Sitting comfortably in the middle of Bob’s best silk negligée shirt“Sitting comfortably in the middle of Bob’s best silk negligée shirt.”CHAPTER IVBETSY MEETS VAN
Sitting comfortably in the middle of Bob’s best silk negligée shirt“Sitting comfortably in the middle of Bob’s best silk negligée shirt.”
“Sitting comfortably in the middle of Bob’s best silk negligée shirt.”
“Sitting comfortably in the middle of Bob’s best silk negligée shirt.”
LIFE moved on the wings of youth for Van, and changes were many. The very morning after the trip to Madison Square, Bob Grant packed some things into a suit-case. It lay on the floor, and Van could see into it by putting his forepaws on the edge. Nay, he could do more than that. When Bob came to put in his handkerchiefs he found young Van sitting comfortablyin the middle of his best silk negligée shirt.
“So you’re planning to go too, mister! Well, I’m planning to take you, but not in my suit-case. There’s the covered basket all ready for you. We’re going this very afternoon. You may have thought this was home, but it isn’t. It’s only a New York studio, where one earns his bread and butter. When you get to your final destination you’ll have all out-of-doors to chase your tail in,—that is, if you ever have one long enough to chase. It’s back to the old farm for you.
“But you’ve got to be mighty good, and whether you stay there or not depends entirely on yourself. I’m risking it because you are a rummy little chap, and I think you will be just bad enough to be lovable.”
Van cocked his head on one side, and lifted his left ear straight up, listening as if he understood every word. He barked very confidently at Bob, and when the time came, he entered his basket without protest. In a basket he had come to the New York studio, and in a basket he would leave it,—the proper way. The lid was shut andfastened, and Van started on his second railway journey.
The rumble and jolting of the trolley car, the jostling of the crowd at the station, the roaring, purring, grinding and shrieking of the train were nothing to him. He had been through all that before when he was even smaller, and nothing dreadful had come of it. Humans certainly make a lot of fuss for nothing. So he slept peacefully, as a prince should, only reminding his bearer that he was alive by a tiny “Yap!” when the express train made its one stop on the way.
There his basket was opened, and he chewed Bob’s finger for a minute, then snuggled down again, to awaken only when Bob stepped into a carriage at the end of his railway journey.
In the carriage the lid of Van’s basket was raised, and for the whole two-mile drive he sat up and watched everything with polite interest, but with no vulgar astonishment. His bonny brown eyes missed nothing, however. At last Bob jumped out, and as he went up the steps of the honeysuckle porch, he closed the basket lid and shouted:
“Kit! Kit! Where are you?”
“Bob! You dear fellow! How did you happen to get away? Are all the books in the world illustrated, and you off on a holiday?”
“No, not all of ’em. Got to get right back. I just ran up to bring a present for the kid you wrote me about. Thought she’d be lonesome. Where is she?”
“Upstairs. I’ll call her in a minute. What have you got in that basket?”
“Look out! It bites,—go easy. There! How’s that for a watch-dog?”
Out of the basket popped two pointed, velvety brown ears, erect and courageous, then the whole head, cocked on one side, eyes dancing with excitement, beauty and breeding in every line.
“Bob! What a darling! But, oh, I can’t keep him. It’s enough to ask Dr. Johns to let me keep Betsy.”
“We have to take some risks in this life, you know, Kate. Come on in and call the kid.”
Out on the carpet Van was tumbled, to be admired at all points; and being a dog of parts, the points were many—his smooth, shining, snowy coat, with the chestnut-brown saddle, and the delicate lines and curves so rare in puppiesof his or of any age. Mrs. Johns gave one long look, and said:
“I don’t believe Ben will say one word. I’ll call Betsy. She’s a queer little mite, but I think she’ll like him. Betsy! Betsy! Come here a minute!”
Betsy came slowly down the stairs,—a very different-looking Betsy from the weird little black-robed figure of two weeks ago, but still awkward and shy.
“Betsy, this is Uncle Bob. See what he has brought you.”
Betsy looked.
“It’s a puppy! Pa wouldn’t have any dog to our house. They et too much.”
“He’s yours, Betsy.”
“Mine? No, he isn’t. He can’t be. What’s his name?”
“Vanart VI.,” said Bob. “Call him Van, for short. Go to Betsy, Van.”
Betsy sat down on the lower step of the stair, and Van ambled up, wriggling, almost to her, when suddenly his eye fell on a member of the group, who, being merely a casual visitor, had not been taken into account at all. It was a hugeyellow cat, three times as big as Van, who, in a hand to hand, or claw to claw fight could have made ribbons of his young lordship.
Instantly Van’s head went down, his tail to “attention,” and with stealthy steps he went slowly toward old Tommy. A quickening of his heart told him that his father and his father’s father’s had always chased cats. There was a long line of sporting dogs behind him, and here was game worthy of the blood.
Tommy’s yellow fur stiffened into bristles; his tail grew big and threatening; he backed against the dining-room door with a low growl and with all claws set. Van gave one short “Woof!” and started for him. Tommy, who had met many dogs, large and small, and vanquished not a few, was not sure that this courageous morsel could be a real dog at all, and in that moment of hesitation the day was lost. “R-r-r-r-r!” growled Van, in an answering challenge, and Tommy turned tail and darted through the door into the dining-room.
That was enough. “The game is started, chase it!” whispered the blood of his ancestors to his pumping heart. Through the swinging door intothe kitchen went a yellow streak; after it pelted a barking thing of brown and white; out through the screen door and down the steps,—it was Van’s first experience with steps, and the cat was gaining. He rolled down, picked himself up, and was off again in the direction of his flying yellow prey.
Around the corner of the house it disappeared, but Van was hard on the scent. Soon the cat was in sight again and in a fair way to safety. A friendly apple tree was just ahead; Tommy made one dash up the trunk and was safe in a high crotch, whence he could look down on his tiny foe and be ashamed of himself. Van, not being a climber, stopped beneath the tree, yelping like mad at the lost prize, while Mrs. Johns, Bob and Betsy looked on, too helpless with laughter to inform him, as they should have done, that the sporting instinct should be held second to kingly courtesy.
But Van had treed his first cat on the first run, and the field of glory, without a question, belonged to him.
When quiet was restored, Bob turned to Betsy.
“What do you think of that, now? Don’t you like him?”
“I dunno. I never had a pet, ’cept Speckly and Banty, and they’re hens.”
“Well, I think you’ll like him when you get to know him. Can we fix him up a place to sleep somewhere around?” said Bob.
“We can keep him in the kitchen, until he gets acquainted. Mary will look after him, and he can sleep in the little tool-room off the back veranda.”
Betsy made no move to go nearer or to play with him, and Aunt Kate said aside, to Bob,
“I’m afraid it’s a mistake. She doesn’t seem to care for animals. Ben’s away, and I don’t know what he’ll say. Oh, Bob, I’m afraid you will have to take him back.”
“Well, wait till morning, anyway, before you decide. I’ll be here over Sunday.”
That night a big, soft bed of blankets was made for Van on the floor of the tool-room. He was given a supper befitting his age and state, tucked up comfortably, and in one minute he had dropped fast asleep, and was making up for the excitement of the day past.
In the night Betsy awakened to hear a pitiful little cry. For a moment her thought was, “Ma’s awake and needs me!” and she jumped out of bed. She had so often, in her mother’s illness, awakened to wait on her, that, still drowsy from her sound sleep, she thought herself back in the little red house. Then, as she stumbled over unwonted furniture, she realized where she was. Groping her way to the window, she listened. The tool-room was directly below, and behind the door of it Van was voicing his loneliness and homesickness.
A wave of pity swept up in the heart of Betsy. Here was this tiny dog left all alone to cry his heart out, and here was she,—with friends,—yes, but friends not like her own self, and living a different life from what hers had been.
Barefooted and silent, Betsy opened the door and crept softly out into the hall. Feeling her way she went down the stairs, the soft rustle of her little nightgown being the only sound that broke the stillness of the house. Gently she turned the key in the lock and stepped out on the back veranda. In the tool-room Van was stillrending deaf heaven. The door was unlocked, and Betsy gently pushed it open.
Instantly the wailing ceased. A scamper of little feet came toward her, and she felt the cold little pads on her own as Van dug his foreclaws into her nightgown, and tried to climb up. There was no one to look now, and her own little homesick heart leaped to meet his. Picking him up in her arms, she lifted the upper layer of the blanket bed, and sat down upon it, while the puppy nestled close, with his nose tucked into her neck, apparently asking for nothing better.
“I’m lonesome, too, Van. Maybe Aunt Kate’d be mad if I took you upstairs. I guess I’ll just stay here. There, you pore little feller,—it’s all right. Your Betsy’s here!”
When, in the morning, after a long, vain search for Betsy, Mrs. Johns opened the door of the silent tool-room, she did not speak. She went and hunted up Bob, who was taking a turn on the porch before breakfast. Together they peeped in, quietly.
“I wish Ben was here to see them!” she whispered. Then, as they turned softly away, she added,
“You needn’t take him away, Bob. That’s settled. It is the first thing that has really seemed to open the child’s heart. We needed just that key.”
Betsy and Van sleeping in the tool-room