Bruno

As soon as we reached home, we hurried him to the kitchen to enjoy the sight of the poor fellow at his trencher. How we fed him! I ransacked the pantry for the things he liked best, till his sides began to swell visibly. He paused between mouthfuls to feast his loving eyes on first one, then the other of us, and his tail never once stopped wagging. Rebecca came purring in to rub against his legs, and even submitted with shut eyes to a kiss from his big wet tongue. He must have felt that such an hour repaid him for all his sufferings.

After he had eaten until he evidently could not take another morsel, we drew him in front of us as we sat side by side, for a three-cornered talk. He sat on end, waving his tail to and fro on the floor, wrinkling his forehead and cocking up his ears, while we explained the situation to him.

We told him how kind Mr. Nimrod meant to be to him, how he would train him to hunt and take him on long daily runs. Then we reminded him how impossible it was for Julius to go on such excursions with him, and of how many scrapes he had got into by going alone, – he seeming to take it all in and to turn it over in his mind.

Then we told him that since he had found our new home he could come often to see us, and he would always find us glad to see him, – yes, more than glad!

Then Julius got his hat and said, —

"Come on, Boonie; now we're going home."

He seemed quite willing to go. I told him good-by with a heart so light I could scarcely believe it the same one I had felt to be such a burden when I had set off for our walk two hours earlier. I busied myself then preparing a little supper against Julius's return; for we had not been able to eat since breakfast, and I knew by my own feelings that Julius would welcome the sight of a well-spread smoking table; and he said on his return that I "guessed just right."

He and Bruno had found the Nimrods very much disturbed over their dog's disappearance. Mr. Nimrod had just returned from an unsuccessful search, and they were wondering what to do next. They welcomed the wanderer, but were concerned, too, that he had discovered our dwelling-place.

"I'm afraid we'll have to keep him tied up now," said Mr. Nimrod.

Julius thought not, and said, —

"Now that he knows where we are, and can come for a glimpse of us now and then, I believe he'll be better contented than he was when he thought we'd left the country."

Better contented he certainly was, but he positively refused to stay at home. It soon came to be a regular thing for Julius to escort him back every evening.

The Nimrods lived nearly a mile from us, so Julius did not lack for exercise.

Mr. Nimrod finally came to remonstrate with us.

"You ought to shut him out," he cried, "then he'd have to come back home."

For answer, Julius showed him certain long, deep scratches on our handsome new doors, adding, —

"Don't you see? It's as much as our doors are worth to shut him out, and he leaps that four-foot fence as if it were but four inches."

There was obviously no possible reply to such logic as this; so he continued to come, – dragging sometimes a rope or strap, or some other variety of tether, triumphantly proving that love laughs at locksmiths!

The Nimrods at last lost heart. Bruno never would eat there, and he never stayed when he could manage to escape. One night it was raining hard when the time came for him to be taken "home," so they did not go; and that seemed to settle it.

He was our dog.

We had given him away without his consent, and he refused to be given; so the trade was off. He stayed closely at home now, seeming to think we might disappear again if he did not watch us.

CHAPTER V

Unless there were guests in the house, we usually slept with all the inner doors wide open for better circulation of air.

One night we were awakened by tremendous barkings and growlings from Bruno. Julius spoke to him, and he answered with a whine. Then we could hear his feet pad-padding on the carpet as he went from our room, tap-tapping on the oil-cloth in the hall, pad-padding again through the sitting-room and the dining-room, then tap-tapping on the painted kitchen floor, with more loud barks and deep growls.

Julius tried again to quiet him, but he refused to be quieted.

"Something disturbs him," I said. "Maybe we'd better let him out."

"No," said Julius, "it is probably that wretched Leo lurking around, trying to toll him off. He's better inside."

I did not think he would seem so fierce if it were Leo, but I was too sleepy to argue; so we dozed off, leaving him still on the alert.

Deep was our surprise next morning to find that a band of thieves had raided the town during the night, and that the houses on both sides of us had been entered! How we petted and praised Bruno, our defender! He was quite unconcerned, though, and seemed as if he would say to us, —

"Oh, that was nothing. I only barked and made a racket!"

Truly, it was only necessary for him to bark and make a racket. There was never any occasion for him to go further. His voice was so loud and deep it always conveyed the impression of a dog as big as a house, – one that could swallow a man at one mouthful without winking.

People were always ready to take the hint when he gave voice to his emotions. They never undertook to argue with him.

After that night we never slept with such comfortable feelings of perfect security as we felt at those times when we were half aroused by Bruno's barks and growls.

For a while the days passed uneventfully in our little home. Julius and I were interested in beautifying and improving our grounds, so time never dragged with us. Rebecca rejoiced in several successive sets of kittens. They and Bruno frolicked through the days, with exciting interruptions in the shape of the milkman's calls, Julius's returns from the office, and occasional visits from the neighbors' children.

For greater convenience we always spoke collectively of Bruno, Rebecca and her kits, as "the cattle."

The milkman's daily calls never grew stale to them. They generally heard his bell before Julius or I suspected he was near, and would all go to the sidewalk to meet him. Bruno would leap the fence; Rebecca and her kits would creep through. As soon as the milk was poured out, they all raced to the back piazza to wait for their share of it. When the dish was filled and placed before them on the floor, Bruno stood back with drooping ears, watching them drink. He seemed to feel that it would not be fair to pit his great flap of a tongue against their tiny rose-leaves. They always left some for him, which he devoured in two or three laps, while they all sat about washing their faces. I don't think he cared for the milk; he took it to be sociable, and seemed to be as well satisfied with a swallow or two as he was after drinking the dishful I sometimes offered him. He often tried to chew the grain on which the chickens were fed, and would eat anything he saw us taking, including all kinds of fruit, nuts, candies, and ices. Of course the chief of his diet was the various preparations of cereals and meats, but he seemed to want a taste of all that was going.

Once, much to his own ultimate disgust, he coaxed me to give him a sniff of a smelling-bottle he thought I seemed to be enjoying. After that, he regarded all bottles with the deepest suspicion and aversion.

CHAPTER VI

It is hard to remember just when we first began to talk Florida. Then a neighbor went down there on a prospecting tour, and returned bringing enthusiastic accounts of the climate and opportunities. We were greatly interested, and at once sent off for various Florida papers, pamphlets, and books.

Julius had always dreaded the bleak northern winters, having some chronic troubles, – a legacy of the Civil War. It is only in literature that a delicate man is interesting; practically, it subjects him to endless trials and humiliations, so we never gave his state of health as a reason for the proposed change. Instead, we flourished my tender throat. A woman may be an invalid without loss of prestige, so not one of our friends suspected that our proposed change of climate was not solely on my account.

We decided that as soon as our northern property could be disposed of, we would turn our faces southward and try pioneering.

Some children in a neighboring family had formed an enthusiastic friendship with Bruno, and as soon as our plans were announced, their parents asked us to give him to them when we were ready to start South. In spite of our former experience in giving him away, this seemed entirely feasible to us.

In the first place, we thought it would be utterly impossible to take him with us to Florida. Then he was really and truly attached to the children who wanted him; so we readily consented; and we encouraged them to monopolize him as much as possible, so that we might see him comfortably settled before we started. They lived next door to us, and Bruno was always ready to join them in a game of romps. He even ate from their hands. It seemed a perfect arrangement.

Our pretty little home was soon sold and dismantled, and we went to board in another part of town while preparing for the long journey, which then seemed almost as difficult as a trip to the moon. We locked up the empty house and slipped away to our boarding-place, while Bruno, all unconscious of what was going on, was barking and tearing about in a game of tag on the other side of our neighbor's large grounds.

Old Aunt Nancy, a colored woman who had belonged to one of my aunts before the war, and who had been our stand-by in domestic emergencies, had taken Rebecca and her family, promising them "Jes' as good a home as I can gib'm, Miss Judith." It was a sad breaking up, but we felt that our pets were well provided for, and that we should feel worse for leaving them than they would at being left.

Vain thought!

Two evenings after leaving our home, while I was busy in our room, making ready to begin packing, I heard Julius's step on the stairs, accompanied by a familiar clatter that made my heart stand still. The door burst open, and, before I could rise from my kneeling position, surrounded by piles of folded things, I was knocked over sideways by a rapturous onslaught from Bruno.

"What does this mean!" I exclaimed, as soon as I could speak.

"I don't know," answered Julius. "I found him waiting for me at the office door when I came out. He seemed half wild with delight at seeing me again. I rather think it is a repetition of the Nimrod experiment."

"Poor old fellow!" I cried. "See how his sides have fallen in just in these two days! He has been starving again, and we have nothing to give him!"

"That's so," said Julius. "I'd better go and get something for him, hadn't I?"

"Yes, indeed," I answered. "At once, poor old doggie!"

So they went clattering down the stairs again, and soon returned with some promising-looking paper bags.

We spread a newspaper on the hearth to receive his feast, then sat watching him and returning his glances of affection while he ate. When he had eaten to his satisfaction and dropped into a happy snooze, Julius said, —

"Well, I suppose I might as well try to find out if it would be possible to take him with us. I'll see the agent to-morrow. We must either take him, or have him killed; for I see plainly that it won't do at all to try to leave him."

"If we could just have him go along in the car with us, it would be all right," answered I. "He is such a knowing old fellow he would understand things perfectly."

"That's impossible, I know," cried Julius. "If he goes at all, he must ride in baggage-cars, and we'll be in a sleeper. I don't see how we can manage it."

I began to think that a way would open, and my heart felt lighter than it had at any time since we first began to talk Florida. If we could have Bruno with us, I no longer dreaded going to a land which, in my imaginings, had appeared to be teeming with unknown dangers.

The next morning Julius went promptly to interview the agent, and found that, after all, it would be possible to take Bruno with us to Florida. It would be some trouble and some expense. Besides his passage as baggage, the porters in each car must be feed; and while we in the sleeper should be in a through car, he would have a number of changes to make, – one of them at early dawn, and another in the night. It would be necessary for Julius to see to these changes in person, in case Bruno proved to be unruly, which was quite probable. We decided to undertake it, and Bruno's outfit for the journey was at once purchased. This consisted of a strong new collar and chain, with a big tin cup fastened to the chain for plenty of drinks, and a lunch-basket full of biscuit.

The memorable day came, and we were escorted to the train by kind neighbors and friends full of good-byes and good wishes for us all, Bruno receiving a full share of their attentions.

We knew well that they considered the whole affair to be a wild-goose chase, and that they expected to see us return, sadder and wiser, in a year at furthest.

As soon as the train was under way, Julius went forward to see how Bruno was taking it. He found him in a state of the utmost excitement, howling and dragging at his chain, probably remembering his other journey on the cars, when he had left his first home to come alone to us in his puppyhood. When he saw Julius and realized that we were with him, his joy and relief were touching. Julius stayed awhile with him, and got him some water, – he was always thirsty after "crying," – then came back to report to me.

I felt so relieved to know that we had really got off with Bruno in good shape, it almost made me forget a small ache in the corner of my heart for something that had happened a day or two before. I had gone up by the old home to say good-by to an invalid neighbor, and there, on the sidewalk, by the gate, sat Rebecca. Thin, scrawny, and alert, she sat watching for somebody, – easy to guess what "somebody." How glad she was to see me!

I sat down on the gate-step, and took her in my arms, wishing with all my heart that we could take her with us too. Still, I knew we couldn't. She, a sober, middle-aged cat, to be carried all those many miles! Then it might be weeks after we reached Florida before we decided where to settle. A dog, once there, could trot around after us, but what could we do with a cat? She had never learned to follow for any distance, and she was always nervous about being carried.

No, it wasn't to be thought of.

I stayed, petting her as long as I could; then, after urging her to go back and be contented with Aunt Nancy, I bade her a tearful good-by, and carried away an ache in my heart that I sometimes feel yet.

Dear old Rebecca!

Some day I hope to go across into cat-heaven and hunt her up. Then she can be made to understand why I was seemingly so hard-hearted as to go off and leave her looking mournfully after me on that sad day so long ago. Maybe she knows now; I hope she does.

CHAPTER VII

It was late forenoon when we set off Florida-ward. Just after dark we reached a big city where we were to take the through sleeper to Jacksonville. In those days there was no Union Depot there, and it was necessary to cross the city in order to get started on the road South.

This transfer had worried us all along, for the time was limited, and there was all our baggage to see to and recheck, and Bruno. We arranged that I was to take Bruno and go with him in the regular transfer omnibus, while Julius crossed with the baggage. We thought that Bruno and I could take care of each other, though I confess I was not willing to have a private cab. In the well-lighted, comfortably filled 'bus I felt safe enough, even though I was crossing a strange city at nightfall, with only a dog for escort.

Bruno looked wistfully at the door as the 'bus started, but seemed satisfied when I assured him it was all right.

Julius was waiting for us at the other station with tickets and checks.

When he returned from escorting Bruno to the baggage car, reporting, "All's well," we both fairly laughed, in the relief of having passed the most puzzling part of the journey.

I did not see Bruno again until the next morning. It was gray dawn. The train was standing, puffing and snorting like a restless horse, on the track under the shadow of Lookout Mountain.

On inquiry, Julius had learned that there would be a delay of a quarter of an hour or so there, and, as he had to be up, anyway, to transfer Bruno to another baggage car, he had planned to give him a little run; so, as I leaned out of the car window, I saw Julius with Bruno's chain, cup, etc., bunched in his hands, while the happy dog was galloping up and down the roadside. He performed leaps and antics expressive of extreme joy when I leaned out and called to him, saying to me as plainly as possible, —

"Here we are again! Isn't it jolly?"

And I assured him that it was.

After that glimpse I saw no more of Bruno till we reached Jacksonville; but Julius reported, from time to time, that he seemed to comprehend the meaning of our plan of travel, and trotted along from old to new baggage car, so eager not to be left that he tried to enter every one he came to with doors standing open.

Early on the next morning after our stop by Lookout Mountain, we entered the "Florida Metropolis." And now, behold, a great surprise! We had brought thinner clothing in our hand-bags, thinking that, as we journeyed southward, our heavy garments, built for northern winters, would prove to be oppressive. How startling, then, to feel our features pinched by nipping breezes as we stepped from the cars at last in the Sunny South! True, as we passed residences on our way to the hotel, we saw green trees and blooming flowers; but where were the balmy airs that in our dreams were always fanning the fadeless flowers in this Mecca of our hopes?

After leaving the cars, the most welcome sight that greeted our eager eyes was a roaring open fire in the hotel reception-room. We thought this a most excellent joke. They were very good to Bruno (for a consideration) at the hotel, but it was against their rules to allow dogs in the rooms, so he was installed in comfortable quarters outside. Julius went with him to make sure he was satisfied, and to see that he was watered, fed, and in good spirits before we had our own breakfast. On the way down, as ever before, Bruno had attracted much favorable notice. Women and girls exclaimed, "Oh, see that lovely dog!" And a number of men scraped acquaintance with Julius by admiring notice of his "Mighty fine dog!"

Bruno shrank from their attentions. He never made friends with strangers, no matter how much they tried to pet him; and he never ate anything offered to him by others unless we told him to. In fact, he was always very particular about appropriating food. Sometimes at home, when in a brown study, I placed his dish of food on the floor without saying anything; but he would never begin to eat until he had gained my attention by thrusting his nose into my hand, asking, "Is that mine?" by questioning glances directed from me to the dish; then, when I answered, "Yes; that's Boonie's; that's for Boonie," he would fall to and enjoy it.

We were glad of this trait; and we often thought that but for it he would, very early in his career, have fallen a victim to poison, for he was greatly feared by many timid people, especially by various grocer and butcher boys, who approached our premises with so many absurd precautions that it seemed to afford Bruno the greatest delight to keep them in a state of terror.

CHAPTER VIII

We made but a short stay in Jacksonville, then hurried on to St. Augustine, where a former acquaintance of Julius's was living with his family. We had to take a river steamer to Tocoi, – called Decoy by many, for obvious reasons, – then journey across to the coast on a tiny railway.

The steamboat on the St. John's was a first experience of the kind for Bruno, who seemed to enjoy it greatly, for the boat had but few passengers beside ourselves, and we went up and down stairs at will, making him several visits in his quarters on the lower deck.

Things were even more informal on the little railway. There was no one about when we boarded the train; so Bruno followed us into the passenger coach, crept under the seat, doubling himself up like a shut knife, and, totally effaced by the time the conductor came around, rode first-class for once. It seemed such a treat for us all to be together as we journeyed, that our short ride across from "Decoy" to the coast stands out in memory as the pleasantest part of the journey.

We were met at St. Augustine by Julius's friend, and, as he bore a pressing invitation for us from his family, we stopped that first day with them, so that they might have their fill of news from their friends and relatives whom we had seen just before starting to Florida.

They kindly urged us to stay longer, but we thought that two people and a dog made a formidable party to entertain as visitors; so we hunted up a pleasant boarding-house, and settled ourselves for a two weeks' stay.

All three of us found much to surprise us in the old town; but by far the greatest sensation was Bruno's when we first took him out for a run, and he promptly made a dash into one of the creeks as the tide was flowing in, and took a big drink. He was warm with running, and the water looked so inviting that he had taken a number of swallows before he tasted it. Then his antics were most comical. He snorted and shook his head till his ears flapped again, and rubbed at his nose, first with one paw and then with the other. After that one lesson he never again drank from a strange pool or stream without first tasting it very gingerly, then waiting a few seconds to make sure of the after-taste. But if he objected to the taste of salt water, he found no flaw in the feeling of it.

There is no memory of him on which I so much love to dwell as on the picture he made with his tawny curls streaming backwards in the breakers when we took him out to the beach. The green-curling, foam-tipped waves were to him a perfect delight. Even his dashing out in our midst and shaking himself so that we were all drenched in an impromptu shower-bath is pleasant, – as a memory, – though at the time we scolded him, and tried to respond sternly to his waggish glances, as he gambolled about and rolled in the sand.

The salt water was new to all of us, so we spent as much time as possible on the island and the beaches.

On those days when we were confined to the mainland by showers, or by the business we were attending to between times, we used to go, towards evening, to promenade on the seawall. Then Bruno always got down in one of the basins for a swim before we returned to our temporary home.

Although it seemed like northern spring weather, some days being quite chilly, and others warm enough for summer clothes, we awoke one morning to the fact that to-morrow would be Christmas. It had seemed to us, since our arrival in St. Augustine, as if we were in a foreign country, the Spanish element was so large in proportion to the rest of the town, both in the people and their customs and in the arrangement and the construction of the city. We heard of the celebration of midnight Mass in the old Cathedral, and resolved to "assist;" but, as the evening came on crisp and chilly, our enthusiasm cooled with it. The tonic qualities of the unaccustomed salt air had inspired us with a keen interest in food and sleep; so, after fully deciding to sit up for the Mass, we were ready by half-past nine to declare that there was not a sight in the world worth the sacrifice of such a night's sleep as that for which we felt ready. So we embarked for dreamland, whence we were recalled at daylight by Bruno's excitement over a perfect din of tin trumpets and toy drums.

As we dressed, we peeped through the blinds at the processions of small boys marching by in the narrow streets below, blowing trumpets and pounding drums. The daily drills at the barracks in the old city made all the small boys of the town even more ambitious than small boys usually are to be soldiers. Apparently, every one of them had sent Santa Claus a petition to bring him something warlike for a Christmas present.

Julius delighted Bruno by taking him out and buying him a paper of candy, which he ate with much relish; then we three sat on the upper piazza on which our room opened, listening to the music and watching the processions.