Bruno

It was a very strange Christmas to all three of us. The air was pleasantly warm, and green things, with roses and other flowers, were in sight in all directions.

As soon as Christmas had passed, we, with that feeling of having turned a corner, common at such times, began to hasten our preparations to go on South. We had inspected various tracts of land around St. Augustine, but had not found anything to which we felt particularly drawn. It seemed rather odd, too, to come South intending to pioneer, and then to settle in or near what the old sergeant at the Fort assured us was the oldest city in the Union.

We felt that we must, at all events, see what the wilder parts of the State were like before deciding; so we soon found ourselves speeding away again towards "Decoy," to catch the boat for a little station away down South, up the river, which was then the only route to a small settlement in the mid-lake country, where a relative was living, who had urged us to see his part of Florida before deciding on anything.

It seems odd now to think how remote south middle Florida was in those days. The point we were then trying to reach is now less than twelve hours from Jacksonville by rail. Then we travelled all night by boat, and took train at breakfast-time across to a big lake, where a tiny steamer awaited us; on this we crossed the lake, then stopped at a town on the other side, to wait for a wagon which was to come a half-day's journey to meet us.

Our message was delayed, so we spent two days at an English inn, near the big lake, where we made some friends we have kept on our list ever since. And besides these friendships, we have treasured many pleasant memories of this inn. We approached it in the twilight of a chilly, blustering day, and on entering it we were greeted by an immense open fire of light-wood, which glorified the polished floor, strewn with the skins of wild creatures killed in the near-by thickets, called hammocks or hummocks. The firelight gave fitful glimpses of old-fashioned chairs, tables, etc., and lighted up a number of large gilt-framed paintings which adorned the walls; – in short, it was a complete picture of artistic comfort. Nor was our satisfaction lessened by the fragrant odor of frying ham and hot muffins, wafted to us as we crossed the hall.

They gave us a ground-floor room in an L opening on one of the side piazzas. This arrangement suited Bruno perfectly, and therefore it pleased us. There was a small lake behind the house, and the next day Julius proposed a row. The boat was quite small, and he was then rather unskilled in the use of oars; so we coaxed Bruno to sit on the tiny wharf and see us go by.

He seemed quite willing; so we pushed off. As we floated outward, Bruno lost heart. It was too much like being left behind; so he whined and plunged in after us.

"It isn't far across," said Julius, "and a swim won't hurt him!"

So we went on, letting him follow.

Suddenly he gave a strange cry, and Julius looked around, exclaiming, —

"See, he's cramping!"

We went to him as rapidly as possible, and were just in time. At the risk of upsetting us all in the deepest part of the lake – probably about fifteen feet – Julius dragged him into the boat. We then hurried back to the landing, where poor Bruno had to be helped out, and we laid him on the grass in a state of exhaustion which alarmed us greatly.

It was some hours before he was himself again, and many months before he lost a great fear of the water, – in fact, he was never afterwards the fearless water-dog of his youth.

CHAPTER IX

I see us next at the little inland settlement surrounding two small lakes for which we had started.

It had been long years since we had seen the relative who was living there, and childish memories did not tell us that he was the most visionary and unpractical of men. We could not trust our own judgment in such a topsy-turvy country as Florida, where the conditions were all so new to us; so it is no wonder that we took his word for a number of wild statements and decided to buy and settle there. We bought a tract of land from a friend and client of his, who offered us the use of a small homestead shanty near our land, to live in while we were building. This shanty looked decidedly uninviting, but the alternative was a room in the house of our relative, a full mile away from our place; so we decided in favor of the shanty. It was built of rived boards, slabs split out of the native logs. It had one door and no windows. In fact, it needed none; for the boards lapped roughly on each other, leaving cracks like those in window-blinds, so we could put our fingers through the walls almost anywhere. Besides affording a means of light and ventilation, this was vastly convenient for various flying and creeping things. The floor was of rough ten-inch boards, with inch-wide cracks between them. Julius escorted me over to inspect it, saying, —

"If we try to live in this excuse for a house, we shall be pioneering with a vengeance."

After a searching glance around the premises, I answered, —

"The pioneering is all right, if we can just make it clean."

"Oh, that's easy enough!" exclaimed Julius, in a relieved tone. "If you think we can stand its other short-comings, I can whitewash the whole thing, and make it so fresh and sweet you won't know it."

We sent a message for our freight, which we had left at Jacksonville, and Julius took a team to the nearest town to buy a few necessaries. We had brought no furniture South with us, knowing that what we had in our Northern home would be unsuitable for pioneering. Our freight, therefore, was mostly books and pictures, with a few boxes of clothes, bedding, etc. The shanty was wonderfully improved by a coat or two of whitewash, and after an old tapestry carpet had been put down to cover the cracks in the floor, extending up on the walls to form a dado, it began to look quite livable.

The bed and a row of trunks filled one end, there being just room to squeeze in between them. At the foot of the bed was a table, used by turns as kitchen, dining, and library table; there was also a box holding a kerosene stove, with shelves above it for dishes and supplies.

We had two wooden chairs, and a bench which we put to various uses. When these things were all in place, and our books arranged on boards which were laid across the rafters overhead, we felt as snug as was Robinson Crusoe in his cave.

As soon as we were comfortable, Julius got a man to help him, and began to improve our land. A few of the large pine-trees had to be felled, and this performance filled Bruno with the wildest excitement. His natural instincts told him there was only one reason for which a tree should ever be cut, – to capture some wild creature which had taken refuge in its top. At the first blow of the axe he would begin to yelp and dance, breaking into still wilder antics when the tree began to sway and stagger, finally rushing into the top as it fell, in a state of excitement that bordered on frenzy.

As he, of course, found nothing there, he seemed to think he had not been quick enough, and that the creature had escaped; so he became more and more reckless, until Julius was alarmed for his safety, and said I must keep him shut in-doors till the trees were down, or he would surely end by being crushed.

I had my hands full. I would coax him in, and shut the door. As soon as he heard the chopping begin, he would whine and bark, coaxing to be let out. I always temporized until I heard the tree falling, then off he would dash, and bounce into its top to yelp and explore.

He never found anything in the trees, but he never grew discouraged. He "assisted" at the felling of every one.

Bruno was much happier in Florida than he had been in our Northern home. He had all the woods to stretch his legs in, and for amusement he had the different kinds of wild creatures.

One moonlight night we three had walked over to the post-office for the mail. As Julius and I were slowly sauntering homeward, enjoying the night air, while Bruno made little excursions in all directions, he suddenly came up in front of us, and paused in that questioning way which showed he had found something of which he was not quite sure.

"What is it, Boonie?" asked Julius.

Bruno made a short run, then came back, pausing as before, and glancing first in the direction he had started to go, then at Julius.

"It is probably a 'possum," I suggested.

Bruno had shown himself to be very careful about attacking strange animals. He seemed to remember our adventure with the hens, his first meeting with Rebecca, and some of his other experiences.

Julius answered his evident question with, —

"Yes. It's Boonie's 'possum. Go get him!"

Off he sprang, dashing into a little clump of trees, about a bow-shot from us, then with a yelp retreated, throwing himself on the ground, uttering short cries, rubbing and rooting his nose down into the grass and sand. Alas, poor Bruno! We knew what it was. We did not see it, we did not hear it, but we knew. He felt that he had been a victim of misplaced confidence; but we suffered with him, for it was days before he got rid of the "bouquet." Then it was as if by an inspiration. He seemed, all at once, to remember something. There was a tiny lake near our place, that was going dry. Day by day its waters had receded, until it was a mere mud-hole. Bruno went down to it, and buried himself up to the eyes in the black mud.

He lay there until late afternoon, then trotted off to a wet lake near by, and took a thorough bath. With this, he regained his lost self-respect, but he never forgot the experience. It was only necessary to say, —

"Kitty, kitty, where's kitty?" to make his ears and tail droop in the most dejected manner; then he would creep away, out of sight, till some more agreeable topic of conversation was broached.

It was not strange, after such a trying adventure, that Bruno was rather timid about approaching "Br'er 'Possum" when he did meet him. One night, he was found lurking around outside, sniffing some odds and ends that Bruno had disdained. After a little urging, Bruno was induced to seize him. Finding that nothing unpleasant followed, he became from that moment an enthusiastic 'possum-hunter, and used to bring one in every night or two. I usually cooked them for him, and he ate them with a relish, which we thought was fortunate, as we were about twelve miles from a butcher. Another substitute for beef we found in the Florida gopher. This is a grass-eating tortoise, which digs a house for itself in the sand.

Bruno soon became a most ardent gopher-hunter. Their hard shells make them difficult to handle, as they promptly draw in the head and legs on being approached; so Bruno would nose one over until he could seize the shovel, a protruding piece of the lower shell. Getting this small bit between his side-teeth, he balanced the weight by holding his head stiffly sideways, and came trotting in. The shadow of the house reached, he dropped the gopher, carefully turning it over on its back, and lay down beside it, to cool off and rest. Then off he would go for another.

He kept this up day after day, sometimes having as many as a dozen around the place at once. As often as the creatures managed to flop over so they could use their feet again and start to escape, Bruno, yelping and barking, brought them back, and turned them on their backs.

Sometimes, when he returned after a protracted hunt, bringing in a fresh victim, he found several of them escaping at once. Then he would hurriedly drop his latest catch, to speed away, tracking the truants until they were all found and recaptured, to be brought back and nosed over again.

He never wearied of this sport, and after our house was finished, and a well-stocked "chicken-park" was added to our estate, we bought a large camp-kettle, which we arranged on bricks in a secluded place; in this we would heat water and cook Bruno's gophers, so that he and the hens had constant feasts of them and throve apace.

CHAPTER X

Julius and I always like to experiment with new articles of food. We have no sympathy with the kind of fussiness that travels around the world with its own lunch-box, disdaining everything strange or new. It is to us part of the charm of changed surroundings to test the native articles of diet.

We had tried roast 'possum and stewed gopher; we now began to long for a taste of alligator steak. We had heard that to be at all eatable the steak must be taken from the fleshy part of the tail of a young animal before the creature grows large enough to lose its shiny skin; so we were quite delighted one day when we found that Bruno had cornered a young one about four feet long. It was in a little glade about three hundred yards from the house; and as soon as Julius found the cause of Bruno's excitement, he hurried to the house for the axe, and soon put a stop to the creature's demonstrations. He was hissing at Bruno like a whole flock of geese, the while snapping at him with his teeth and striking at him with his tail, which he had a most astonishing way of flourishing around.

When the steak was cut the meat looked white and fine-grained, like the more delicate kinds of fish. When cooked it was very inviting, being a compromise between fish and the white meat of domestic fowls.

We enjoyed it very much and were loud in our praises of alligator steak, but – we didn't want any more!

I cooked the rest of it for Bruno, and he ate one more meal of it; then he struck. We have since heard that most people who try alligator steak have the same experience. A first meal is thoroughly enjoyed, but one not brought up on such a diet never gets beyond the second. It is a useful article of food in southern camp-life, because it makes the campers go back to bacon and beans with renewed relish. The same may be said of roast 'possum and stewed gopher, – that is, for the human campers.

Just before our house was ready for us, while we were still living in the little shanty, I noticed one night when Julius came in that he was empty-handed. He had been in the habit of bringing his tools home every evening; so I asked, —

"What have you done with the saws and things?"

"I left them under the building," he answered, "wrapped in an old coat I had there. They will be perfectly safe, and I am tired of carrying them."

I was always glad when he had discovered an easier way of doing things; so I made no objection to this, and went on preparing the evening meal, for which we three were ready. Bruno had been over at the new house all the afternoon; so I waited on him first, seeing that his water-basin was full to the brim and heaping a plate with food for him. Then Julius and I sat down with keenest enjoyment to such a meal as we would have scorned in our old home, but which our open-air life in the pine-woods made exceedingly welcome. Afterwards I cleared the table, and we sat down to our usual evening of reading, interrupted with occasional snatches of conversation.

Bruno lay at our feet – dozing when we were quiet, thumping the floor with his tail whenever we spoke. Towards nine o'clock he got up, shook himself, sighed deeply, then asked me in his usual manner to open the door for him. This was the way he asked. He rested his head on my knee until I looked up from my book. Then his tail began to wag, and he glanced quickly from me to the door, then back at me again. I asked, —

"Boonie want to go?"

At this his tail wagged faster than ever, and he went to the door and stood waiting. Julius got up and opened the door for him; standing for a few moments after Bruno had disappeared in the darkness, looking at the stars and listening to that sweet sound the pine-needles make when the wind blows through them.

The night was rather cool, and it was not long before we both began to feel sleepy. Bruno had not returned; so Julius went to the door, whistling and calling to him.

But there was no answer.

We waited a little while; then Julius said:

"He will probably be here by the time we are ready to put out the lamp; so let's to bed."

I felt troubled. It reminded me of the old days in Bruno's giddy youth when he was off sheep-chasing. As I brushed out my hair, I was turning over in my mind all those vague fears I had felt when I had formerly dreamed of Florida as a country full of unknown dangers. At last I spoke, —

"Julius, do you think a big alligator could have caught Bruno?"

"I don't know," answered Julius, slowly.

Then I knew that he was worried too.

When the lamp was out, Julius went to the door again and stood for some minutes whistling, calling, and listening; but no sound came except the pine murmurs and the mournful notes of a distant "Whip-Will's-Widow."

It was impossible for us to sleep. Having always had Bruno at our bedside, we had never before felt uneasy, and had provided no way to lock our shanty. There was just an old-fashioned string-latch with a padlock outside; and here we were, deserted by our protector!

Again and again through the night Julius got up to call and listen.

Towards dawn we both slept heavily, worn out with anxious surmises. We were awakened by a well-known whining and scratching at the door, and when we both sprang up to open it, in walked Bruno, looking just as he usually did in the morning, – lively, glad to see us awake, and ready for his breakfast.

We gave him a welcome so warm it surprised and delighted him, while we vainly questioned him for an explanation of his desertion of us for the night. It was of no use. We could see that he had not been running, but where had he been? We gave it up.

Julius said his troubled night had left him without much appetite for work; but the man who was helping him would be there, so he thought it best to go over to the building, anyway.

He surprised me by returning almost immediately. His face was lighted up and his eyes were dancing.

"I came back to tell you where Bruno slept last night," he exclaimed. "You can't guess!"

"No," I answered; "I have already given it up."

"He went back to watch those tools I left over at the building. He dug himself a nest right beside them, drawing the edge of my old coat around for his pillow. The prints are all there as plain as can be!"

We were amazed and delighted at this performance; the reasoning seemed so human. He had watched Julius arranging and leaving the tools, the while making up his own mind that it was an unwise thing to do, and evidently deciding to see to it later. His sitting with us till bedtime, keeping in mind his mental appointment, and then going forth without a word from any one to keep it, seemed to us to be a truly wonderful thing, and so it seems to me yet.

From the first, we had made a constant companion of Bruno, talking to him always as if he could speak our language; and we have since thought that this must have been a sort of education for him, drawing out and developing his own natural gifts of thought and reason. He often surprised us by joining in the conversation. He would be lying dozing, and we talking in our usual tones. If we mentioned Robbie or Charlie, the two children who were his friends in his puppy days before he was our dog, or spoke of Leo, or of going somewhere, he would spring up all alert, running to the door or window, and then to us, whining and giving short barks of inquiry or impatience.

Always, after that first time we had tried to give him away, he was subject to terrible nightmares. In his sleep he would whimper and sigh in a manner strangely like human sobbing. We thought at such times that he was going through those trying days again, in his dreams. So we always wakened him, petting and soothing him till he fully realized that it was only a dream.

He had other ways which we thought noteworthy. Although he loved Julius better than he did me, yet he always came to me with his requests. If hungry or thirsty, he would come to me wagging his tail and licking his lips.

Like "Polly," his general term for food was cracker. If I asked, "Boonie want a cracker?" and if it was hunger, he would yawn in a pleased, self-conscious manner, and run towards the place where he knew the food was kept. If I had misunderstood his request, he continued gazing at me, licking his lips and wagging his tail till I asked, "Boonie want a drink?" Then he would yawn and run towards his water-cup, which I would find to be empty.

Often, when he had made his wants known to me, I passed them on to Julius, who would wait on him; but it made no difference: the next time he came to me just the same. He seemed to have reasoned it out that I was the loaf-giver, as the old Saxons had it, or else he felt that I was quicker to enter into his feelings and understand his wishes.

CHAPTER XI

Not long after Bruno's self-imposed night watch we found ourselves settled on our own estate, ready to carry out our plans for the future. Briefly they were as follows. We had intended to make an orange-grove, and while it was coming to maturity, we expected to raise early vegetables to ship to northern markets. We brought with us only money enough to make our place and live for a year: by that time we had fully expected to have returns from vegetable shipments which would tide us over till another crop. We had plenty of faith and courage, and were troubled by no doubts as to the feasibility of our plans. Nor need we have been, if only our land had contained the proper elements for vegetable growing. It was good enough orange land, but it would be a long time before we could depend on oranges for an income.

All this time we had been learning many things, taking care, as we began to understand the situation, to go to practical doers for advice instead of to visionary talkers.

There began to be serious consultations in our little home circle. The year was drawing to a close, and our whole crop of vegetables would not have filled a two-quart measure. We had gone on with our planting, even after we felt it to be hopeless, because we did not dare to stop and listen to our fears. It is not strange that we felt depressed and disappointed. We could see that our plans could easily have been carried out, had we only known just what sort of land to select. The whole State was before us to choose from, but we had been misled through the romances of a dreamer of dreams. All we had to show for our money, time, and labor was a small house surrounded by trees so young that they were at least five years from yielding us an income, and there was no more money for experiments.

For a while we felt rather bitter towards our misleading adviser, but I know now that we were wrong to feel so. A man can give only what he has. "Out of the fulness of the heart the mouth speaketh." A dreamer of dreams has only visions to offer to his followers, surely landing them either in the briers of difficulty or the mires of discouragement.

One day Julius returned from the nearest large town, where he had been for supplies, with an unusually thoughtful countenance. As soon as his purchases were unloaded and the horse had been attended to, he came in and, drawing a chair beside my work-table, opened the conversation with these memorable words:

"Judith, how would you like to go up to Lemonville to live?"

"What makes you ask?" questioned I. "It depends altogether on the circumstances how I'd like to live there."

"Well, Hawkes bantered me to-day to come up and keep his books for him, and I have been considering it all the way home. It looks like a way out, and I'll declare I don't see any other!"

"Go back to office work!" I exclaimed; "I thought you were done with that sort of thing!"

"I thought so, too; but after a year of this sort of thing, it begins to look quite different."

We sat up late, discussing this plan in all its bearings. Bruno seemed to know that it was a crisis in our affairs, and sat on end facing us, wrinkling his brows and looking from one to the other as each spoke. We finally decided that Julius was to go back to town in a day or two, and investigate further.

When Julius returned from Lemonville three days later, he brought us the news that he had promised to give the position a trial, and that he had engaged temporary quarters for us in a new house near the office. Moreover, we were to move up there the following week, as Mr. Hawkes was impatient for his help.