The House That Grew

Since getting papa's leave to have one of my own I had almost forgotten about it, so many important things and changes had happened.

But for a moment or two I forgot everything but my delight. The wee doggie was so sweet – so just exactly what I had pictured to myself as the perfection of a pet.

'Oh, thank you, thank you!' I exclaimed, holding out my arms, in which Rolf carefully deposited the little creature, not very sorry, I fancy, at the bottom of his heart to make him over to me, for he must have been rather a tiresome travelling companion.

'He's a young dog, but full-grown,' Rolf said; 'and very affectionate and good-tempered. I made sure of that. And he's really a lady's dog – his mother belonged to a lady near Millings, and that has been his home. She only sold him because she couldn't keep so many. He's a bit timid, they say, or rather nervous – but plucky too; if any one tried to hurt you he'd go for them, the keeper said. But it may take him a day or two to settle down.'

It scarcely looked like it – already the little round, rough head was nestling against me, and the nice little cold, black nose rubbing my fingers approvingly, while Taisy and George pressed up to me to see him.

'What's his name, Rolf?' asked the former. Geordie did not speak; I think for a minute or two he was feeling just a little jealous – or envious rather of Rolf – as he had not been able to give me a dog, when he saw how delighted I was. But he was too good and unselfish to let this feeling last, and when the terrier gave him a friendly lick in return for a patronising little pat, Dods's kind heart was completely won.

'His name,' Rolf repeated thoughtfully; 'I'm afraid I forgot to ask. But he'll soon get used to any name. It's often more the tone than the actual sound that a dog notices.'

'I know,' said Taisy in her quick way; 'call him "Rough." It's not very uncommon perhaps, but it would suit him – his coat – so well, and it is rather like "Rolf" too.'

We had just decided this when mamma's voice, coming towards us from the Hut, made us turn round.

'What are you all about?' she asked. 'I heard the fly come some minutes ago. Welcome to Eastercove, Rolf,' she went on, holding out her hand, which our visitor was now able to take. 'I hope you have had a pleas – Oh! so you have brought your dog,' and she looked a very little startled; 'take care, Ida. Is he quite good with strangers?'

'Oh, but,' I began, and then I suddenly remembered that without mamma's leave I had no right to accept Rolf's gift. 'He's mine – my own dog,' I went on; 'that's to say if you will let me have him. You know papa said I might have a dog,' I added pleadingly; 'though of course it is different now. And he is quite good-tempered and gentle.'

'Yes,' Rolf repeated; 'I made sure of that.'

They were the first words mamma had heard him speak. He had not had a chance of thanking her for her 'welcome,' nor she of finishing her sentence about his journey, so taken up had we all been by Master Rough! But at least it had had the good effect of setting us all at our ease.

Then I went on to explain about Rolf's having remembered what Taisy had told him ever so long ago about my wish to have a dog – by the bye, it was lucky that I had not already got one! That possibility had never struck Rolf; he had only been turning over in his mind what he could do to please us, whom he thought very kind to 'take him in,' and mamma turned to him in the pretty way she does, which always makes people like her.

'It was very good of you,' she said, – 'very good and thoughtful,' and she too patted the new pet —very gently; mamma is a little afraid, perhaps wisely so, of strange dogs – so that in her case he thought a wag of his tail sufficient notice of her attention instead of a lick, for which omission, if mamma had known of it, she would have been grateful! 'Do you think,' she went on, turning to us three, 'that among you, you can look after him properly and prevent his getting into any trouble, or straying away in the woods?'

'And getting shot by mistake for a rabbit?' said Geordie. 'He is so like one!'

We all laughed at this; for nothing in dog shape, little dog shape, at least, could be less like a bunny than Rough, though perhaps it was not very respectful of Dods to joke at mamma's fears. But she did not mind, and by this time we were all feeling quite at home with Rolf, and he with us. So we went in together to tea, where he and the two little ones had to be introduced to each other, and Rough exhibited to Denzil and Esmé's admiring eyes. He had fallen asleep in my arms, feeling happy and comfortable again, and probably thinking I was his old mistress restored to him after some dreadful doggie nightmare of separation.

'Mamma need not say, "Among you, will he be looked after?"' I thought to myself. 'The darling will have looking after enough from his owner – myself. I only hope the little ones won't tease him, or interfere with him, even out of kindness.'

That first evening of Rolf's visit left a very pleasant remembrance, and it was only a beginning of many happy days.

He seemed to bring with him just what we needed (though Taisy had done a good deal, rather of the same kind). It prevented our getting too much taken up with our own affairs, or becoming too 'old-fashioned,' – Geordie and I especially – as Hoskins called it, and I don't know that there is a better word to express what I mean.

He was so thoroughly a boy, though the very nicest kind of boy – not ashamed of being a 'gentleman,' too, in lots of little ways, which many boys either despise, or are too awkward and shy to attend to. I don't mean to say that he was the least bit of a prig – just the opposite. He often forgot about wiping his feet, and was rather particularly clever at tearing his clothes, but never forgot to open the door for mamma and us girls, or to tug at his old straw hat or cap when he met us! Or more important things in a sense – such as settling mamma's 'boudoir,' as we got into the habit of calling Miss Trevor's present, in the best place; and seeing that her letters were taken in good time to the lodge for the postman, and things like that.

And looking back upon those days now that I am so much older, I can see that he must have had a good deal of 'tact' of the truest kind, as mamma says it really means care for other people's feelings, not to make dear old Geordie at all jealous, – actually, indeed, to take away the touch of it which Dods did feel at the beginning.

Before a couple of days had passed, all the boys were the best of friends. Of course, I made Rolf leave off calling me anything but 'Ida,' and to Esmé he was quite a slave. Rather too much so. He spoilt her, and it was the only thing Taisy and I were not quite pleased with him for, as it did make her much more troublesome again at her lessons.

But there came a day when even he got very, very vexed with Esmé. I think I must tell the story. She won't mind even if she ever reads this, for she is much more sensible now, and often says she wonders how we all had patience with her.

It had to do with Rough, my doggie.

Dogs, as I daresay you, whoever you are, know, if you have had much to do with them, are not always fond of children, or perhaps I should say, are not fond of all children. They hate fidgety, teasing ones, who will pull and pinch them for the fun of making them snap and snarl, or who won't let them have a peaceful snooze on the hearthrug, if they themselves – the tiresome children, I mean – are inclined for noisy romping. If I were a dog, I should do more than snap and snarl in such a case, I know!

Esmé was not as bad as that. She was a kind-hearted little girl, and never meant to hurt or worry any one. But she was a terrible fidget, and very mischievous and thoughtless. It would have been better for her perhaps to have had a rather less free life than ours at the Hut was. There was no one whose regular business it was to look after her. Out of lesson hours she might do pretty much as she liked. Mamma knew she would never do anything really naughty, or that she thought so, anyway, and we trusted a good deal to the boys, who, even little Denzil, were so particularly steady-going, and whom she was generally with.

But after Rolf came, he and George naturally went about together a good deal, just as Taisy and I did, and I don't think any of us realised how completely Esmé had the upper hand of Den.

If I was to blame about her, by not keeping her more with Taisy and myself, I was well punished for it by the fright she gave us, as you will hear.

It was rather a hot day for the time of year – still only spring. We four elder ones had gone for a good long ramble in the farther off woods, taking our luncheon with us, and for some reason – I think I was, in my own mind, a little afraid of Rough's getting trapped or some mischance of the kind – I had left my doggie at home, as safe as could be, I thought, for he was under Hoskins's care, and she was nearly as fond of him as I myself.

He would have been far safer, as it turned out, if we had taken him with us.

Esmé must have been 'at a loose end' that afternoon, from what she told me afterwards. Denzil had got some little carpentering job in hand – he was rather clever at it, and at dinner-time, Esmé, as well as he, told mamma about it – so she was quite happy, thinking they had got good occupation, and that there was no fear of any 'idle hands' trouble.

But Miss Esmé, as was her way, got very tired of handing Den the nails and tools and things he wanted, and of watching his rather slow progress, and told him she must really go for a run.

'All right,' said Denzil; 'but don't go far.'

He told us this part of it himself, when he came in for some blame in having 'let' Esmé' get into mischief. This sounds rather hard upon him, doesn't it, considering he was fully a year younger than she? but, as I have explained, he was such a solemn old sober-sides, that we had all got into the way of treating him as if he were the responsible one of the two.

'No,' Esmé replied, she would not go far; nor did she.

She strolled about – I can see her now as she must have looked that afternoon – her hands behind her back, her black legs – she was a tall little girl for her age – showing rather long and thin beneath her big, brown Holland overall, her garden hat tilted very much to the back, her lovely goldy hair in a great fuzz as usual, and her bright hazel eyes peering about for something to amuse herself with.

As ill-luck would have it, she found the 'something' in the shape of my poor darling Roughie!

Hoskins had allowed him to go out with a bone to the front of the Hut, where he was lying very comfortably in the sunshine, on a mat, which he considered his own property. He had left off nibbling at the bone, and was half or three-quarters asleep.

Now when Esmé is – no, I must in fairness say 'was,' she is so different now – in one of her idle yet restless humours, it irritated her somehow to see any one else peaceful and quiet, even if the some one else was only a dog.

'You lazy little beggar,' she said to Rough. I don't really know that she said those very words, but I am sure it was something of the kind, and so I think I may 'draw on my imagination' a little in telling the story. 'You lazy little beggar, why don't you get up and go for a run? You are getting far too fat.'

And – she told me this herself – she gave him a 'tiny' kick, not so as to hurt him – that I quite believe, but dogs have feelings about other things than being actually hurt in their bodies. He had been blinking up at her good-naturedly, though he was not, as I said, very fond of her. Nor was she of him.

But now, at the kick, or 'shove,' I think she called it, he gave a slight growl. And no wonder – it was not the sort of thing to sweeten even a sweet-tempered dog's temper – when he was doing no harm and only asking to be left alone in peace. Esmé, however, declared that it was the growl that made her wish to tease him.

She put her hand into the pocket of her blouse, meaning to take out her handkerchief to 'flick' him a little and make him wake up. But in this pocket, unluckily, besides the handkerchief were some nails and screws and such things which she had put there for convenience while being supposed to 'help' Denzil, by handing them to him as he wanted them. And when she touched them, they rattled and jingled, thoroughly rousing poor Roughie, who opened his eyes and growled again, this time more loudly, and Esmé, delighted, rattled and jingled, and again he growled.

Then a wicked idea came into her head.

She had heard of naughty boys tormenting cats in a certain way.

'It can't hurt him,' she thought; 'it will only make him run, which is good for him.'

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 hurt it either. 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 tail might have 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 – faster

still – oh, my poor Roughie! – louder still, Esmé laughing – at first, 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.

CHAPTER XII

'WELL – ALL IS WELL THAT ENDS WELL!'

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 all six of 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-coloured knitting; 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 nothing very particular to tell about them. Mrs. Trevor always made us laugh, with her dogs and her knitting, but she was so 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, 'it is Rough, 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 I saw.

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, after something– 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 after it? 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!

He had 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 spattered with 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 he was mad.

Mr. Trevor kept his presence of mind, I must say, under what he thought 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 —they were tearing after her, shouting to her to 'Come back, come back!' which did not tend to lessen the uproar. And when I started 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 will not go 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 there was a 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' and met him, 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; their fright 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 my arms, 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.

'Bitten me!' I exclaimed, looking up and not caring if Mr. Trevor saw my tears or not, – 'bitten me! 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 one could be so cruel. Didn't you 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.