SHE FASTENED THE ONE END OF THE STRING ROUND HIS POOR LITTLE BODY.
And she darted into the Hut, and through it to Rolf's tent, where, as I said, there was a small compact cooking stove, and among the things belonging to it a small but strong tin kettle. Esmé looked at it. I believe she was more afraid just then of damaging the kettle than of harming the dog!
Still she lifted it and considered for a moment.
'No,' she thought, 'it's quite light; it can't hurt him. And it won't hurtiteither. I'll only put a few nails in,' and out she ran again to the front, where my poor pet was settling down for another nap, hoping, no doubt, that Miss Esmé had gone for good.
By ill-luck, her other pocket held a good piece of stout string. She sat down and quietly tied up the kettle, so that the lid was secure, having first dropped into it enough nails and screws to make a woful clatter, but taking care that no jingle should be heard as yet. It is wonderful how careful a careless child can be if bent on mischief!
Then speaking for once most gently and caressingly to Roughie, who was so surprised that he lay quite still, she fastened the other end of the string to his tail, and round his poor little body too. 'I didn't want his tail to be pulled off,' she said afterwards—fortunately, for his tailmighthave been badly hurt.
Then when all was ready, she got up cautiously, and walking away a few steps, called Rough very sweetly. But he was rather suspicious; he first got up and stretched himself—there was a faint jingle—poor wee man, he looked behind him—no, Esmé was not there; he moved, more jingle and rattle, again she called, and he, beginning to be frightened, turned towards her, on which the cruel little thing 'shoo'ed' him away. She described it all perfectly. And then the idea must have seized him of escaping by flight from the unseen terror. He ran—of course the noise got worse; he ran faster, and it grew louder—fasterstill—oh, my poor Roughie!—louder still, Esmé laughing—atfirst, that is to say—to herself, till his doggy wits began to desert him, and a sort of nightmare agony must have seized him.
And then—too late—the naughty girl saw what she had done.
What I described in the last chapter will explain the scene that met our eyes, and the sounds that reached our ears, as we got near the Hut.
And unluckily the 'we' did not mean only us four—the two bigger boys and Taisy and I. For as we were passing through that part of the near woods which skirts the Eastercove gardens—we always took care not to go very close to the house or more private part of the grounds, as, nice as the Trevors were, mamma said we must never risk their feeling that the place was not quite their own for the time being—just, I say, as we passed the nearest point to the house, we came upon them, all three of them—Mr., Mrs., and Miss. No, I think I should say allsixof them, for trotting round old Mrs. Trevor's heels were of course the three pugs. And, of course too, huddled up under one arm, was the bundle of many-colouredknitting; she was working as she walked, and when she stopped to speak to us, one or two balls rolled on to the ground, so that before Rolf and Geordie had time to touch their caps almost, they were both on their knees, trying to catch the truants before they rolled farther away.
'We were coming to see you all,' said Miss Trevor smiling; 'do you think your mother is at home and disengaged?'
'I think so,' I replied, and then I went on to explain that we had been out for several hours on a private picnicking expedition of our own, and we all joined in saying, 'Do come,' for we liked the Trevors very much, especially Miss 'Zenia.' We were a little frightened of Mr. Trevor; he was so tall and thin, and had the name of being tremendously learned, but they were all very kind, though I have nothingveryparticular to tell about them. Mrs. Trevor always made us laugh, with her dogs and her knitting, but shewasso good-natured.
So we strolled on together, in the pleasant, still, sunshiny afternoon—Rolf and Geordie talking to Mr. Trevor, who was not at all 'awe-inspiring' when he got on the subject of his own schooldays, for we heard them all laughing most heartily now and then.
Taisy declared afterwards that she had picked up balls of wool at least twenty times during that walk, as she kept beside Mrs. Trevor. And seeing that their mistress was thus engaged, the three dogs—they were really very well-behaved—took to following rather demurely, all three together, while I chatted to Zenia.
It was not till we were very near the Hut that any unusual sounds reached us.
I was just talking about Roughie to Miss Trevor, descanting on his perfections, when a sort of queer yelping gasp, or gasping yelp, made us stand still for a moment.
'What can that be?' I said.
'Oh, nothing,' said Miss Trevor. 'One hears all sorts of funny animal sounds in the woods, I have learnt to know. You are rather like an anxious mamma, Ida, who has been out and left her baby too long. For I can see you at once think of the dear doggie,' and she laughed a little, though of course quite kindly.
I laughed too, and we walked on—we were just a few steps in front of the others.
But—again in another moment I stopped, this time holding up my hand, and saying, 'Hush!'
Then I turned, and I fancy I had grown quite white already.
'Miss Trevor,' I said, 'itisRough, and there must be something dreadful the matter. Just listen.'
There was the same gasping yelp, almost like a choking human cry, and the strangest rushing and clanking, jingling sounds, all mixed together.
'Was he chained up? Can he have broken loose?' said Zenia breathlessly. 'It sounds like——'
'"Chained up,"' I repeated indignantly; 'my sweet little Roughie! Oh no, no!' I cried, as I rushed off.
It was rather rude, I am afraid, to repeat her words like that, but she was far too kind to mind.
'Geordie, Geordie, Rolf,' I cried, 'come quickly! There is something dreadfully the matter with Rough.'
So indeed it seemed, for the noise grew louder, and mingled with it now were a child's calls and shrieks.
'Roughie, Roughie,' I distinguished in Esmé's voice; 'darling Roughie, come to me. Don't be so frightened, darling. I didn't mean it—oh, I didn't mean it!'
And this was what Isaw.
Esmé, hair streaming, eyes streaming, scarlet with terror, rushing over the ground in front and at the side of the Hut, lost to sight for a moment among the trees, then out again, aftersomething—a small, wild animal, it seemed—that was tearing before her, evidently trying to escape from her, or from—yes, what was that strange thing rushing afterit? Another still smaller wild beast of some kind, or what? No, it was nothing alive; it was a metal thing of some kind, rattling, clanking, jingling, and—oh, horrors!—tied to my poor pet's little body.
I saw it all at once—affection quickens one's eyes, they say—I took it all in before there was time for any explanation, though Esmé screamed to me as she flew on: 'Oh, Ida, Ida, I didn't mean it! Stop him, stop him!'
Naughty, naughty Esmé!
Hehad already rushed past me—within a few yards, that is to say—without seeing me, whom he generally caught sight of before you could think it possible. Blinded by terror—yes, and deafened too—he did not know I had come; he could not hear his own 'missus's' voice.
And he was dreadful to look at: his tongue was hanging out; his whole little head seemed spatteredwith foam; he was rushing like a mad thing, even though, by the gasping sound he made, you could tell he was exhausted, and had scarcely any breath left.
No wonder that, as the boys hurried up behind me, they and Mr. Trevor—Mr. Trevor especially—thought hewasmad.
Mr. Trevor kept his presence of mind, I must say, under whathethought the dreadful circumstances. He almost pushed his mother and sister and Taisy into the porch, and tried to push me in too. But I evaded him.
The boys and Esmé were quite out of reach—theywere tearing afterher, shouting to her to 'Come back, come back!' which did not tend to lessen the uproar. And whenIstarted in pursuit, as of course I did, it must have seemed to any one looking on as if we had all gone mad together! Indeed, Taisy owned to me afterwards that, terrified as she was, she had hard work to keep down her laughter, especially when she heard me turn upon dignified Mr. Trevor, and in answer to his despotic—
'Go back, Miss Lanark, go back; I insist upon it,' shout back, 'Nonsense; I willnotgo back.'
And as I heard his next words—
'The dog must be shot at once. Boys, is there a gun about the place?' I grew desperate, for I knew that therewasa gun—Rolf's—though he and Geordie had given their word of honour to mamma not to touch it without leave.
Then a new idea struck me. Instead of rushing round like the others—like the boys that is to say, for by this time Esmé had dropped in front of the porch, whence Zenia Trevor had dragged her in, and she was now sobbing on Taisy's shoulder—instead of rushing after Roughie, I 'doubled' andmethim, my arms outstretched, and using every endearing and coaxing tone I could think of. And oh, the joy and relief when, almost dead with exhaustion by now, he flew into my clasp, and, panting and nearly choking, faintly rubbed his poor little head against me!
'He knows me, he knows me!' I shouted. 'He is not a bit mad; he is only wild with terror.'
But I had some trouble to get the others to believe me;theirfright had only increased tenfold when they saw me catch him. In some marvellous way Mr. Trevor had got out the gun—I have always suspected that Taisy or Hoskins or one of them had already thought of it—and stood within a few paces of my dog and me. But for my having him in myarms, he would have made an end of Roughie, and certainly I would never have told this story.
As it was, for a moment or two he—Mr. Trevor, not the poor pet—was very angry.
'Miss Lanark!' he shouted, 'you are mad yourself to touch him. Has he bitten you?' for I was crying so by this time that I had hidden my face in Rough's coat.
'Bittenme!' I exclaimed, looking up and not caring if Mr. Trevor saw my tears or not,—'bittenme! How can you imagine such a thing? Look at him.'
And, indeed, it was a sight to melt any heart and disarm any fears! Roughie was lying quite still, nestling against me as close as he could get, only quivering now and then and giving little sobbing sighs, just as a tiny child does after some violent trouble and crying.
I believe he was already asleep!
Mr. Trevor approached cautiously.
'He—he certainly looks all right now,' he said. 'Can it have been a fit of some extraordinary kind, then, or what can——'
'There is no mystery about it,' I said, 'except the mystery of how any onecouldbe so cruel. Didn'tyou hear the rattling, Mr. Trevor—didn't you see—this?'
And I gave a gentle tug to the string, still firmly fastened to the poor little man; but gently as I did it, the horrid kettle and things in it jingled slightly, and at once Roughie opened his eyes and began to shake.
I soothed him again, but Mr. Trevor did the sensible thing. He laid down the gun, calling to the boys as they hurried up not to touch it, and taking out his penknife cut the string, close to the kettle end first, and then handed the knife to me, to cut the string again where it was fastened to my dog.
Rolf and Geordie could scarcely speak.
'Who can have done it?' they exclaimed. 'CouldEsmé have been so——'
'Cruel and naughty,' I interrupted,—'yes, I am afraid so, though Icouldn'thave believed it of her. Geordie, pick up the kettle please, without jingling if you can help it, and please throw away the horrid things that are in it.'
'No, no, don't throw them away!' exclaimed a newcomer on the scene. 'They're my nails and screws.'
It was Denzil.
'And my kettle,' said poor Rolf, rather dolefully, for he was proud of his cooking stove and all its neat arrangements, and the kettle looked nearly as miserable for a kettle as Roughie did for a little dog!
I turned upon Denzil very sharply, I am afraid.
'Did you know of it, then?' I said.
Poor Denzil looked very frightened.
'In course not, Ida,' he said. 'I came out to ask Esmé for my nails. She had a lot of them in her blouse pockets, and she got tired of helping me and forgot to give me them back.'
'I'm very sorry,' I said. 'No, I am sure you would never do such a thing, Den.'
Then I got up, very carefully, not to disturb my poor doggie, who was really asleep by this time, and we all—Mr. Trevor and the three boys and I—went to the group in the porch, whose anxiety was already relieved by seeing us more tranquil again. Taisy had been dying to rush out to us, but Esmé, sobbing in her arms, was not easily disposed of.
She—Esmé—had begun an incoherent confession of her misdoings, but now mamma stopped it.
'Is it all right?' she asked eagerly, speaking to Mr. Trevor. 'The dog isnotmad then? What was it?'
Mr. Trevor glanced, still a little doubtfully, at Roughie in my arms.
'I—yes, I think he is all right again,' he replied. 'He certainly recognised his mistress's voice, which is the best sign. I do not think it was any kind of fit; it was just terror. He must be a nervous little creature.'
'Yes,' said Rolf; 'he is awfully nervous, though he is not cowardly.'
'A fine distinction, as applied to a dog,' said Mr. Trevor smiling. 'But if—you all knew it, how——'
A howl—really it was a howl—from Esmé interrupted him.
'Oh, I know, I know!' she wailed. 'It was all my fault. But I only meant to tease him and make him run. I didn't mean—oh, Ida, I didn't mean—to make him go mad. Will you ever forgive me? Rough will never look at me again, I know.'
She was mistaken. The prettiest thing happened just then: Roughie, placidly asleep, though giving little quivers and sobs still, was awakened by the noise she made. He opened his eyes, and his mouth—what Denzil called 'smiling'—a little; I think he meant to give a friendly lick, but findingnothing handy for this, he contented himself with a very cheerful tail-wagging, first glancing up at Esmé, who was bending over him, as much as to say, 'I do forgive you heartily.'
I have always said that dogs—nice dogs—are sorry for people when they see them crying. Since that day I have been sure of it.
But the first effect of Rough's magnanimity was to bring forth another burst of sobs and tears from poor Esmé.
Yes, I too forgave her from that moment.
'Oh, Ida! oh, mamma! oh, everybody!' she cried, 'do forgive me! You seehedoes.'
So now we fell to petting and soothing her; it never took very long to get up Esmé's spirits again, happily. Before bedtime, except for reddened eyes, you would not have known there had been anything the matter, but from that day to this Roughie has had no kinder or truer friend than her.
We were all feeling rather overstrained. Mr. Trevor, Ifancy, a little ashamed of the great fuss he had made, though perhaps I should scarcely speak of it like that, and I think we all felt glad when mamma said brightly—
'Well—all is well that ends well! Will you joinus at our schoolroom tea and forgive its being rather a scramble after all this upset?' She turned to the Trevors, but before they had time to reply there came a half-laughing but rather distressed appeal from Mrs. Trevor.
'My dears,' she said, addressing everybody as far as I could make out, 'will some of you disentangle me? The dogs and I have all got mixed up together—naughty, naughty!' and she switched powerlessly with a knitting needle at the poodles, who this time were really enjoying themselves in a good ball-of-wool chase, as the excitement of Rough's strange behaviour had actually made the old lady leave off knitting for fully five minutes!
It was quite impossible not to laugh, but Mrs. Trevor herself laughed as heartily as any one, and at last, by turning her round and round as if we were playing at blind man's buff, and catching up first one poodle and then another, we got her free.
And of course the wool looked none the worse!
That laughing set us all still more at our ease, and by the time we had sobered down, Hoskins appeared to announce tea. And after the kind Trevors had said good-bye and gone, Denzil set usoff laughing again by announcing in his solemn way that he didn't believe Mr. Trevor was at all ill; he ate such a lot of buttered toast!
This affair of poor little Roughie was, I think, the most exciting thing that happened to us all that spring and summer at the Hut. And though everybody, starting with the good-natured wee man himself, forgave Esmé thoroughly, we were none of us allowed toforgetit. For my dog behaved in the funniest way. Nothing for at least a fortnight would persuade him to leave my room, where he installed himself in what he evidently thought a fortress of security, under the bed. And he would only come out if I called him, and then expected me to hold him in my arms as if he were a baby, which, as you can understand, was not very convenient.
But by degrees he got over it, and became his own happy little self again.
I think it was the very day after this thrilling experience that we got another really cheering and hopeful letter from papa. And once this happier turn of things began, it kept on pretty steadily; the only drawback to our thankfulness being that he could name no date—noprobableone even—forhis return. So the lengthening days followed each other till we got to midsummer, and then came July and August, specially lovely months that year, during which the sun looked down on a busy and happy party in the queer encampment that was our home for the time.
In September Rolf left us for the big school he was bound for. We missed him sadly, though we had the cheeringhopethat his aunt would let him come to us again for the winter holidays.
And so she did!
A few days before Christmas he and Taisy—Taisy had spent the autumn with her grandmother—arrived again, together this time, though less like snails, as they had left their houses behind them when they went away. And some changes in the arrangements were made. Taisy had Geordie's room, and Geordie, to his great delight, took up his quarters in her waggon, as mamma did not like the idea of a girl's being outside—even though so near—through the long, dark nights. It was not a cold winter; it is never very cold at Eastercove, and where the Hut stands it seems even milder than higher up. So Rolf stuck to his tent, and was very pleased to have an excuse for keeping hispatent stove going all the time. Those holidays came to an end only too soon.
In March, just about a year after he had left, came the news of papa's return being fixed for June. It all fitted in. The Trevors had taken the house for twelve months, and with the fine weather meant to go back to their own home in the north. And now there was no talk of letting our dear home again, or, as far as we could see, of ever leaving it except for pleasant reasons. But we kept the Hut just as it was, for papa to see. Rolf would not even have his tent moved till after that summer, and Taisy's waggon is to this day somewhere about the premises, and mamma still has her movable 'boudoir' wheeled about to different parts of the grounds, as it suits her.
It is nearly three years since I made the last entry in my 'Hut' diary, from which I have written out this history of 'The House that Grew.' How I came to do so I will explain.
We have been through some very anxious times lately about Rolf. He is a soldier, and very soon after he got his commission his regiment went to India, and he with it. I will not tell the particulars,as he might not like it, but he 'came in' almost at once for someveryactive service, up in some of those dreadfully out-of-the-way places, where there are so often disturbances with the natives, which in England do not attract much attention, unless you happen to have close personal interest in what is happening, as we had, for Rolf had become almost like another brother to us, spending half his holidays at Eastercove. And Geordie—oh, I forgot to say hedidget the scholarship!—and he, by a happy coincidence, had been at school together.
Well—one sad day there came news that Rolf was badly wounded. We have been waiting and waiting—and I think the anxiety 'got on my nerves,' as people say. For one day mamma spoke seriously to me, when she found me sitting idle, just longing for letters.
'Ida, dear,' she said, 'you must get something to do—somethingextra, I mean, to interest you.'
And after talking a little, the idea of writing out my 'Hut' diary came into my head, and, as you see, I have done it!
And I have been, if I deserved to be so, rewarded for following mamma's advice.
Rolf is coming home—on leave—'invalided,' it is true, but his wound is not so bad as reported; indeed, according tohim, not bad at all!
Papa and Dods are just off to Southampton to meet him and bring him straight here.
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