It followed, dragging gruesomely at his side“It followed, dragging gruesomely at his side.”CHAPTER XIIIVAN IN DISGRACE
It followed, dragging gruesomely at his side“It followed, dragging gruesomely at his side.”
“It followed, dragging gruesomely at his side.”
“It followed, dragging gruesomely at his side.”
VAN never forgot anything that he wanted to remember. Away back in the time of his puppyhood Betsy had laughed when he had chased an old hen.
When the cats were pretty well thinned out, he, in his solitary excursions, chanced on some half-grown chickens. He chased them a little, and they fluttered and scrambled awkwardly away from him. Now anything that runs is to be chased. Van always chased Betsy when she ran with him on the lawn; yes, and he would growland shake her skirts. It would be good fun to see what these ungainly birds would do.
So he went for them, and they came right up to his expectations; they plunged across the road, squawking and crying.
This was delightful! He would try nipping them.
That was still better fun. Pretty soon he caught one, gave it a little shaking up, and it lay quite still and limp. He turned to find a livelier one, but just then the mistress of the house where he was trespassing, saw him, and he received a good banging over the head with a broom.
He concluded that he had had enough sport for one day, and went home. An hour later a boy from the house where the chickens lived, went to Dr. Johns’ office with a dead chicken in his hand, for which Dr. Johns promptly paid. It appears that chickens have a market value which cats have not, and one may not destroy them so freely.
To punish Van away from the game would have been useless. Dr. Johns gave forth the order that he must be kept at home, and not allowed out except on a chain.
This was terrible. Van’s life had been one long joy, with no confinement whatever, except in those early mad-dog days. The whole world had been his, and now it was taken away from him—from him, Prince Vanart VI.!
But alack and alas! this did not cure him. One morning he slipped out through a carelessly unlatched door, and was off down the hill as fast as his little legs could carry him.
By some luck—hard luck for Vanny-Boy—Betsy saw him and started after him at the top of her speed, stopping only long enough to take the whip. At the foot of the hill stood a house with a chicken-yard behind it. A few stately old biddies were stalking around the lawn after worms and insects, while a still statelier old rooster strutted up and down importantly.
Van saw them and turned in. He must make the most of his liberty, and no time was to be lost. He grabbed at an old white hen, but she was too heavy for him. He turned away with his mouth full of feathers and tackled another with the same result. By this time the whole lawn was in an uproar, and had it not been so early inthe morning some one from the house must certainly have seen him.
Betsy was on the way, however, and she advanced to the rescue of old hen number three. Van was very busy indeed, but these hens were all too big. He gripped another, with one eye on the rooster;——
Down came the whip over his back, just missing him, for he was now on his way to the chicken-yard, where the birds were smaller. Betsy followed, and just as he made a dash for a nice broiler, she stepped inside and closed the gate behind her.
The instant Van heard the click of the gate he knew that the jig was up. He stood still, took in the situation, saw that there was no hope, and came straight to his mistress. Down at her feet he lay, ready for the inevitable whipping.
Oh, valiant little sinner! Why did you always make it so hard for those who had to punish you? One may whip a coward, and feel that he deserves it, but with two brave eyes looking up, not even begging for mercy, a white body that will quiver, but not cringe under the lash, with no sound ofprotest—how can one do it? Betsy needed all her own courage for the task.
Without a whimper the plucky little dog went back to the house on his chain, and care was redoubled to keep him at home. He showed no remorse. He had had his fun and taken his punishment. Chickens were decidedly the best sport yet, and his blood continued to leap at the sight of a feathered temptation.
Poor Betsy! She was at her wits’ end. What could she do? The neighbors would not stand for this sort of thing, and the day would come when some one would kill him, and no one could blame the doer of the deed. It could not matter to strangers what an adorable bit he was in his own home. Indoors he obeyed like an angel, out-of-doors he tossed his head and went his wicked ways.
Here was a problem that Betsy could not solve. The small sinner knew very well that he was doing wrong, and he knew that punishment followed, if he was caught. But he knew also that whippings do not last forever, and while the chase was on, he could not think of what was to follow—only a savage red triumph filled hisbrain. Nothing else mattered for the moment. Those days with the Hospital attendants were having their effect.
What should she do?
Once more Betsy tried him. She took him walking off the chain, but with the whip in her hand. It made no difference. He turned in at the first gate where his little nose said, “Chicken!” and this time he left four half-grown victims dead on the field, and got clean away, without the whip’s once touching him.
The owner of the chickens came over and displayed the results of Van’s foray to Dr. Johns. He paid for the chickens, but he looked very grave, and Betsy trembled.
Then the Johns family sat in judgment on the culprit. Something must be done. Punishment had no effect on that proud spirit. Somehow they must shame him. Dr. Johns had heard it said that if one hung the dead chicken on the collar of the dog, it would cure him of killing. At least the thing could be tried. With tears Betsy heard the verdict.
A red pullet was selected from the day’s kill, and tied to Van’s collar, like the albatross aroundthe neck of the Ancient Mariner, and thus he was chained on the lawn near the house.
And why this was done Van did not understand. That was the worst of it. Possibly, had the chicken been tied to him at the moment of the killing, he would have known it to be a just punishment for his slaughter of the innocent. But as it was he did not recognize in that dead, limp Thing, the flapping, squawking broiler he had so gayly murdered. When life had passed from his game he had no more use for it. How could he understand?
But there it was, and he could not get away from it. Furtively he tried to move off where he could not see it; it moved with him. He went to the length of his chain in one direction, then the other; still it followed, dragging grewsomely at his side. Turn as he would, there was the Thing, feathered and awful, close to him, hanging to him! Oh, the shame of it! He suffered as bitterly as if he were the first in all the wide world to be so punished.
And misery upon misery! this debasement was public, for all the world to see; and people came and looked at him, and talked about his sinfulness,and he knew they were talking about him. Even Dr. Peters, his friend, came across the lawn to see how he took it. Van slunk away to the end of his tether, and tried to hide, oh, anywhere. There was nothing to hide behind but the hated chicken, and he put his head under that. He would not look up, no matter how kindly Dr. Peters spoke.
The fat young doctor came and looked at him, and the black-bearded young doctor came and looked at him. Did they have no hearts? Could they not see that all he wanted was to get down into the bottomless pit of oblivion, where there were no curious eyes to pierce him through and through?
Then Betsy came, and she sent the curious ones to the right-about. She sat down by him, and looked sorrowfully at him, and he gazed up at her with his pitiful brown eyes, and saw that his dear mistress understood. He knew that there must be some reason why she could not set him free from his loathsome burden. He hid his head in her skirts and whined.
“Vanny-Boy, Vanny-Boy,” she said, “it has to be. When we’re bad or ign’rant we have to learn.It’s just like when Aunt Kate put those black spots on my nails. I was as ’shamed as ’shamed. But it made me remember.”
But Van would not be comforted, for he did not really understand. All day he neither ate nor drank, although there was a bowl of water placed for him, and a plate of most delectable viands prepared especially by Mary. At nightfall Betsy came again, and he lay still, without a sound, as if the fountains of grief had dried up within him. Betsy held a bowl of cool water to his lips, and from her hands for the first time he drank thirstily. He even tried to swallow a few morsels of food that she gave to him. But he felt no hunger, only a gnawing shame for something he did not comprehend, and his only comfort was Betsy’s sympathy. Her he could always trust, forshe knew, and whether he was glad or sorry, triumphant or remorseful, defiant or humble, always she knew the fine, brave, fearless, loving little heart that lay beneath all his deeds or misdeeds, and she did not sit in judgment without sweet Charity at her side.
When the dew fell she led him into the cellar, for with his “Albatross” he might not sleep in hiscosy basket. A soft bed was made for him in the furnace room; he sidled into it, and lay down, without a sound.
All night he crouched there in the dark with that awful thing beside him; moving when he moved, motionless when he lay still. Sleep did not come to his eyes. His fearsome companion lay so stark and stiff, his companion that he could not get away from. It destroyed all thought of rest, and filled him with a wide-eyed horror; it was a long, lonesome, terrible night.
Early in the morning his mistress came down with a delicious breakfast, but he would not touch it. He looked up at her with great eyes hollow with suffering, and made one pitiful little moan, so low that she could scarcely hear it, and laid his nose on her knee with a long shudder.
Betsy could bear it no longer. She had slept no more than had the culprit. She dashed upstairs for a knife with which to cut the hateful burden loose; she tried to lead him up the stairs, but the ordeal had so shaken his nerves that he could not mount the steps.
Then she carried him up in her arms; she gave him a warm bath, and laid him on her own bed.He was mutely grateful, but his shame and disgrace had laid him low.
For three days Van was very ill. Whether it was the shock of the dreadful punishment, or of knowing that his loved ones could treat him so—for still he did not understand—who can tell?
“If he kills all the chickens in the world, I’ll earn the money to pay for them myself,” cried Betsy. “But I can’t stand that look in his poor eyes!”
And there was no one in the whole family but felt that a mistake had been made, that all this had been for nothing. And it was even so. Van was up and around again soon, bright and winsome as ever, but Betsy and Dr. and Mrs. Johns never forgave themselves. Somehow the punishment, terrible as it was, did not bring home its lesson, and in spite of all the suffering, it did not one particle of good. The love of battle, murder, and sudden death was in his blood, and his first training had been all wrong.
The Johns family held another meeting to which Van was not invited, and in it they came to this decision:
That: whereas they could not themselves makea good dog of Vanart VI., he must be sent away to a trainer—to a kind of college where dogs are taught their manners, their tricks, and their duties; and where, if it is not too late, they may unlearn their bad habits and wicked ways.
On that last night before he went away, Mary cooked for Van the most wonderful supper. He reveled in the tid-bits that he coaxed from every one at the dinner table. Best of all, he was permitted to sleep on the foot of Betsy’s bed. He did not know the reason for all this extra indulgence, but he joyfully took the goods the gods provided.
“Kate,” said Dr. Johns, when Betsy had said good-night, and gone to her room, “there’s another letter from that scoundrel. He takes quite a threatening attitude, plays the high and mighty, says we are keeping his child away from him unlawfully. The fond parent wants his beloved child, etc. It is sickening, when we know what he really wants her for, and that she would probably be abused and starved again. He might try to get her in some way. I thought I’d better tell you, so we can be on our guard.”
“What could he do?”
“Everything, unless the courts decide in our favor. I’ve arranged for the earliest possible hearing. It may not be until spring, however, but we can easily prove him incompetent as a father. Betsy has no love for him, and would certainly choose us, and that would help. And when we are assured that we have the custody of the child, we’ll adopt little Betsy, regularly and in order. What do you say, Kate?”
For answer Kate put her arms around her husband, and kissed him tenderly.
Late that evening, as Aunt Kate was going the rounds of the house, she stopped at Betsy’s door and listened. The sound of a long-drawn gasping breath met her ears, and she opened the door softly and went in.
The dim light of the moon shone in at the southern window, and Betsy lay at the foot of her couch with one arm tightly around Van. The little Knave of Hearts slept as soundly as if he had been a good, obedient dog all his life.
Aunt Kate sat down beside the little maid, and Betsy’s free hand stole into hers.
“Don’t cry, Betsy dear. He’ll come back all right, and be a good dog forever after.”
“It doesn’t seem—it doesn’t seem,” sobbed Betsy, “as if I could possibly live without him.”
“Betsy mine,” Aunt Kate squeezed the little hand tighter, “do you know how we have grown to love you? I haven’t wanted to force you; I wanted you to come to me of your own free will, but I must say just this; when you get big enough to understand, you will know that Uncle Ben and Aunt Kate never had any little children, and they wanted them; and there’s a place all ready in their hearts. And when little Betsy is ready she can crawl right in and stay there.”
One great sob burst from Betsy, a sob that seemed to break open the very flood-gates of life. She lifted both arms and put them tightly around Aunt Kate’s neck.
“Auntie Kate, Auntie Kate,” she whispered, and in the dark she was not ashamed. “I do love you and I love Uncle Ben. I wouldn’t ever want anybody better in the whole wide world.”
“Then I shall be the happiest woman on theHill-Top, and with a little girl of my own to love me.”
“And when Vanny-Boy comes back,” said Betsy, “we’ll be the very happiest family that ever was.”