Jack, the Fire Dog

“You shall have your share when we are through, little fellow,” said the mother in her kind voice; and Toby knew she would keep her promise, even if she went without any herself.

The table was set, the sausages dished, and the family seated around the table, while Toby watched them with greedy eyes and watering mouth. Suddenly the mother exclaimed,—

“There is Father coming! Run and put the dog out of sight, Johnny; he mustn’t be bothered by him.”

So Johnny caught Toby up in his arms and hustled him off into his dark room. He couldn’t bear to leave the little fellow alone in the dark; so he left the door just ajar, that a crack of light might enter to comfort him.

Toby had heard the step and recognized it long before the mother had, but he didn’t want to leave those tempting sausages. They didn’t come his way every day.

“Father is tired to-night,” said the mother in a low tone to the children, “so you must be very good and quiet.”

The children knew by experience that when Father was tired he was always cross and easily irritated. Mother was often tired, too, but it did not make her cross, and the children learned to keep out of the way as much as possible when Father came home “tired,” as he so often did.

There was never much conversation when Father was “tired,” and Toby in his dark hiding-place could hear the rattling of dishes and could smell the delicious odor of the sausages. Father had not been expected so early, and Mother had bought a nice piece of steak for his supper, but there was not time to cook it then, so the supply of sausages was rather short. Each of the children, as was their custom since Toby had been an inmate of the family, saved a little piece for him; but they were very fond of sausages, and they did not have such luxuries very often, so it really required no little sacrifice on their part. As for Maysie, the piece she laid aside for Toby grew smaller and smaller as she made up her mind to take just one more taste and then another. At last it dwindled down to almost the size of a pea, and Maysie said to herself,—

“It isn’t worth while to save such a little piece, it won’t be even a taste;” so she ate that too.

The mother, however, seeing how small a portion the little dog was likely to receive, ate very little of her portion.

At last the silence was broken by Maysie, who could never keep still very long.

“There was a fire to-day right back of our schoolhouse, mother,” she said, “and there were ever and ever so many engines there, and do you mind the big black and white dog that came to our fire and found little blind Billy? Well, he was there, too, and I patted him and he was very kind to me.”

“He probably belonged to one of the engines,” replied Mother. “I have heard that dogs sometimes do and that they go to fires whenever the engine goes.”

“And a fine nuisance they must be, too!” muttered Father. “The men must be fools to stand it. They always manage to get in the way when they are least wanted.”

Now Toby from the next room had heard every word of the conversation. When Maysie told about the black and white dog that belonged to one of the fire-engines, Toby at once recalled the dog answering to that description whom he had seen lying in front of the engine-house, and who had taken such an interest in him. When he heard Father speaking of him as a “nuisance,” it was too much for Toby, and, forgetting that he was not to show himself, he darted through the partly opened door, and boldly presenting himself before the startled family, declared that it was not true, that the black and white engine-dog was not a nuisance, but a kind and obliging fellow!

“Where in the world did that dog come from?” demanded the father, angrily. “How comes he to be snarling and growling around here?”

Although Toby was doing his best to defend the character of his friend and was quite eloquent in dog language, it sounded to the ears of the family like snarling and growling.

The children were too frightened to answer, and Mother undertook to explain.

“It is a poor little lost dog the children found,” she said. “He was half-starved and cold, and I let them take him in. He is a good little fellow and doesn’t do any harm.”

“Doesn’t do any harm!” growled Father. “It is no harm, is it, to eat us out of house and home, I suppose? I don’t work hard to feed lazy dogs, let me tell you.”

“He eats very little,” said Mother, as she looked at poor Toby, who stood shivering with fear as he heard the harsh tones of the father of the family, and began to realize how imprudent he had been. “The children each save a little from their portions, and it doesn’t cost any more to keep him.”

“Turn him out!” ordered Father. “Here, you cur! you get out of this;” and as he held the door open, out darted the little dog, expecting to feel Father’s heavy boot as he went through.

Downstairs rushed poor Toby, so frightened it was a wonder he didn’t fall headlong on his way. When he reached the street and felt the cold night air, he stood still, uncertain where to go. The cold air had seemed very pleasant to him when he had run races with Johnny, with the prospect of a good supper and warm quarters before him; but now what had he to look forward to? Roaming about the streets all night, hungry and cold, was very different. The wind was sharp, and it blew through Toby’s thin hair as he crouched on the steps of the tenement-house. All at once he bethought him of the old shed where he had been tied before the children had taken him into the house. It was cold and cheerless, but better than nothing.

Toby groped his way to the shed, and sought the farther corner where his bed had been made before. As he approached, a large rat started up. Toby could hear him as he scurried away. There was a very little of the straw left that the children had made his bed of; probably the rats had carried the rest off to make their beds.

Toby sat down and tried to think what he had better do. He thought of the warm, light kitchen from which he had been so cruelly driven, and of the children crying to see him sent out into the cold. He recalled, too, the kind and patient face of the mother of the family, and the many kindnesses he had received at her hands.

“What a difference there is in people!” murmured poor Toby to himself, as he thought of the kind reception he had met from the mother, and then of the harsh voice that had sent him out into the cold night.

“Well, crying won’t mend matters,” said Toby to himself. “I’ll wait until daylight, and then I’ll try my luck at finding my old home.”

He crouched upon the thin layer of straw which was all that protected him from the cold floor of the shed. The bleak wind blew in through the door, and forced its way through the large cracks in the sides of the building, and Toby grew colder and colder. To stay there and perhaps freeze to death some cold night was out of the question, and Toby made up his mind that he would start out as soon as daylight dawned, and try to find his way to the kind engine-dog who had been so good to him.

“If I were not so small that anybody could easily pick me up and carry me off, I shouldn’t care so much; but I’m so small I shouldn’t stand much chance.”

By and by Toby’s quick ears caught the sound of footsteps that he knew were coming his way. “I thought she would hunt me up,” said Toby to himself; “it is just like her.”

The steps came nearer and nearer, and at last, standing in the doorway of the shed, he could see in the darkness the dim outlines of the form of the children’s mother. “Doggy, Doggy!” she called softly, “are you there?”

“Here I am!” answered Toby with a bark of joy, and with a bound he was at her feet and trying to jump up and lick her hands.

“I have brought you something to eat, poor little fellow!” said the kind woman, as she set a plate before him. It was the larger part of her sausage that she had saved for him, mixed with bread and potato, and it was warm. How good it did taste to the hungry little dog! and it put warmth into his half-frozen little body, too.

The kind woman stayed for some time, petting the little dog and telling him how sorry she was for him; and Toby tried hard in his dog’s way to say that she need not feel so bad about it, and that he didn’t mind it much, for he couldn’t bear to see her kind heart so touched. She had brought a piece of an old woollen shawl with her, and before she left she wrapped him up in it and told him she would bring him some dinner the next day.

Then Toby was left alone once more, and the wind blew in at the open door and through the wide cracks, and the rats scurried by him; but Toby didn’t mind all this so much as he did before, because the warm food had put warmth into his body and the kind words had warmed his heart. He even fell asleep under the old woollen shawl, and when he next opened his eyes the first rays of daylight were stealing in through the doorway.

Toby started up at once, for he had intended to start even earlier than this. As he passed to the street, he glanced up at the home from which he had been driven. He had hoped to catch a glimpse of one of the children or of the mother, but instead of that he heard on the stairs the heavy tread of the father starting out to his work, and away sped Toby without stopping to look behind him.

Jack the Fire-Dog was right in his estimate of Toby’s character. He was not a dog of much strength of mind, and instead of hiding out of sight until the man he so dreaded had passed, and then quietly making up his mind which way he should go, as a stronger-minded dog would have done, he rushed blindly along until he was out of breath. Then he stopped and looked about him. Everything was new and strange to him. What should he do?

CHAPTER TENTH

THE more Toby tried to think out a plan for action, the more undecided he became, as is always the way with weak natures. The sun was now up, and the great city was stirring with life. Wagons from the outlying towns were coming into the city, shops were being opened, and sidewalks and front steps were being washed and swept. But in the midst of all this busy life not a soul had a thought for the poor little lost dog. One boy, carrying a can of milk, did stop to pat him, but he had no time to waste, and passed on.

“Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?” moaned Toby, helplessly. “Such a big, big world, and no place for me!”

At the corner of a distant street he saw a group of dogs, all larger than he was. They seemed, by the sound of their voices, to be quarrelling, and Toby did not dare venture near them. He knew by experience that when dogs are in a quarrelsome state of mind they are on the lookout for some object upon which to vent their excitement, and it was more than likely that they would turn the current of this excitement upon him, a stranger in the city. City dogs, too, as a general thing, do not like dogs from the country.

While Toby looked, the voices grew louder and more angry, and Toby knew that the next move would be a general scrimmage, in which each dog would blindly fight with the one nearest him, or, what was worse still, all of them would attack one of the number. It is only the meanest kind of dogs who do that, but tramp-street dogs are apt to do it. “What if they should all fall upon me?” said timid little Toby; and without stopping to see more, off he set at full speed.

The streets were now broader, and there were dwelling-houses everywhere, instead of shops. Gradually the city was growing farther and farther away, and before long fields and groups of trees were seen. Toby turned into a broad avenue, and suddenly found himself in the country. Broad fields lay around him, and just beyond appeared forest trees. A pond, now frozen over, stood in one of the fields, and on it were groups of happy children skating or playing games. Toby had never heard of a park, and he wondered to see the roads so level and everything so trim and neat. He stopped to rest and watch the children on the ice. Soon the attention of the children was attracted to him.

Toby was fond of children, and when he saw a little boy coming towards him he began to wag his tail in greeting. Then he jumped upon him and tried to express his pleasure at meeting anybody who had a kind word for him.

“Poor little fellow!” said the boy, stooping to pat the lost dog. “I am afraid you are lost, and I think I had better take you to the Home.” As he spoke, he took a leash from his pocket and was about to fasten it to Toby’s collar, when away darted Toby as fast as his legs could carry him.

“The foolish little dog!” exclaimed the boy, as he rolled up his leash and put it back in his pocket. “I could have found a nice home for you if you hadn’t been so silly.”

Toby did not know that this boy had saved the lives of many stray dogs by taking them to the Home provided for those unfortunates. He always carried a leash in his pocket for that purpose, and his bright young eyes were very quick to detect a stray dog.

All that Toby knew about these public homes was what he had seen and heard of the poorhouse in his native town. He had seen old men and women sitting out on the benches under the trees in the summer time, and he had seen their faces looking out of the windows in the winter time. They looked to him very listless and forlorn, but he did not know what would have been the fate of these aged people if they had not had the shelter of this home. He had also heard people say, “Why, I had rather go to the poorhouse than do that,” and so he had come to consider that going to such an institution was about the worst thing that could happen to anybody. A poorhouse for dogs Toby thought must be a dreadful place, and he resolved that he would rather roam the streets at the risk of starving or freezing than allow himself to be taken to one.

So Toby ran until he reached the woods that he saw before him, and when he found that the boy was not following him he slackened his pace. Everything seemed very quiet and peaceful about him. Occasionally a crow cawed from one of the tall hemlocks, the harsh voices of blue-jays reached him from the clumps of neighboring trees, and the squirrels, running along the branches or jumping from tree to tree, chatted in a friendly manner with one another. Sparrows were there also, as happy and satisfied with themselves as if their constant twittering were melodious songs.

Toby watched all these inhabitants of the woods with great interest, for the country-bred dog had often watched them, and he knew their ways. It was soon evident to Toby that these little creatures were expecting something to take place, and something of a pleasant nature, too, for they were all in a happy mood. The sparrows flew backward and forward, sometimes disappearing for a while, but always turning up again as cheerful as ever. A flock of pigeons also appeared, and, alighting on the snow, some walked about in search of any stray morsels of food which might have been overlooked, while others took advantage of this opportunity to put their plumage in order.

Toby, curious to see what it could be that these little creatures were expecting, secreted himself behind a clump of barberry bushes and waited. He thought his presence was not noticed, but he was mistaken. The bright little eyes of the nuthatch were on him, and he was trying his best to find out something about the stranger. Creeping along the under side of a large limb that grew near the spot where Toby sat hidden, the bright eyes watched every motion, for nuthatches are timid birds and very suspicious of strangers.

All at once the sparrows who had disappeared from sight came flying back in great excitement, twittering as they flew: “Coming! Coming! He is almost here!” and immediately secured favorable positions on the outskirts of the party.

No sooner had the sparrows settled themselves, than a sleigh drawn by two handsome horses was seen approaching at a rapid rate. In the sleigh were two little boys and a middle-aged gentleman. One of the boys sprang out as soon as the sleigh stopped, and Toby noticed that he had a basket in his hand. The other boy sat still until the gentleman alighted and lifted him carefully out.

“Here they are, Billy!” exclaimed the little boy who had jumped out. “They are all here, and Dick the Scrapper is here too, just as cross as ever. Oh, you ought to see how handsome the squirrels look!”

“Can’t he see for himself, without that smart little chap telling him?” muttered Toby to himself.

“No, he can’t,” replied a voice from above. “Don’t you see that he is not a seeing child?”

Toby started, to find that he had been overheard, and looking up saw the little nuthatch hanging head downward, eying him sharply.

“I didn’t know you were there,” murmured Toby, taken greatly by surprise.

“I know you didn’t. I’ve been watching you for some time, and I can see that you are a lost dog.”

Meanwhile Sam was scattering the contents of his basket far and wide, reserving the finest of the nuts to tempt the squirrels to eat from his hand. He did not forget the little blind boy, and gave the largest share to him to hold.

As Toby looked from the face of the little boy who was lending his eyes to his blind friend to the genial one of his grandpapa, he began to be puzzled. “Where have I seen those faces before?” he said to himself. “I am sure I have seen them somewhere. I know I have heard the gentleman’s voice, too. You don’t hear such a pleasant one every day;” and Toby shuddered as he recalled the harsh tones of the father of the family.

Suddenly the vision of three children and a little dog looking longingly in at the tempting display of a bake-shop rose before Toby’s eyes, and he exclaimed aloud: “I have it! That is the gentleman who gave the cakes to little Maysie! and how good they did taste!”

“I thought I heard a dog bark!” cried the little boy who had brought the basket. “Didn’t you hear him, Grandpa?”

“Yes,” replied the gentleman, “and it came from behind those bushes.”

Sam ran around the clump of barberry bushes, and there crouched Toby, trembling with excitement and anxiety. The kindly expression in the little boy’s face, and the pleasant tones of his voice, however, won the confidence of the timid little dog, and he made no resistance when Sam stooped and took him up in his arms.

“He is a lost dog,” said Grandpapa, gently stroking Toby’s head. “It will never do for him to wander around in this bleak place. We must look after him.”

“I will wrap him up in the fur robe, and then he will be as warm as toast,” replied Sam, carrying the little dog to the sleigh. When he was placed in one corner of the roomy sleigh, on the soft cushion, and the warm fur robe securely tucked about him, Toby was as comfortable as any dog could hope to be.

Sam did not linger so long as usual this morning, feeding the birds and squirrels. Finding a stray dog was an unusual excitement for him, and he was eager to look after him. So he quickly emptied the contents of his basket upon the snow, and the party started for home, leaving the crumbs and nuts to be eaten at leisure.

Toby sat between the two boys, each having an arm around him, and the sleigh started. Toby had never had a sleigh-ride before, and the rapid motion of the sleigh, with the jingling of the bells quite excited him. He sat up very straight, and pricked up his ears, while his little black turned-up nose sniffed the fresh cool air.

“I can keep him, can’t I, Grandpapa?” asked Sam, hugging the little dog closely to him; and Toby listened anxiously for the answer.

“I am afraid Grandmamma would not like the idea of having him around the house,” replied Grandpapa. “A city house isn’t a good place to keep a dog in.”

“But I could keep him tied up in the washroom.” Toby looked anxiously from one to the other, while his fate was being settled.

“Oh, he would be a very unhappy little dog tied up by himself, Sam,” said Grandpapa.

“Well, he could play out in the back yard, you know, and he could go to drive with us,” pleaded Sam.

“He wouldn’t be happy kept so, Sam. He would feel like a little prisoner. I am sure by his looks that he came from the country, and he has probably had open fields to run about in. I don’t believe he was ever kept tied.”

“What can we do with him, then?” asked Sam. “If he can’t tell us where his home is, how can we take him back? I hope you don’t mean to have the poor little fellow lost again;” and Sam’s face grew as anxious as Toby’s.

“Of course I mean to provide for him, Sam,” said Grandpapa. “It is true we can’t take him to his own home, as he isn’t able to speak and tell us where it is, but we will do the next best thing. We will take him to the Home that receives all the stray dogs and cats that are taken there. It is called the ‘Animal Rescue League.’”

At these words Toby took alarm and gave a great bound to free himself. In another instant he would have leapt from the sleigh, but Sam was ready for him and tightened his grasp on the foolish little fellow.

“Why, he tried to jump out of the sleigh,” said Sam. “Do you suppose he heard what you said, Grandpapa?”

“Dogs often seem to understand what is said about them,” replied Grandpapa; “but he would be very foolish to object to being taken to such a pleasant place. He will have the kindest care until a good home is found for him.”

“Will they let him play?” asked Sam, greatly interested, and continuing to keep a strong hold upon the struggling Toby.

“Certainly they will, and he will find other dogs there too. I don’t doubt he will have a fine time.”

Foolish Toby kept up his struggles at intervals, for he couldn’t bear the thought of being taken to the Home. “A dog’s poorhouse, that is what it is,” he said to himself.

“I wonder how they happened to think of making a home for dogs that are lost,” said Sam.

“I can tell you what I know about it,” said Grandpapa. “A very tender-hearted lady who loves dogs and cats, thought there should be some place in the city where lost and neglected animals could be sent. So she went about to see people, and wrote letters about it until she got people sufficiently interested to give money towards it. Then they hired a house in the middle of the city, and all the stray dogs and cats people find are taken there and kindly cared for.”

“That lady must be very kind,” said Sam, thoughtfully. “I should like to see her.”

“Perhaps you will some day. They had a Christmas-tree for the dogs and cats last year, and I’m told they all had a fine time.”

Sam burst out laughing, and Billy laughed too, to think of a Christmas-tree for dogs and cats.

“I suppose they put on it all sorts of things that dogs and cats like,” said Sam, “bones and cakes and all such things.”

“Perhaps they put on some things for them to play with,” said Billy, who had listened with great interest to all Mr. Ledwell had said about the Home.

“I shouldn’t wonder if they did,” said Grandpapa.

“And I guess they put saucers of milk and plates of nice food under the tree,” said Billy, who had a good deal of imagination.

Toby listened to this conversation and ceased to struggle. All this sounded very well, if it were true, but he expected to find at the Home dogs sitting about listlessly, just as he had seen the old people at the poorhouse in his town. The story of the Christmas-tree pleased him greatly. “Perhaps, after all, it is not so bad as I expected,” said Toby to himself, as the sleigh stopped.

“Here we are!” said Grandpapa, as he got out and took Toby in his arms.

“It doesn’t look like a Home,” said poor Toby to himself. He had expected to see a large brick building standing by itself like the poorhouse. “It looks just like the other houses.”

“Don’t be afraid, little fellow,” said Mr. Ledwell, as he felt Toby tremble. “Nobody is going to hurt you. You stay in the sleigh with Billy, Sam. I will bring you both to see the little dog when he feels at home.”

Mr. Ledwell entered the house and set the little dog on the floor. Poor Toby was so limp from fear that he could hardly stand, but remained in the spot where he was placed with drooping head and tail.

“I have brought you a new dog,” said Mr. Ledwell, addressing a rosy-cheeked young woman. “Have you a place for him?”

“He doesn’t take up much room, that is certain,” replied the young woman, stooping to pat the frightened little creature. “Yes, I guess we can manage it.”