Jack, the Fire Dog

CHAPTER FOURTH

AFTER the two boys had driven off to the park to feed the birds, Jack, as we have seen, watched the sleigh so long as it was in sight. Then he lay down in a sunny spot in front of the engine-house door, where he would be warm and at the same time see the passing. Dogs, of course, interested him most, and this was such a thoroughfare that he saw a good many of them.

The dogs that interested him the most were those from out of town who were passing through the city, following a carriage or team. It was very pleasant to meet an old acquaintance in that way, and exchange a few words with him, for Jack was such a business dog that he allowed himself few pleasures, and did not have the opportunity of roaming about the city that dogs enjoy so much. Out-of-town dogs were very interesting because they didn’t take on any airs, and often told him things about their country homes that he liked to hear.

The most irritating of all dogs are the dogs that are in carriages. They take on a very superior air that all dogs who are not driving dislike particularly. In fact, as they pass, they often make insulting remarks to the less fortunate dogs who go on foot. Also dogs who are driving are very jealous of others who are enjoying the same privilege, and often talk most impertinently to one another.

Several dogs in carriages passed while Jack lay in the door of the engine-house, and they either looked straight ahead and turned up their noses, pretending not to see him, or else they made some insolent remark. Jack paid no attention whatever to them, knowing that nothing would irritate them so much as to find that their impertinence had no effect upon him.

A large, amiable farm-dog following a charcoal wagon particularly interested the Fire-Dog. He stopped a few minutes in order to tell the little news he had, which was that the hens were on a strike and had refused to lay any more until they were furnished with warmer quarters.

“That accounts for the high price of eggs,” said Jack; “I thought something was wrong. Well, I hope they will get what they want. Give them the compliments of Jack the Fire-Dog, and tell them to stick.”

“There is one other piece of news,” said the farm-dog. “One of my neighbors is missing. He is a little yellow dog with a black pug nose, and answers to the name of Toby. Followed his team into the city with a load of wood one day last week and hasn’t been seen since. If you come across him, let us know, will you? The city is awfully confusing to country dogs.”

“I will be on the lookout for him,” said Jack. “‘Yellow dog with a black pug nose, answers to the name of Toby.’ Say,” continued Jack, as the other was starting to run after his team, “what shall I do with him if I happen to find him, which isn’t at all likely?”

“Keep him till I come by next week, or send him home if he knows the way;” and the farm-dog ran after his team, that was now nearly out of sight.

For a while nothing of especial interest happened to divert the Fire-Dog. He took several naps, keeping one eye open to see what was going on about him. Suddenly he started and opened both eyes. A group of children were coming toward him, one of them leading a dog by a string. Something about the children attracted Jack’s attention. They were not very warmly clothed for the season of the year, but they seemed happy and good-natured. They were evidently very fond of their dog, for they stopped often to pat him and speak to him.

“Where have I seen those children?” asked Jack of himself. “I am sure I have seen them before;” and he tried hard to recall their faces.

“I have it!” he exclaimed at last. “It was the night of the fire when we found the blind kid, and they are the children who looked after him.”

He looked at the dog the children were leading. “‘Yellow dog with a black pug nose, answers to the name of Toby.’ Well, who would have thought I should hear from him so soon? Hallo, Toby! is that you?”

“Yes,” replied Toby; “but who are you, and how do you happen to know my name?”

Jack quickly arose and stepped up to the little yellow dog. The children good-naturedly waited for them to exchange the time of day, during which time Jack managed to explain to Toby his interview with the large farm-dog. “I did not expect to hear from you so soon,” said Jack, “but now that I have, we must make our plans in a hurry. I suppose you want to go back to your old home?”

“Of course I do. After having a whole town to roam about in, it isn’t very pleasant to be tied up in an old shed.”

“Why didn’t you run away?” asked Jack.

“I wasn’t sure of my way. It is terribly confusing to a country dog to find his way about in a city. Besides, these children are very good to me, and I was afraid of falling into worse hands.”

“You know how to slip your collar, I suppose?” asked Jack.

“Sometimes I can, but this strap is pretty tight,” replied Toby.

“I see that your education has been neglected, so I will give you a few instructions given me by an old bull-dog, Boxer by name, who could slip any collar that was ever invented.”

“I should be very glad to hear them,” replied little Toby.

“Well, first you back out just as far as your rope will allow you to go. Then you gradually work your head from side to side, with your chin well up in the air, kind of wriggling your head free. If your collar is tight, that doesn’t always work; so next you lie flat on your back, keeping your nose as high up as you can get it. You can kind of ease it up with your fore feet, too. You do just as I’ve told you and you’ll find yourself free in time. I stump any one to make a collar that these rules won’t work on.”

“I’ll do my best,” said little Toby.

“The bull-dog I told you of, did a thing once that I wouldn’t have believed if I hadn’t known it to be a fact. He had slipped so many collars that they had a sort of harness made for him with a strap that went back of his fore legs. Well, one morning they found that he had slipped that. It beats the Dutch how he managed to do it, but he did it all right. It took him all night to do it, and in the morning they found him all used up, and lying as if he were dead. He was quite an old dog then, and not so strong as he used to be, but you know bull-dogs never give up anything they undertake.”

“Did he get well?” asked Toby, much interested.

“I’ll tell you. As I said before, he lay like a dead dog, and it was warm and sunny out of doors, so they carried him out and laid him in the sun. After a while he seemed to take an interest in things about him,—wagged his tail when they spoke to him and all that. Bull-dogs are awfully affectionate, you know. Then they began to have a little hope for him, when who should come along but another dog he knew? There had been some bad blood between the two, and what do you think? No sooner does my old friend catch sight of the other than up he jumps and runs after him. Of course he was too feeble to do anything in the fighting line, but his intentions were good.”

“Wasn’t the excitement too much for him?” asked Toby, anxiously.

“Not a bit of it. It did him good,—limbered him up and set him right on his legs. Bull-dogs are tough.”

“I should like to know him,” said Toby, modestly. “He must be a remarkable dog.”

“He certainly is,” replied the Fire-Dog. “I should like to introduce you, but the fact is, we are not on speaking terms now. He means well, Boxer does, but he’s kind of jealous-minded. You see it gives me quite a position to run with the engine, and Boxer, he feels equal to the business, and it kind of riles him to see me setting off to a fire. I suppose he thinks I feel smart of myself and am taking on airs. It is just as you have been brought up. Now, if Boxer had been brought up in the Fire Department, his natural pluck would have taken him through the worst fire that ever was. The more he got singed, the farther he would venture in.”

“Do you ever meet now?” asked Toby.

“Yes, quite often; he lives near by. We don’t look at one another, though, as we pass, except perhaps out of the corners of our eyes. Boxer, he always shivers and his eyes kind of bulge, and he walks on tiptoe. You know that bull-dogs are awfully sensitive, and they always shiver when they are excited, but it isn’t the shiver of a cowardly dog. You had better look out for a bull-dog when you see him shiver, for he isn’t in the state of mind to take much from another dog when he’s in that condition. He laps his chops too, then.”

The children had been waiting all this time, the boy who held Toby by a string occasionally giving him a gentle pull as a reminder that it was time to go. They patted Jack, while they peered curiously in through the open door at the engine that stood ready for use at a moment’s notice. They thought it was time to start for home, as they had quite a distance to go. So Toby took leave of his new friend, casting longing glances behind him as he was pulled along.

“He appears to be a well-meaning sort of fellow,” said Jack to himself, “but he doesn’t look to me smart enough to apply the rules I have given him. A dog of character like Boxer would have brought it about by himself. However; it’s as well that we are not all made alike.”

Jack’s attention was before long diverted from the subject of his new acquaintance by the return of his charge Billy, who greeted him so affectionately that warm-hearted Jack forgot everything else and escorted his charge into the engine-house to see that he got safely up the steep stairs.

Meanwhile Mr. Ledwell and Sam drove down town to do a few errands. One of them was to leave an order at a bake-shop, and as the sleigh stopped before the door, they noticed a group of children, one of them holding by a string a little yellow dog with a black pug nose. They were gazing eagerly in at the tempting display of cakes in the large windows, and Sam noticed that the little dog seemed to eye them just as longingly as the children did.

Now Sam’s grandpapa was just the kind of man that any child or animal would appeal to if he were in trouble, and as he stepped out of the sleigh and walked by the group of children, he looked at them in his usual pleasant manner.

“Mister,” said a voice very timidly, “will you please to give me a cent to buy something to eat?”

The voice came from a little girl, the youngest of the children.

“Why, Maysie, you mustn’t ask for money; that’s begging,” said the boy who was holding the dog.

“What do you want to eat, little girl?” asked Mr. Ledwell’s kind voice.

“Cake,” replied Maysie, emboldened by the pleasant eyes that seemed to be always smiling.

“Well, look in at that window,” said Mr. Ledwell, “and tell me what kind of cake you think you would like to eat.”

Maysie’s mind was evidently already made up, for she at once pointed to a plate of rich pastry cakes with preserve filling.

“That kind,” replied Maysie, promptly.

“Could you eat a whole one, do you think?” asked Mr. Ledwell.

“Yes,” replied Maysie, eagerly.

“Could you eat two, do you think?” asked Mr. Ledwell.

“Yes,” replied Maysie, promptly.

“Do you think you could eat three of them?” asked Mr. Ledwell.

“Yes,” replied Maysie.

“Well, do you think you could eat four?”

“I’d try,” replied Maysie, confidently.

“Wait here a minute,” said Mr. Ledwell, “and I will see what I can do.”

The children crowded around the window, and eagerly watched the young woman behind the counter fill a large paper bag with cakes from every plate in the window, the largest share being taken from the plate of pastry cakes that had been Maysie’s choice.

Mr. Ledwell glanced at the faces peering in at the window, following eagerly every motion of the young woman with the paper bag. The little yellow dog was no less interested than the children, and had been held up in the boy’s arms, that he might obtain a better view. From this group Mr. Ledwell’s eyes fell on his little grandson, who was standing up in the sleigh to see what was going on, and whose bright face was aglow with pleasure at the prospect of the treat in store for the group at the window.

“It would be hard to say whether they or Sam are the happiest,” said Mr. Ledwell to the young woman behind the counter, as he took the paper bag and left the store.

“Or the generous man who takes the trouble to give so much pleasure to others,” added the young woman to herself, as she glanced at his kind face.

“Here, little girl,” said Mr. Ledwell, handing the paper bag to Maysie. “Now what will you do with all these good things?”

“We’ll divide them between ourselves,” replied Maysie, promptly.

“And the dog,” said the boy. “He must have his share, because he’s seen them same as we have.”

“Yes, Johnny, of course the dog,” assented Maysie.

“And Mother,” said the older sister.

“Of course, Mother,” agreed Maysie. “Come on!” and off started Maysie, firmly grasping her bag of cakes.

“Why, Maysie, you forgot to thank the gentleman,” said the elder sister.

“Her face has thanked me already,” said Mr. Ledwell.

Maysie, however, thus reminded of her manners, turned and said,—

“Oh, thank you, sir, so much.”

Instantly Maysie was off, followed by her brother and sister.

“Grandpapa,” said Sam, as Mr. Ledwell took his seat in the sleigh, “I think you are the very best grandpapa in town.”

“I am glad you do, Sam,” said Grandpapa.

“Now, if God will only make Billy see, we shall be all right,” said Sam, with his decided nod. “I shall pray to Him every night and ask Him to, and He is so good and kind that I’m pretty sure He will do it.”

CHAPTER FIFTH

MAYSIE, firmly grasping her bag of cakes, rushed through the crowded sidewalks and street-crossings, darting in among the carriages and teams with the skill that only a child brought up in a large city possesses. Sometimes she passed under the very nose of a horse, and it seemed as if she must certainly be run over, but she always came out safe and sound. Her brother and sister, with Toby, followed wherever she went, but found it difficult to keep up with her. She was always some distance ahead of them, and paid no attention to their calls to stop for them to catch up with her.

“Stop, can’t you?” called out Johnny, who was leading Toby, and who always picked him up and carried him across the most crowded streets. “Stop and divy up! They ain’t all yours.”

“I’m going to, Johnny,” replied Maysie, still continuing her rapid gait. “Just a few blocks more, and then I’ll stop.”

So away they all went once more, little Toby as eager as the children for the share that had been promised him. They had gradually left behind them the pleasant part of the city where the bake-shop was situated, and had reached a part where the streets and sidewalks were narrower and the houses smaller and closer together. When they came to a place where building was going on, Maysie came to a stop, and seating herself on a low pile of boards, announced her intention of dividing the contents of the paper bag. Johnny seated himself by her side, placing Toby in his lap, and Hannah, the elder sister, took a seat near by.

They were not a quarrelsome family, and seemed to feel perfectly confident that Maysie would do the right thing by them and divide fairly. They edged as closely to the paper bag as they could get, and took long sniffs of the delicious odors wafted toward them.

“The dog has got to have his share, too,” said Johnny, as Maysie had helped them all around and had not included Toby.

“Each of us can give him a piece of ours,” replied Maysie, breaking off a generous piece of hers and handing it to the little dog.

“No,” said Johnny, firmly, “you agreed to go divies with him, and he heard it, and you’ve got to do it;” and Johnny hugged Toby closely to him, while the little dog looked gratefully into his face and wagged his tail in response.

“Well, then,” said Maysie, “he can have his share;” and she placed one of the largest cakes before Toby, who ate it in such large mouthfuls that it had disappeared and he had lapped up all the crumbs before the children were half through with theirs.

“He eats so fast,” said Maysie, “that he can’t get the good of it.”

Toby tried to explain in the animal language that she was mistaken,—that dogs had proved by experience that they got more taste from their food by swallowing it whole than they did by eating it slowly, and that every sensible dog ate in that way. “A few lap-dogs and such as that may nibble at their food,” explained Toby, “but you can’t go by them.”

This explanation was lost upon the children, however, because they couldn’t understand the animal language Toby spoke in. They thought he was asking for another cake.

“You must wait until we are ready for the second help,” said Johnny, at the same time offering him a piece of his own cake.

Toby tried to make them understand that this was not what he said, but it was of no use, they didn’t know what his whining meant.

“I shouldn’t wonder if he were cold,” suggested Hannah, whereupon good-hearted Johnny unbuttoned his coat and wrapped it around the little dog as well as he could.

“How can I be so mean as to leave these kind children, when they share everything with me?” said Toby to himself. “I do miss those fields to roam about in, though!” and he sighed as he thought of his country home.

At last the cakes were eaten, and one of each kind left to be taken home to Mother. These were carefully wrapped up, and the party started for home.

It was a poor place, their home, but they had never known a better one, and they were such happy, contented children that they really enjoyed more than some children who have beautiful homes and clothes, and everything that money can buy; for, after all, it is not money and beautiful things that bring happiness. Often those who have the least of these are the most contented and happy, if they are blessed with sweet tempers and cheerful natures.

In the rear of the tenement-house where the children lived, was a shed. It was a dark, cheerless affair, but in it the children had made a bed of some straw that a stable-man near by had given them, and here they had kept Toby. It was not very warm, but it was better than no shelter; and then Toby had been brought up in the country, and he was not quite so sensitive to the cold as dogs who are kept in city houses are.

“It seems awfully cold here,” said Johnny, as he looked about the bleak shed. The door had long since disappeared, and the raw winter air entered through the large opening.

“He looks kind of shivery,” said Hannah. “Perhaps, if we tell Mother about him, she will let us keep him in the house.”

“I don’t believe she will,” said Johnny, “because whenever I have asked her to let us keep a dog, she said we couldn’t afford it, they ate so much.”

“Let’s try,” said Hannah. “It is going to be awfully cold to-night. Maysie can tell her, because she lets her do so many more things than she does the rest of us.”

This was true. Little Maysie, the baby of the family, had been indulged and petted more than the rest, because she had not been so rugged as they were. When they all had the measles and whooping-cough, Maysie it was who had them the hardest. Maysie, too, had been very ill with pneumonia. Thus they had gotten into the habit of letting her have her way whenever any important question was at hand. So it was not strange that Maysie, in spite of a happy and generous nature, had taken advantage of the situation and become a little wilful. It is quite natural it should be so, when she so often heard Mother say, “Oh, give it to Maysie, she has been so sick, you know;” or, “Let Maysie do it, because she isn’t so strong as you are.”

So, when Hannah proposed that Maysie should be the one to tell Mother that they had been keeping a dog for the last week, and ask her to let them take it into the house to live, Maysie answered confidently,—

“All right, I’ll ask her.”

“That will settle my business,” said Toby to himself, as the children trooped up the dark and narrow stairways of the tenement-house. “No chance for me now to slip my collar. So here I shall have to stay, and good-bye to the fields I love so much.”

The children went up to the very top tenement of the house, and stopped a moment before opening the door.

“Give her the cakes before you tell her about the dog, Maysie,” said Johnny in a loud whisper.

“Of course I shall,” replied Maysie, shrewdly. “Don’t I know she will be more likely to give in after she sees the beautiful cakes?”

They found the table set for the simple supper, and their mother busily sewing. The father of the family worked in a machine-shop, and in busy seasons the work went on by night as well as by day; so the children saw little of their father, who, when he worked nights, was obliged to sleep part of the day.

The mother looked up as the children entered the room. Care and hard work had left their impress on her face, for it was thin and worn, but it brightened as her eyes fell on the faces of the happy children.

“I was afraid that something had happened to you,” said the mother. “What kept you so long?”

“We couldn’t find the house at first,” said Hannah; “and when we did find it, they made us wait until the lady looked at the work to see if it suited. She says she shall have some more for you in a few days.”

“And we stopped to look in at the windows of a fine shop where they sell all kinds of lovely cakes, and a beautiful, kind gentleman asked me would I like some, and I said I would, and he went inside and bought me a great bag full of the most beautiful ones you ever saw, and we brought one of each kind home to you, Mother dear,” said Maysie, putting the package of cakes in her mother’s lap.

“I hope you didn’t ask him for any?” said Mother.

“N—o,” replied Maysie, somewhat embarrassed. “I didn’t ask him for cakes, did I?” she asked, turning to her brother and sister.

“You didn’t ask him out and out, but you asked him for a cent, and he asked what did you want it for, and you said, ‘Cake,’” replied Hannah.

“Why, Maysie,” said Mother, reproachfully, “that is real begging! The gentleman thought you were a little beggar girl.”

“I can’t help it,” said Maysie, beginning to cry. “The cakes did look so nice, and I wanted to see if they would taste as nice as they looked. He needn’t have given me so many. I only asked for just one cent.”

“Well, don’t ever do it again, dear,” said Mother; for Maysie was making herself very miserable over the affair, and she couldn’t bear to see Maysie unhappy. “I guess that there’s no harm in doing it this once. I don’t wonder you wanted to get a taste of the nice cakes. It’s kind of tantalizing to see them before your very eyes and never to know how they taste.”

“I will never ask any one to give me a cent again,” said Maysie between her sobs; but Maysie was never unhappy long at a time, so she soon regained her cheerfulness, and came to the conclusion that she had not done such a very bad thing after all.

All this time Johnny had been standing behind the stove, keeping Toby out of sight. This was hard to do, for Toby was a restless little fellow, and Johnny knew that if he should move about much, his feet would make such a noise on the bare floor that he would be discovered before Maysie would have time to plead for him. Johnny at last succeeded in catching Maysie’s eye, and gave her to understand that it was high time to broach the subject; and Maysie, who never allowed the grass to grow under her feet, began at once.

“Mother dear,” she said, going up to her mother and giving her an affectionate hug and kiss, “we saw a poor little dog who didn’t have any home, and he was so cold and hungry! Can’t we just take him in? He won’t be any trouble at all.”

“No,” replied Mother, firmly, “we haven’t any room for dogs. They eat a lot, and are a great bother. No, you can’t.”

“But he is so little he will hardly eat anything, and we can each of us save him a little mite from our share every day, and then you see it won’t cost anything. Do say ‘yes,’ Mother dear;” and Maysie grew more affectionate than ever.

“No,” said Mother, firmly, “you mustn’t think of it. Father would never allow it. He doesn’t like to have dogs around.”

“We will keep him out of Father’s way,” pleaded Maysie. “He would be ever so much company for me when I am sick and have to stay in, and the others away at school. It’s awfully lonesome for me then.”