CHAPTER IVTIPPY GOES VISITING
Motherwas quite right in saying that Tippy knew he had been a naughty little dog. When he rolled his eye up at the porch and saw Mother with the broom in her hand, Tippy knew that it was time for him to drop Tilly Maud and to keep out of sight for a while.
So with a jump, and a whirl, and a push through the hedge Tippy dashed across Aunt Bee’s garden, round the corner, and up the narrow, crooked street.
Tippy felt lively this morning, as we already know. The wind blew his ears back flat against his head. His glistening little black nose smelled all kinds of sweet odors—flower gardens, wet grass, damp sticks and leaves. His shining brown eyes saw many sights—puddles, and men, a lady or two, birds catching worms, a butcher’s boy, with a basket, whistling a tune.
Though the ground was wet and the sky was still gray, to Tippy it was the gayest kind of a morning.
‘I could run and run and run forever,’ said Tippy to himself.
And that is just what he did do, run and run and run, until at last, when Tippy stopped to draw a long breath, he stood in a strange street where he had never been before. He didn’t know in the least where he was nor how to get home to Sally’s house again.
But Tippy didn’t mean to go home for a long, long while. He meant to stay away until Sally had forgotten all about Tilly Maud or until he had forgotten about Tilly Maud himself.
At any rate he meant to stay just where he was until he found out what was the matter with the little boy who at this moment flung open the door of the house before which Tippy was standing and ran with a scream straight down the path to the street.
The little boy’s face was red and he flung his arms about as he ran, and when he reached the street he turned around and ran right back to the porch steps again. There he jumped up and down, screaming all the while, and ran his fingers through his hair until it stood out all round about his head.
This was a tantrum, Tippy knew, because Sally sometimes had them, just like this. She, too, screamed and jumped up and down and even ran her fingers through her hair.
‘I shan’t leave here until I find out what this tantrum is about,’ thought curious little Tip.
And slowly, very slowly, he crept through the half-open gate and over the grass toward the wide porch steps.
Now the little boy’s mother had come out to him, and in the doorway, half hiding behind the door, there stood a tall, tall man.
‘Andy, stop crying and let me speak to you,’ said the little boy’s mother.
But Andy only screamed the louder and began to whirl himself round like a top.
‘Oh, Andy, stop, stop,’ said the little boy’s mother again. ‘Oh, what shall I do with you?’
Tippy knew very well what Sally’s mother would have done, but he wouldn’t have told, if he could. He didn’t want to see Andy whisked off to bed, even though it would have cured the tantrum in a trice.
But just then Andy found his voice.
‘I won’t be sick!’ shouted Andy, still flinging his arms about. ‘I won’t go to bed! I won’t take medicine! I won’t! I won’t! I won’t!’
When he heard this, the man behind the door poked his head out and spoke to Andy’s mother.
‘Tell him he won’t have to go to bed,’ he called in a loud voice. ‘Tell him that he won’t have to take medicine, and that he won’t be sick.’
‘There, Andy, listen to what the Doctor says,’ said Andy’s mother. ‘You won’t have to go to bed, you won’t have to take medicine, and you won’t be sick.’
At this good news Andy stood still and stopped screaming.
In the quiet the Doctor called again, ‘Keep him away from other children for a few days and tell him to forget that he has chicken-pox. Tell him to play with that nice little dog standing there at his feet.’
Then the Doctor disappeared, and Andy’s mother followed him into the house.
Andy looked down at Tippy and Tippy looked up at Andy, and that is how Andy and Tippy knew one another.
Next, Andy sat down on the steps, and after Tippy had barked two or three times just to show that he was friendly, he snuggled up close to Andy’s side.
‘Good doggie!’ said Andy, patting Tip. ‘Good doggie! Good dog!’
This was very pleasant for Tip to hear. Sally surely would not call him ‘good doggie’ this morning, if he were at home.
So wagging his tail as hard as ever he could,Tip made up his mind that he would pay Andy a little visit.
‘I won’t stay too long,’ thought Tip to himself, ‘just long enough to make Sally glad to see me when I do go home.’
Now Tippy meant only to spend the afternoon. He didn’t have a notion, I am sure, of staying all night and sleeping out of his little basket, lined with a shawl, that stood on Sally’s back porch. If you had told him that it would be four whole days before he would see Sally’s friendly, rosy little face again, he would have been the most surprised little brown dog that ever wagged a tail.
But this is how it happened. To begin with, as they sat on the porch steps, Andy told Tippy why he had had a tantrum. And when Tip knew all about it, he wagged his tail and looked up into Andy’s face as if he would say that really you could scarcely blame Andy after all.
‘We came here to the country yesterday,’ said Andy, gently pulling Tip’s ears, ‘and Ihave a pail and shovel, and a bathing-suit, blue-and-white. I am all ready to play and dig in the sand. Mother and I were going down to the beach this morning the very first thing. But when I woke up I was covered with little red spots like this.’
Sure enough, there were the red spots, ever so many of them. Andy eyed them rather proudly and then went on with his story.
‘So Mother sent for the doctor, and when he said I had chicken-pox I just couldn’t stand going to bed now when I want to play. But if I don’t have to go to bed you and I can have some fun together, Bounce. I am going to call you Bounce. Perhaps we can go to the beach. Let’s go and ask Mother. Here, Bounce! Here, Bounce!’
And Andy and Tip, who didn’t at all mind being called Bounce, ran into the house to see whether they might not go down to the beach.
But though Andy need not go to bed and might play as much as he wished all day long hewas not permitted to leave his own front yard. And as Andy would not allow Tippy out of his sight, it followed that Tippy was forced to stay inside the front yard, too. There was a tall, white fence all about the yard, over which Tippy could not jump, and at night he slept on the floor beside Andy’s bed.
He did not forget Sally. Oh, no! But the days slipped by as he romped and played and tumbled about with Andy, who would never have known that he was ill with chicken-pox if it had not been for the little red spots.
But now the red spots were disappearing fast, and one morning Andy’s mother, whose name was Mrs. Thomas, said that Andy might leave the front yard and go down into the town with her if he liked.
‘And Bounce? Bounce must come, too.’
So Bounce, or Tippy, was fastened to a string, and pulling and tugging in a way that made Andy run far more than he walked, the little brown dog led the way down into the town. Foras soon as Tippy had walked along a street or two, he knew where he was and felt at home. And the farther they walked and the nearer they drew to Sally’s house, the more at home he felt. Until, as Andy and his mother and Tip were walking through a quiet, narrow little street, Tip began to run and jump and pull at his string so that Andy could scarcely hold him back. Then, suddenly, he halted, with a jerk, before a gray house that stood on the side of the hill in the midst of a gay flower garden, and opened his mouth in the loudest, sharpest bark that Andy had ever heard him give.
‘I have come home,’ is what Tippy’s bark said, though no one understood him at the time.
And the next moment Tippy was racing around the house to the back porch and then to the front of the house again, barking all the while.
‘It is Tippy! It is Tippy come home! Mother, here is Tippy come home!’ cried Sally, flinging open the front door and darting down the stepsonly to bump into Andy, who had run all the way round the house after Tip, as fast as he could run.
But Sally was too excited to notice a bump. She sat flat on the ground and took Tip into her lap for one great hug. Tilly Maud was completely forgotten. No one gave her a thought.
Then Sally stood up and looked at Andy, and Andy looked at her, while Tip jumped about and barked and rushed at Sally to lick her hands and then at Andy to lick his hands.
‘I do hope you will be friends,’ was what Tippy’s face said as he jumped from one to the other and barked and barked again.
Sally didn’t understand it. She only knew that Tip had come home. Andy didn’t understand it. He only saw that the little brown dog, of whom he was so fond, now found himself among old friends.
But as Mrs. Waters and Mrs. Thomas talked together, they understood what had happened without any trouble at all.
Poor Andy! His face grew doleful as his mother explained that Tip was Sally’s dog. He winked and blinked and swallowed hard.
But a moment later he was able to say quite cheerfully, ‘Anyway, my spots are gone and I am going to the beach this afternoon.’
‘So am I,’ cried Sally, ‘so am I. Mother said so. Didn’t you, Mother? Bring your pail, Andy, and we will dig together in the sand.’
‘I will. I will bring my pail and shovel,’ promised Andy.
‘Perhaps Tippy will come with us, too,’ called Sally, as Andy and his mother started down the path.
And from the back garden, where he was joyfully digging up an old bone, Tippy answered for himself.
‘Bow-wow-wow!’ said Tippy.