not wanting. They rarely are in East Side affairs. Morris Mowgelewsky was the first to procure definite information.
"I seen that boy," he announced with pride. "I seen him runnin' down Scannel Street, und I calls und says you likes you should see him in the school, on'y he runs by a cellar und don't says nothings. He puts him on just like he was here, und he had awful cold looks. Teacher, he ain't got no hat, and the snow was coming by his hair. I looks in the cellar und I had a 'fraid over it the whiles nothings stand in it on'y push-carts und boxes."
"But do you think that he lives in the cellar?" queried Teacher.
"He don'tlivesat all," replied Morris. "He don'tboardseven. He runs all times."
"Runs?" queried Miss Bailey.
"Teacher, yiss, ma'am, runs. He lays in sleep by barrels; comes somebody, und he runs. He lays in sleep on sidewalks by bak'ry stores where heat and smell comes; comes somebody, und he runs. He lays in sleep by wagons, maybe, maybe by stables where horses is, und straw.Allplaces what he could he lays in sleep, undallplaces where he lays comes somebody und he runs."
"What's he always running from, Morris?"
"Teacher, I dun'no. He ain't got no 'fraids. I guess maybe he don't likes nobody shall make nothings mit him. I tells him how you says he shall come on the school, und what you think? He hits me a hack in mine face, und runs on the cellar."
"I'd like to see him hit me," said Patrick Brennan, son of the Policeman on the Beat, a noble scion of a noble sire."Me pop he wouldn't stand fer no funny play," and urged by Miss Bailey's friendly attitude toward Morris, he boasted, "I'll bring him to school if ye want me to; I ain't afraid of him." And one afternoon some days later he did appear with his "new little friend."
It had taken six big boys, Patrick, and the janitor to secure his attendance, and he hardly reaped the benefit which so much effort deserved, for, except that he was thinner and in a wildly blazing passion of indignation, his second attendance at Room 18 was much like his first.
Again his studies were interrupted for several days, and it was the Truant Officer who next restored him to the Halls of Learning. Between these two appearances Morris had procured further intelligence.
"That new boy," he began as always, "that new boy he is in bizzness."
"So that's the reason that he fights against school!" cried Teacher, well accustomed to the interference of the sweat shop. "I'm very glad to know his reason for staying away. I was beginning to fear he was not happy here—that he didn't like us."
"Teacher, he don't," said Morris, with the beautiful candor which adorned all his conversation. "He hates us."
"But why, why?" demanded Miss Bailey.
"He hates the childrens," the still candid Morris explained, "the whiles they is Sheenies. He hates you the whiles you is Krisht."
"Rather an unfriendly attitude altogether," commented Teacher. "And how do you know he hates me because I'm a Christian?"
"My mamma tells me how it is. She says he has mads the whiles you is Krishtund makes all things what is loving mit Sheenies. My mamma says he is Russians; und Russians they don't makes like that mit Sheenies. Teacher, no ma'am, loving ain't what Russians makes mit us. They makes all things what is fierce."
"I know, I know," said Constance Bailey, and then—"What is the little boy's business?"
"Teacher, he's a fire-lighter."
"A fire-lighter," echoed Miss Bailey, with visions of arson before her eyes. "A fire-lighter, did you say?"
"Teacher, yiss, ma'am, he is a fire-lighter, but sooner he wants he could to come on the school the whiles he ain't got no bizzness on'y Saturdays."
And then Miss Bailey understood. She had heard of certain stranded waifs left high and dry when the ebb of Christianity receded before the flood of Judaism, and New York's great East Side, once a fashionable district, then claimed by a thrifty Irish element, became a Ghetto. It was the Jewish Sabbatical Law which gave the derelicts an opportunity to earn a few pennies every Saturday, for no orthodox Jew may kindle fire on the Sabbath. And no frugal Jew, even in the impossible circumstance of being able to afford it, will keep the stove alight all through Friday night. Hence he employs a Christian to do the work he would not stoop to.
And this was the occupation of that amazing new boy! Miss Bailey clearly saw the path of her duty, and it led her, the lighter of fires in tow, straight to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children. For some days, however, this path was closed to her conscientious feet. The boy was lost again, and Miss Bailey, who took the welfare of her charges verymuch to heart, was seriously distressed and uneasy. The First Readers were enlisted as a corps of detectives, but though they prowled in likely and unlikely spots, they brought no news of the stranger.
A week went by. The Principal, the Truant Officer, Patrick Brennan's father, were all informed and enlisted in the quest. But day followed day empty of news. Mr. Eissler could offer no suggestion, though he promised that if the child should reappear he would make further and more patient efforts to elicit some information from him. And then quite casually one afternoon Sergeant Brennan appeared in Room 18, with a bundle of rags under his arm.
"Here he is for you, Miss," he announced, waving away her acknowledgments with a stout blue arm before he removed his helmet and dried his heatedbrow. "I seen him several times since you spoke about him, but never run him down until now."
Again the child was thinner, and his likeness to a hunted animal was clearer, more heart-breaking. "And how should he be otherwise?" reflected Constance Bailey as she realized that, partly through her bidding, he actually had been persistently hunted throughout the past weeks.
After three o'clock when the First Readers, including the loudly objecting Board of Monitors, had been sent home, Miss Bailey secured every exit save the door into the hall, established the new boy in one of the front row of seats, locked the hall door upon her own retreat, and sought Mr. Eissler.
"The Russian child has turned up again," she told him. "I've had him in the class since lunch time, and I never knew of so disturbing an element. Aband in the street, a piano organ, even the passing of a fire engine, would have left those babies calmer than his mere presence did. Did you ever see a poultry yard when a hawk was perched in a neighboring tree? Well, there you have my class as long as that boy is in the room. Brainless! Stupid! Huddled in their seats! I declare I hardly knew them. And he, he hardly looked at one of us."
"He'll look at me," said Mr. Eissler, picking up a brass-bound ruler. "By-laws may be by-laws——"
"No, no," cried Teacher, "not that. I don't think I could bear it. And as for him, he would either kill or die. He's almost spent with rage and starvation. I think you'll find him more amenable than he was before."
Mr. Eissler did not find him at all. Room 18 awaited them, pleasant, orderly,and empty. Empty, too, was the whole great building and all the rooms they searched through, save for the sweeper women who met their queries blankly. They had noticed no boy.
"Again!" exclaimed Miss Bailey, almost tearfully, as they returned. "What shall I ever do about him? I meant, you know, to take him now, this very afternoon, while I had him, up to the Society's rooms in Twenty-third Street."
"How often has he been here altogether?" asked Mr. Eissler. Teacher crossed to her desk, sat down at it, and commenced to turn the pages of the Roll Book with listless hand. Mr. Eissler stood beside her, and behind them both the door of the supply closet in which all class necessities were stored opened gently, noiselessly, inch by inch, until the Fire-lighter stood forth with a sheet of sulphur matches in his hand. The joyof coming vengeance made his little face look very old as he advanced upon the unsuspecting backs of his enemies. He struck one of his matches upon some inner surface of his rags, and as Teacher pointed and Mr. Eissler stopped to examine all the crosses which marked one section of the Roll Book, the Fire-lighter held the match to the hem of Miss Bailey's heavy walking skirt. It burned dully, and the child had shut himself into the closet again before the smell of fire was noticed and located.
Then alarmed and excited was Mr. Eissler, but not reduced to panic. In a moment he had smothered the smoulder, and was beating off the sparks with his ruler.
Miss Bailey just then chanced to turn toward the closet door and saw a curl of smoke making its way stealthily through a crack in one of the panels. Mr. Eissler saw it too, threw the door open, and revealed the lost child—his rags all smoking and smouldering about him. They threw Miss Bailey's heavy ulster about him, and rolled him upon the floor, patting and pressing the bundle until they were quite sure that no fire remained. Then Teacher, kneeling down, turned back the ulster. Very quiet and relaxed lay her problem.
"Dead?" she questioned in terror.
"Oh, hardly. Slip your hand in over his heart."
Teacher did so and breathed again. "Beating," said she, and withdrew her hand, and in her cuff-link was entangled a thin string.
"Gold," exclaimed Eissler instantly; "dirty, but gold."
Miss Bailey drew the chain out further and disclosed a flat locket.
"Cut it off and keep it for him," Eissleradvised. "I'm going to ring for the ambulance, and I know that there would be precious little gold left on him by the time he reached the ward. I'll send one of the women to you as I go." And so Miss Bailey sat on the floor and regarded this bitter fruit of her striving. A child—a little child, hunted, wounded, as far as she could see even unto death. And for the thousandth time she let despair roll over her. What was the use? Whatwasthe use?
Some time later up in the dressing-room she was removing as best she could the marks of her experience, when it occurred to her to examine the locket. It was a thin gold affair with a smudge of dirt upon each side of it, and she devoted her efforts to one of these smudges. She rubbed it with a towel, and stood incredulous, carried back to the Mystery Stories of her own youth, for a monogram indiamonds winked and twinkled at her. She tried the other side and unearthed a coronet. After much careful search she managed to open the locket. And the Mystery held. On one side a beautiful woman, on the other a coil of baby hair. All was as it should be.
As she finished the transition from white linen to street attire, she pondered and marvelled, and by the time her veil was adjusted she had decided upon her course. This was a case for some one more learned in Russian ways than Mr. Eissler, and after consulting the nearest directory she set out for the Russian Consulate. There her demand for speech with the Consul General was met by the Vice-Consul's bland regrets that his principal was invisible. "Closeted," he reported, dropping his voice and nodding toward the closed door behind him, "with His Excellency, Prince Epifanoff."
"Then," said Miss Bailey, "perhaps you can tell me something of your Russian charities. I want you to direct me to an institution where a sick little boy can find attention and understanding. He has sadly lacked both these many weeks, I fear."
The Vice-Consul, a man of heart, listened with kindly but restrained attention until Miss Bailey produced the locket on its severed chain. Then even that practised diplomat allowed amazement to overspread him.
"May I ask you to wait here for a moment?" said he, and it took him little more than the moment he appointed to disappear through the door of the inner room, and to reappear.
"And may I ask you now," said he, "to tell these very interesting facts to Prince Epifanoff and the Consul?"
Constance Bailey was slightly disconcerted by this sudden plunge into diplomatic waters, and by the extremely thorough, though always courteous, cross-examination to which she was promptly subjected.
"May I ask," she demanded on her own part when she was growing weary of always answering, "whether you have identified the miniature?"
"We have indeed," answered the Ambassador, a large but otherwise unalarming personage, with stiff hair arrangedà ladoor-mat. "And not only so: we have been searching for the miniature for almost a year. Almost a year ago a boy was stolen from a castle in the northern part of Russia. He was five years old, and the owner—since the assassination of his father—of what would make a whole state in this country of yours. The Nihilists were suspected, this time with some reason, as it transpired thatone of their important members—a woman—had obtained employment in the castle. She and the child vanished together. There was little hope that the young Prince would escape his father's fate, but in the absence of any proof of his death the whole Russian secret service and the Consular Service were notified. It was just possible, you see, that his captors would try to use him as a hostage or as the price of some concession. The woman was stopped at the frontier. Unfortunately she was—accidentally, you understand—killed before she had accounted for the boy, who was not then with her. As I have said, all this occurred a year ago, and nothing has been heard of the child. You can imagine the distracted grief of this fair lady, his mother, touching the miniature."
"And you think," cried Miss Bailey, "that my little Fire-lighter——"
"Is the owner of one of the most exalted titles in Russia, and one of the richest estates. He wore this locket when he was abducted. But we are letting time pass. May I ask you"—this to the Consul—"to order my car? His Highness must be removed at once into suitable surroundings."
"Then my mission is accomplished," said Miss Bailey, and rose to take her leave. But never had she encountered cordiality so insistent as these courteous gentlemen then exhibited. She must, she really must, go to the hospital with them and see the end of the affair. In vain she pleaded other engagements, and promised to telephone later in the evening to hear whether the Prince's interview with the waif had corroborated the evidence of the locket. She was offered the use of the official telephone for the breaking of her engagements, and when herhosts left her alone to achieve this purpose, they quite calmly locked her in.
She telephoned some trivial sounding excuse to her long-suffering friend. Every one who knew her well was accustomed to interruptions by her school interests. And as she listened to that friend's wailing remonstrance she was tempted to tell the truth. "Locked up in the Russian Consulate! Prisoner! Involved in Court mystery. Obliged to produce a Prince of the blood royal or take the consequences." Truly, she told herself as she hung the receiver on its hook, things were getting rather uncommon and going rather quickly. And in that moment of apprehension she strangely drew comfort from the undeniable fit and texture of her new tailor-made suit, as shown forth in a large mirror between the window and the door. The contemplation of these encouragements fortifiedher until the return of her jailors, and during the ordeal of being swept through congested traffic by the side of a Nicolai Sergieevitch Epifanoff, in a bright red motor car.
Arriving at Gouverneur Hospital, she left her companions in consultation with the Matron and the House Surgeon, while she went up to the Children's Ward to prepare the mind of her friend and sometime co-laborer, Miss McCarthy, the Nurse-in-Charge. There was generally a First Reader or so under Miss McCarthy's care, and the two young women were great friends.
"I was going to send for you," Miss McCarthy began when they had moved a little away from the door. "You've sent us a good many queer cases, butwhatdo you call your latest?"
"That's a Russian Prince of high degree," said Teacher.
"Yes, he looked like one," laughed the nurse. "But you should see him now that he's washed. He's really not burned at all," she amplified. "Shock, a little; hunger, more; dirt, most."
"But do you realize what I tell you? He's a Russian Prince. An Ambassador and a Consul or two have come to fetch him. They're down in the reception room, and I came up to make sure that you had him. I don't know what they would have done to me if I had lost him again."
"Oh! we have him," Miss McCarthy assured her when she had heard a few more details of Miss Bailey's story, and had been properly impressed thereby. "He's there in the third bed on the left. You go right on in. I'll go down-stairs. They'll want me if he's going to be transferred."
Upon the smooth pillow of the thirdbed there lay a mass of bright gold hair, gleaming even in the faint light of the shaded electric lamp. And the hair surrounded a little face whose every line and contour was beautified, exalted. Teacher turned, incredulous, to make sure that she was right, but the neighboring beds were empty. Only up at the far end of the ward were there other shaded lights and a gently watchful nurse.
Teacher sat upon the chair by the bedside and watched the sleeping Fire-lighter. He moaned a little moan. Such a tired little moan! Ah, this everlasting barrier of speech! Oh, to have been able, now at the very last, to explain that she was not a demon actuated by cruelty! But she did not dare to wake him. She knew the effect which the mere sight of her would produce. And so the little Prince slept on until the big Prince came softly to his bedside.
Miss Bailey rose and relinquished her chair. The big man noiselessly took her place, and she stood at the bed's foot. The man looked long and earnestly at the little sleeping face, then laid his hand on the soft hair and uttered a short name.
Still asleep, the child answered. And very gently the man asked a question. Then the baby turned and opened his eyes. The man spoke again. The little voice answered him, and Miss Bailey left them alone together.
She waited in the hall, and presently Prince Nicolai Sergieevitch Epifanoff joined her there.
"You have been instrumental, under God," said he, "in preserving the succession of one of our noblest houses. That is the boy. From what he tells me I judge that the woman who stole him was of the Jewish race. That she intrusted him to the care of a friend who,with children of her own, was coming to America. I suppose she was to have reclaimed him here. We know why she did not. And we can only surmise that the other woman, not knowing the value of her hostage, either lost or deserted him. Of course he spent all his time and his baby ingenuity in trying to get away from her. We shall never know quite definitely. However, my dear young lady, we have him! And in the name of the great country for which I am authorized to speak, I thank you. Russia will remember your name and your great service when other gratitude which now protests itself to you more vehemently has quite died away."
"But," said Constance Bailey, "I have not yet heard the true name of my little Fire-lighter."
"Ah! that," said suave Prince Sergieevitch, "is a thing of which even I am notauthorized to speak. Your service was to the Nation."
Some months later Miss Bailey visited the Russian Consulate again. Her presence had been formally requested, and the Consul was formally awaiting her. The friendly Vice-Consul was in attendance, and Madame Consul lent her genial presence to the occasion.
They purred congratulations; the whole staff was summoned, and the Consul made a short address, which produced great enthusiasm in the audience. He then pinned a scrap of red ribbon into the button-hole of Miss Bailey's jacket, and handed her a small white leather box. Inside was a gem-encircled miniature—gorgeous and blazing as the sunshine broke upon it. The gentle-faced Empress of all the Russias smiled sadly out at Constance Bailey, and on the reverse, still in diamonds, was the inscription: "For Service."
"My mamma," reported Morris Mowgelewsky, choosing a quiet moment during a writing period to engage his teacher's attention, "my mamma likes you shall come on mine house for see her."
"Very well, dear," answered Miss Bailey with a patience born of many such messages from the parents of her small charges. "I think I shall have time to go this afternoon."
"My mamma," Morris began again, "she says I shall tell you 'scuse how she don't sends you no letter. She couldn't to send no letter the while her eyes ain't healthy."
"I am sorry to hear that," said Teacher, with a little stab of regret for her promptacceptance of Mrs. Mowgelewsky's invitation; for of all the ailments which the children shared so generously with their teacher, Miss Bailey had learned to dread most the many and painful disorders of the eye. She knew, however, that Mrs. Mowgelewsky was not one of those who utter unnecessary cries for help, being in this regard, as in many others, a striking contrast to the majority of parents with whom Miss Bailey came in contact.
To begin with, Mrs. Mowgelewsky had but one child—her precious, only Morris. In addition to this singularity she was thrifty and neat, intensely self-respecting and independent of spirit, and astonishingly outspoken of mind. She neither shared nor understood the gregarious spirit which bound her neighbors together and is the lubricant which makes East Side crowding possible without bloodshed. No groups of chattering, gesticulating matrons ever congregated in her Monroe Street apartment. No love of gossip ever held her on street corners or on steps. She nourished few friendships and fewer acquaintanceships, and she welcomed no haphazard visitor. Her hospitalities were as serious as her manner; her invitations as deliberate as her slow English speech.
And Miss Bailey, as she and the First Readers followed the order of studies laid down for them, found herself, again and again, trying to imagine what the days would be to Mrs. Mowgelewsky if her keen, shrewd eyes were to be darkened and useless.
At three o'clock she set out with Morris, leaving the Board of Monitors to set Room 18 to rights with no more direct supervision than an occasional look and word from the stout Miss Blake, whose kingdom lay just across the hall. Andas she hurried through the early cold of a November afternoon, her forebodings grew so lugubrious that she was almost relieved at last to learn that Mrs. Mowgelewsky's complaint was a slow-forming cataract, and her supplication, that Miss Bailey would keep a watchful eye upon Morris while his mother was at the hospital undergoing treatment and operation.
"But of course," Miss Bailey agreed, "I shall be delighted to do what I can, Mrs. Mowgelewsky, though it seems to me that one of the neighbors——"
"Neighbors!" snorted the matron; "what you think the neighbors make mit mine little boy? They got four, five dozens childrens theirselves. They ain't got no time for look on Morris. They come maybe in mine house und break mine dishes, und rubber on what is here, und set by mine furniture und talks. What do they know over takin' care onmine house? They ain't ladies. They is educated only on the front. Me, I was raised private and expensive in Russia. I was ladies. Und you ist ladies. You ist Krisht—that is too bad—but that makes mit me nothings. I wantsyoushall look on Morris."
"But I can't come here and take care of him," Miss Bailey pointed out. "You see that yourself, don't you, Mrs. Mowgelewsky? I am sorry as I can be about your eyes, and I hope with all my heart that the operation will be successful. But I shouldn't have time to come here and take care of things."
"That ain't how mine mamma means," Morris explained. He was leaning against Teacher and stroking her muff as he spoke. "Mine mamma means the money."
"That ist what I means," said Mrs. Mowgelewsky, nodding her ponderoushead until her quite incredible wig slipped back and forth up on it. "Morris needs he shall have money. He could to fix the house so good like I can. He don't needs no neighbors rubberin'. He could to buy what he needs on the store. But ten cents a day he needs. His papa works by Harlem. He is got fine jobs, und he gets fine moneys, but he couldn't to come down here for take care of Morris. Und the doctor he says I shall gonowon the hospital. Und any way," she added sadly, "I ain't no good; I couldn't to see things. He says I shall lay in the hospital three weeks, maybe—that is twenty-one days—und for Morris it is two dollars und ten cents. I got the money." And she fumbled for her purse in various hiding-places about her ample person.
"And you want me to be banker," cried Miss Bailey; "to keep the money and give Morris ten cents a day—is that it?"
"Sure," answered Mrs. Mowgelewsky.
"It's a awful lot of money," grieved Morris. "Ten cents a day is a awful lot of money for one boy."
"No, no, my golden one," cried his mother. "It is but right that thou shouldst have plenty of money, und thy teacher, a Christian lady, though honest—und what neighbor is honest?—will give thee ten cents every morning. Behold, I pay the rent before I go, und with the rent paid und with ten cents a day thou wilt live like a landlord."
"Yes, yes," Morris broke in, evidently repeating some familiar warning, "und every day I will say mine prayers und wash me the face, und keep the neighbors out, und on Thursdays und on Sundays I shall go on the hospital for see you."
"And on Saturdays," broke in Miss Bailey, "you will come to my house and spend the day with me. He's too little,Mrs. Mowgelewsky, to go to the synagogue alone."
"That could be awful nice," breathed Morris. "I likes I shall go on your house. I am lovin' much mit your dog."
"How?" snorted his mother. "Dogs! Dogs ain't nothing only foolishness. They eats something fierce, und they don't works."
"That iss how mine mamma thinks," Morris hastened to explain, lest the sensitive feelings of his Lady Paramount should suffer. "But mine mamma she never seenyourdog. He iss a awful nice dog; I am lovin' much mit him."
"I don't needs I shall see him," said Mrs. Mowgelewsky, somewhat tartly. "I seen, already, lots from dogs. Don't you go make no foolishness mit him. Don't you go und get chawed off of him."
"Of course not, of course not," Miss Bailey hastened to assure her; "he willonly play with Rover if I should be busy or unable to take him out with me. He'll be safer at my house than he would be on the streets, and you wouldn't expect him to stay in the house all day."
After more parley and many warnings the arrangement was completed. Miss Bailey was intrusted with two dollars and ten cents, and the censorship of Morris. A day or so later Mrs. Mowgelewsky retired, indomitable, to her darkened room in the hospital, and the neighbors were inexorably shut out of her apartment. All their offers of help, all their proffers of advice were politely refused by Morris, all their questions and visits politely dodged. And every morning Miss Bailey handed her Monitor of the Gold Fish Bowl his princely stipend, adding to it from time to time some fruit or other uncontaminated food, for Morris was religiously the strictest of the strict, andcould have given cards and spades to many a minor rabbi on the intricacies of Kosher law.
The Saturday after his mother's departure Morris spent in the enlivening companionship of the antiquated Rover, a collie who no longer roved farther than his own back yard, and who accepted Morris's frank admiration with a noble condescension and a few rheumatic gambols. Miss Bailey's mother was also hospitable, and her sister did what she could to amuse the quaint little child with the big eyes, the soft voice, and the pretty foreign manners. But Morris preferred Rover to any of them, except perhaps the cook, who allowed him to prepare a luncheon for himself after his own little rites.
Everything had seemed so pleasant and so successful that Miss Bailey looked upon a repetition of this visit as a matterof course, and was greatly surprised on the succeeding Friday afternoon when the Monitor of the Gold Fish Bowl said that he intended to spend the next day at home.
"Oh, no!" she remonstrated, "you mustn't stay at home. I'm going to take you out to the Park and we are going to have all kinds of fun. Wouldn't you rather go and see the lions and the elephants with me than stay at home all by yourself?"
For some space Morris was a prey to silence, then he managed by a consuming effort:
"I ain't by mineself."
"Has your father come home?" said Teacher.
"No, ma'am."
"And surely it's not a neighbor. You remember what your mother said about the neighbors, how you were not to let them in."
"It ain't neighbors," said Morris.
"Then who—?" began Miss Bailey.
Morris raised his eyes to hers, his beautiful, black, pleading eyes, praying for the understanding and the sympathy which had never failed him yet. "It's a friend," he answered.
"Nathan Spiderwitz?" she asked.
Morris shook his head, and gave Teacher to understand that the Monitor of the Window Boxes came under the ban of neighbor.
"Well, who is it, dearest?" she asked again. "Is it any one that I know?"
"No, ma'am."
"None of the boys in the school?"
"No, ma'am."
"Have you known him long?"
"No, ma'am."
"Does your mother know him?"
"Oh, Teacher,no, ma'am! mine mamma don't know him."
"Well, where did you meet him?"
"Teacher, on the curb. Over yesterday on the night," Morris began, seeing that explanation was inevitable. "I lays on mine bed, und I thinks how mine mamma has got a sickness, und how mine papa is by Harlem, und how I ain't got nobody beside of me. Und, Teacher, it makes me cold in mine heart. So I couldn't to lay no more, so I puts me on mit mine clothes some more, und I goes by the street the while peoples is there, und I needs I shall see peoples. So I sets by the curb, und mine heart it go und it go so I couldn't to feel how it go in mine inside. Und I thinks on my mamma, how I seen her mit bangages on the face, und mine heart it goes some more. Und, Teacher, Missis Bailey, I cries over it."
"Of course you did, honey," said Teacher, putting her arm about him."Poor, little, lonely chap! Of course you cried."
"Teacher, yiss, ma'am; it ain't fer boys they shall cry, but I cries over it. Und soon something touches me by mine side, und I turns und mine friend he was sittin' by side of me. Und he don't saynothings, Teacher; no, ma'am; he don't say nothings, only he looks on me, und in his eyes stands tears. So that makes me better in mine heart, und I don't cries no more. I sets und looks on mine friend, und mine friend he sets und looks on me mit smilin' looks. So I goes by mine house, und mine friend he comes by mine house, too, und I lays by mine bed, und mine friend he lays by mine side. Und all times in that night sooner I open mine eyes und thinks on how mine mamma is got a sickness, und mine papa is by Harlem, mine friend he is by mine side, und I don't cries. I don't criesnever no more the whiles mine friend is by me. Und I couldn't to go on your house to-morrow the whiles I don't know if mine friend likes Rover."
"Of course he'd like him," cried Miss Bailey. "Rover would play with him just as he plays with you."
"No, ma'am," Morris maintained; "mine friend is too little for play mit Rover."
"Is he such a little fellow?"
"Yiss, ma'am; awful little."
"And has he been with you ever since the day before yesterday?"
"Teacher, yiss, ma'am."
"Does he seem to be happy and all right?"
"Teacher, yiss, ma'am."
"But," asked Miss Bailey, suddenly practical, "what does the poor little fellow eat? Of course ten cents would buy alotof food for one boy, but not so very much for two."
"Teacher, no, ma'am," says Morris; "it ain't so very much."
"Well, then," said Miss Bailey, "suppose I give you twenty cents a day as long as a little strange friend is with you."
"That could to be awful nice," Morris agreed; "und, Missis Bailey," he went on, "sooner you don't needs all yours lunch mine friend could eat it, maybe."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," she cried; "it's ham to-day."
"That don't make nothings mit mine friend," said Morris; "he likes ham."
"Now, Morris," said Miss Bailey very gravely, as all the meanings of this announcement spread themselves before her, "this is a very serious thing. You know how your mother feels about strangers, and you know how she feels about Christians, and what will she say to you—and what will she say to me—when she hears that a strange little Christian is living with you? Of course, dearie, I knowit's nice for you to have company, and I know that you must be dreadfully lonely in the long evenings, but I'm afraid your mother will not be pleased to think of your having somebody to stay with you. Wouldn't you rather come to my house and live there all the time until your mother is better? You know," she added as a crowning inducement, "Rover is there."
But Morris betrayed no enthusiasm. "I guess," said he, "I ain't lovin' so awful much mit Rover. He iss too big. I am likin' little dogs mit brown eyes, what walks by their legs und carries things by their mouths. Did you ever see dogs like that?"
"In the circus," answered Teacher. "Where did you see them?"
"A boy by our block," answered Morris, "is got one. He is lovin' much mit that dog und that dog is lovin' much mit him."
"Well, now, perhaps you could teach Rover to walk on his hind legs, and carry things in his mouth," suggested Teacher; "and as for this new little Christian friend of yours——"
"I don't knowbehe a Krisht," Morris admitted with reluctant candor; "he ain't said nothin' over it to me. On'y a Irisher lady what lives by our house, she says mine friend is a Irisher."
"Very well, dear; then of course he's a Christian," Miss Bailey assured him, "and I shan't interfere with you to-morrow—you may stay at home and play with him. But we can't let it go on, you know. This kind of thing never would do when your mother comes back from the hospital. She might not want your friend in the house. Have you thought of that at all, Morris? You must make your friend understand it."
"I tells him," Morris promised; "Idon't know can he understand. He's pretty little, only that's how I tells him all times."
"Then tell him once again, honey," Miss Bailey advised, "and make him understand that he must go back to his own people as soon as your mother is well. Where are his own people? I can't understand how any one so little could be wandering about with no one to take care of him."
"Teacher, I'm takin' care of him," Morris pointed out.
All that night and all the succeeding day Miss Bailey's imagination reverted again and again to the two little ones keeping house in Mrs. Mowgelewsky's immaculate apartment. Even increasing blindness had not been allowed to interfere with sweeping and scrubbing and dusting, and when Teacher thought of that patient matron, as she lay in her hospital cot trusting so securely to her Christian friend's guardianship of her son and home, she fretted herself into feeling that it was her duty to go down to Monroe Street and investigate.
There was at first no sound when, after climbing endless stairs, she came to Mrs. Mowgelewsky's door. But as the thumping of the heart and the singing in her ears abated somewhat, she detected Morris's familiar treble.
"Bread," it said, "iss awful healthy for you, only you dasn't eat it 'out chewin'. I never in my world seen how you eats."
Although the words were admonitory, they lost all didactic effect by the wealth of love and tenderness which sang in the voice. There was a note of happiness in it, too, a throb of pure enjoyment quite foreign to Teacher's knowledge of this sad-eyed little charge of hers. Sherested against the door frame, and Morris went on:
"I guess you don't know what iss polite. You shall better come on the school, und Miss Bailey could to learn you what iss polite and healthy fer you. No, you couldn't to have no meat! No,sir! No,ma'am! You couldn't to have no meat 'til I cuts it fer you. You could to, maybe, make yourself a sickness und a bashfulness."
Miss Bailey put her hand on the door and it yielded noiselessly to her touch, and revealed to her guardian eyes her ward and his little friend. They were seatedvis-à-visat the table; everything was very neat and clean and most properly set out. A little lamp was burning clearly. Morris's hair was parted for about an inch back from his forehead and sleeked wetly down upon his brow. The guest had evidently undergone similarpreparation for the meal. Each had a napkin tied around his neck, and as Teacher watched them, Morris carefully prepared his guest's dinner, while the guest, an Irish terrier, with quick eyes and one down-flopped ear, accepted his admonishings with a good-natured grace, and watched him with an adoring and confiding eye.
The guest was first to detect the stranger's presence. He seized a piece of bread in his teeth, jumped to the ground, and walking up to Teacher on his hind legs, hospitably dropped the refreshment at her feet.
"Oh! Teacher! Teacher!" cried Morris, half in dismay at discovery, and half in joy that this so sure confidant should share his secret and appreciate his friend. "Oh! Teacher! Missis Bailey! this is the friend what I was telling you over. See how he walks on his feet! See howhe has got smilin' looks! See how he carries somethings by his teeth! All times he makes like that. Rover, he don't carries nothin's, und gold fishes, they ain't got no feet even. On'y Izzie could to make them things."
"Oh, is his name Izzie?" asked Miss Bailey, grasping at this conversational straw and shaking the paw which the stranger was presenting to her. "And this is the friend you told me about? You let me think," she chided, with as much severity as Morris had shown to his Izzie, "that he was a boy."
"I had a 'fraid," said the Monitor of the Gold Fish Bowl frankly.
So had Teacher as she reviewed the situation from Mrs. Mowgelewsky's chair of state, and watched the friends at supper. It was a revelation of solicitude on one side, and patient gratitude on the other. Morris ate hardly anything, andwas soon at Teacher's knee—Izzie was in her lap—discussing ways and means.
He refused to entertain any plan which would separate him immediately from Izzie, but he was at last brought to see the sweet reasonableness of preparing his mother's mind by degrees to accept another member to the family.
"Und he eats," his protector was forced to admit—"he eats somethin' fierce, Missis Bailey; as much like a man he eats. Und my mamma, I don't know what will she say. She won't leave me I shall keep him; from long I had a little bit of a dog, und she wouldn't to leave me I should keephim, und he didn't eat so much like Izzie eats, neither."
"AndIcan't very well keep him," said Miss Bailey sadly, "because, you see, there is Rover. Rover mightn't like it. But there is one thing I can do: I'll keep him for a few days when yourmother comes back, and then we'll see, you and I, if we can persuade her to let you have him always."
"She wouldn't never to do it," said Morris sadly. "That other dog, didn't I told you how he didn't eat so much like Izzie, and she wouldn't to leave me have him. That's a cinch."
"Oh! don't say that word, dear," cried Teacher. "And we can only try. We'll do our very, very best."
This guilty secret had a very dampening effect upon the joy with which Morris watched for his mother's recovery. Upon the day set for her return, he was a miserable battle-field of love and duty. Early in the morning Izzie had been transferred to Miss Bailey's yard. Rover was chained to his house, Izzie was tied to the wall at a safe distance from him, and they proceeded to make the day hideous for the whole neighborhood.
Morris remained at home to greet his mother, received her encomiums, cooked the dinner, and set out for afternoon school with a heavy heart and a heavier conscience. Nothing had occurred in those first hours to show any change in Mrs. Mowgelewsky's opinion of home pets; rather she seemed, in contrast to the mild and sympathetic Miss Bailey, more than ever dictatorial and dogmatic.
At a quarter after three, the gold fish having received perfunctory attention, and the Board of Monitors being left again to do their worst, unguarded, Morris and Teacher set out to prepare Mrs. Mowgelewsky's mind for the adoption of Izzie. They found it very difficult. Mrs. Mowgelewsky, restored of vision, was so hospitable, so festive in her elephantine manner, so loquacious and so self-congratulatory, that it was difficult to insert even the tiniest conversational wedge into the structure of her monologue.
Finally Miss Bailey managed to catch her attention upon financial matters. "You gave me," she said, "two dollars and ten cents, and Morris has managed so beautifully that he has not used it all, and has five cents to return to you. He's a very wonderful little boy, Mrs. Mowgelewsky," she added, smiling at her favorite to give him courage.
"He iss a good boy," Mrs. Mowgelewsky admitted. "Don't you get lonesome sometimes by yourself here, huh?"
"Well," said Miss Bailey, "he wasn't always alone."
"No?" queried the matron with a divided attention. She was looking for her purse, in which she wished to stow Morris's surplus.
"No," said Teacher; "I was here once or twice. And then a little friend of his——"
"Friend!" the mother repeated with a glare; "was friends here in mine house?"
Miss Bailey began a purposely vague reply, but Mrs. Mowgelewsky was not listening to her. She had searched the pockets of the gown she wore, then various other hiding-places in the region of its waist line, then a large bag of mattress covering which she wore under her skirt. Ever hurriedly and more hurriedly she repeated this performance two or three times, and then proceeded to shake and wring the out-door clothing which she had worn that morning.
"Gott!" she broke out at last, "mine Gott! mine Gott! it don't stands." And she began to peer about the floor with eyes not yet quite adjusted. Morris easily recognized the symptoms.
"She's lost her pocket-book," he told Miss Bailey.
"Yes, I lost it," wailed Mrs. Mowgelewsky, and then the whole party participated in the search. Over and under the furniture, the carpets, the bed, the stove, over and under everything in the apartment went Mrs. Mowgelewsky and Morris. All the joy of home-coming and of well-being was darkened and blotted out by this new calamity. And Mrs. Mowgelewsky beat her breast and tore her hair, and Constance Bailey almost wept in sympathy. But the pocket-book was gone, absolutely gone, though Mrs. Mowgelewsky called Heaven and earth to witness that she had had it in her hand when she came in.
Another month's rent was due; the money to pay it was in the pocket-book. Mr. Mowgelewsky had visited his wife on Sunday, and had given her all his earnings as some salve to the pain of her eyes. Eviction, starvation, every kind of terror and disaster were thrown into Mrs.Mowgelewsky's wailing, and Morris proved an able second to his mother.
Miss Bailey was doing frantic bookkeeping in her charitable mind, and was wondering how much of the loss she might replace. She was about to suggest as a last resort that a search should be made of the dark and crannied stairs, where a purse, if the Fates were very, very kind, might lie undiscovered for hours when a dull scratching made itself heard through the general lamentation. It came from a point far down on the panel of the door, and the same horrible conviction seized upon Morris and upon Miss Bailey at the same moment.
Mrs. Mowgelewsky in her frantic round had approached the door for the one-hundredth time, and with eyes and mind far removed from what she was doing, she turned the handle. And entered Izzie,beautifully erect upon his hind legs, with a yard or two of rope trailing behind him, and a pocket-book fast in his teeth.
Blank, pure surprise took Mrs. Mowgelewsky for its own. She staggered back into a chair, fortunately of heavy architecture, and stared at the apparition before her. Izzie came daintily in, sniffed at Morris, sniffed at Miss Bailey, sniffed at Mrs. Mowgelewsky's ample skirts, identified her as the owner of the pocket-book, laid it at her feet, and extended a paw to be shaken.
"Mine Gott!" said Mrs. Mowgelewsky, "what for a dog iss that?" She counted her wealth, shook Izzie's paw, and then stooped forward, gathered him into her large embrace, and cried like a baby. "Mine Gott! Mine Gott!" she wailed again, and although she spent five minutes in apparent effort to evolve another and more suitable remark, her researchmet with no greater success than the addition:
"He ain't a dog at all; he iss friends."
Miss Bailey had been sent to an eminently good college, and had been instructed long and hard in psychology, so that she knew the psychologic moment when she met it. She now arose with congratulations and farewells. Mrs. Mowgelewsky arose also with Izzie still in her arms. She lavished endearments upon him and caresses upon his short black nose, and Izzie received them all with enthusiastic gratitude.
"And I think," said Miss Bailey in parting, "that you had better let that dog come with me. He seems a nice enough little thing, quiet, gentle, and very intelligent. He can live in the yard with Rover."