Bruno

"Suppose it had been this big building that had caught fire!"

"But it wasn't," said Julius.

"No: but it might have been. I don't like this at all. I want to be in a little house by ourselves, close to the ground."

"Yes, it would be better," said Julius, who saw by the light of the flames how pale I had become, and noted how I was trembling. "It will not do to have you so terrified: we'll make a change at once. But it will be difficult to find a house until the tourists begin to scatter."

We thoroughly discussed the situation, and by breakfast-time had reached a decision.

I was to return to Lemonville for a stay of a week or two, and while there to see to the packing and shipping of a piano we had left in storage. Julius meanwhile was to find a cottage, and have our belongings transferred to it. We did not like the arrangement very well, but it seemed to be the only thing we could do.

Thus ended our experience as lodgers.

I was gone two weeks. It was pleasant to meet old friends, after a separation long enough to have plenty of news to exchange, without having had time to lose interest in each other's affairs, but my heart was back in Jacksonville.

Julius and I wrote to each other every day, but the mails were so tedious and uncertain that we usually got each other's letters by threes or fours, with days full of anxiety and heart-ache between.

I still have the package of letters received then. I have just been reading them over again. Bruno pervades them all. It is —

"Took Bruno with me to the office to-day, he begged so hard when I started to leave him; it's lonely for him, poor fellow!"

And —

"While I ate breakfast, I had the waiter put up a good lunch for Boonie; he's getting tired of biscuit, and I don't like to give him raw bones."

On Sunday, —

"I took Bruno a long walk in the suburbs to-day. It did him a lot of good."

A letter written just before I returned says, —

"Bruno seems down-hearted to-night; I think he misses somebody."

I returned as soon as Julius wrote that he had procured a house. The welcome I received told me that Bruno was not the only one who had missed "somebody."

CHAPTER XV

All that season we lived in a rented cottage, but before the next summer came we were planting roses in our own grounds. We had been renting just about a year, when we bought our little home in one of the suburbs; so we could fully appreciate the joys of being on our own place again.

We found a kitten, the "very moral" of Rebecca, striped black and blue-gray. She was a dear little thing, and she and Bruno soon became fast friends.

The only creature we ever knew him to bite – except, indeed, wild animals, which he considered fair game – was in defending Catsie.

His victim was a handsome coach-dog, following some friends who one day drove out to call on us. He was a thoroughbred dog, but he had not Bruno's gentlemanly instincts. The first thing he did was to go trotting around to the back porch, where he spied Catsie enjoying a fine meaty bone. He sneaked up behind her, and snatching it in his teeth, made off with it.

Bruno could not stand that. It seemed to make a perfect fury of him. I think he felt that the fault was worse, because the coach-dog was so sleek and plump; there was not even the excuse of hunger.

Poor fellow! Bruno sent him howling and limping from the yard.

The call came to an untimely end, our visitors declaring, —

"That great savage brute of yours has almost killed our beautiful dog!"

I am afraid we did not feel very contrite. We never took our "great savage brute" anywhere to visit, except when he was especially invited; and besides, we had our own opinion, which was similar to Bruno's, of big dogs that robbed little cats.

It took a great deal to rouse Bruno, so much that we sometimes mistook his amiability for lack of courage.

We had often watched him chasing the animals that lax town laws had allowed to roam the streets of the only two villages we had ever known. He would go dashing after a pig or a cow. If the creature ran, he would chase it until he was exhausted; but if it stood its ground and calmly returned his excited gaze, he would stop, look at it for a minute, then turn and come trotting back, with an air that said plainly, —

"I was only in fun; I wanted to see what it would do."

There was a big watch-dog which lived in an enclosure we had to pass on our way to town. When we took Bruno that way for a stroll, as soon as he reached this lot, he and the other dog would greet each other through the picket-fence with the most blood-curdling growls and snarls. They seemed fairly to thirst for each other's life-blood. Then, each on his own side of the fence, they would go racing along, keeping up their growls and snarls, till they reached a place where there were half a dozen pickets broken out, so that either could have leaped through with ease.

Then what a change!

Their ears would droop, and their coats and tempers smooth down to the most insipid amiability. But at their next meeting they were quite as savage, till they again reached the opening in the fence. It was the same program, over and over.

Bruno liked to play at anger just for a little excitement, but when he found anything really worth a spell of the furies, it was quite another story.

The butcher-boy, who came every other day, took Bruno's tragic demonstrations for the real thing, and was terribly afraid of him. He used to shout to me, "Come out and hold the dog!" until he could run to the kitchen and get safely back outside the gate.

It was all in vain for me to assure him there was no danger. He thought I did not know what I was talking about. His terror was so real, I pitied the child – he was not more than twelve or fourteen – so I used to shut Bruno up in the front hall on butcher-boy days until after he had made his call.

Our colored woman used to spend her nights in the bosom of her family, coming back every morning in time to get breakfast. One morning she failed to appear. It was butcher-boy morning, and the weather was quite chilly. When I called Bruno in to shut him up, I noticed that the house next to ours was closed. Our neighbors were off for the day. There were two vacant lots opposite our place, and on the other side, a church. So when our neighbors went off for a day's jaunt, as they frequently did, we were quite isolated.

After I had shut Bruno in the hall, I sat down by the kitchen fire to toast my toes and wait for the butcher-boy. I was impatient for him to come, so I could release Bruno, who did not like being shut up. He was perfectly willing to lie in the hall, – in fact, it was a favorite dozing-place with him, – but, like some people, he did not enjoy the idea of being forced to do even what he liked best. I was glad when I heard a step on the back porch, and sprang eagerly to open the door. There stood the dirtiest, most evil-looking tramp I had ever seen. He was so taken aback at the way the door flew open, that I had slammed it and shot the bolt before he recovered. I hurried in for Bruno, who had heard the strange step and was eager to investigate. As soon as I returned and unfastened the bolt, the tramp threw his weight against the door to force it open. Bruno sprang to the opening with a whole volley of barks and growls. I caught his collar, saying to the tramp, —

"You'd better run; I can't hold him long!"

I never saw a man make better time. I gave him a minute's start, then loosed Bruno. He reached the fence just as the tramp had fallen over it without stopping to open the gate. When I saw all was safe, I felt so limp I fell back in a chair weak and nerveless. Bruno watched the tramp around the corner, then returned to look after me. He was much exercised to find me in such a state, and relieved his feelings by alternately trying to lick my face, and dashing out to bark again after the vanished tramp.

After that, Bruno seemed to feel more than ever responsible for me. He had all along been my especial protector, but seeing me overcome with fright seemed to make a deep impression on him.

CHAPTER XVI

Julius and I had been in the habit of taking evening walks, and as Bruno stayed with me through the day when Julius was gone, it was his only chance for a run.

One evening, when Julius came home, it had been raining, and I felt that it would not do for me to go out.

"You'd better take Boonie for a little run, though," I said; "he has been in the house all day."

"I have an errand down at the corner," answered Julius, "and he can race around the square while I am attending to it. You won't be afraid?"

"Not for that little while; you will be back again before I have time to miss you."

Julius went into the hall for his overcoat and hat.

"Come on, Boonie," he said; "Boonie can go."

Bruno bounced up, all excitement, showing how he had felt the confinement. He dashed into the hall, where Julius was putting on his overcoat, then came trotting back into the sitting-room and stood, ears erect, looking at me and wagging his tail. I understood him, and answered, —

"No, Boonie; Judith must stay. Just Julius and Boonie are going."

He knew us only by the names he heard us call each other.

He sat down at my feet, all his excitement gone.

"Come, Boonie," called Julius from the door. "Come on, Boonie's going!"

Bruno looked at him, wagged his tail, looked at me, and refused to stir.

"Don't you see?" I said; "he thinks I ought not to be left alone." Then to him, "Go on, Boonie; Boonie must go. Judith isn't afraid."

He looked gratefully at me, and wagged his tail, saying plainly, in his dog-fashion, —

"Thank you, but I'd rather not."

Julius waxed impatient.

"You Boon! come along, sir! come on!" he thundered. Bruno's ears and tail drooped. He looked up sideways in a deprecating manner at Julius, then came and laid his head on my knee. It was of no use. Neither threats nor coaxing could move him. Noble creature! His ideas of chivalry were not to be tampered with, even by those who were his gods, his all!

The next morning at breakfast I said to Julius, —

"I am afraid Bruno will be ill staying in-doors so closely. Can't you take him for a little run before you go to the office?"

"Yes," answered Julius, "I'll take him if he'll go."

"Oh, he'll go fast enough. Dinah is here, and he will think it safe to leave me."

Bruno was delighted at the invitation, and went tearing around the square four times while Julius walked it once; then came in, hot and happy, to tell Catsie and me all about it.

There was something so peculiarly tender about our feelings for Bruno and his for us. He was at once our protector and our dependent. It is not strange that we never failed to be thoroughly enraged when dog-lovers tried, as they sometimes did, to coax us to sell him. Sell our Bruno! True, we had tried to give him away, but that was for his own good. But to take money for him! To sell him!! Unspeakable!!!

Three times we had nursed him through trying illnesses, – twice the blind staggers, and once the distemper; and when either of us was ill, he could not be coaxed from the bedside. No matter who watched at night, Bruno would watch too, and no slightest sound nor movement escaped his vigilance.

How often since he left us have I longed in weary vigils for the comfort of his presence!

CHAPTER XVII

In looking back at that winter, most of its evenings seem to have been spent before the open fire, the room lighted only by its blaze.

Sometimes Little Blossom lay across my knees, the firelight mirrored in her thoughtful eyes, her pink toes curling and uncurling to the heat. Sometimes she lay cradled in Julius's arms, while he crooned old ditties remembered from his own childhood.

Bruno never seemed to tire of studying this new-comer to our home circle. He would stand with ears drooped forward, watching me bathe and dress her, so absorbed in contemplation that he would start when I spoke, as if he had forgotten my existence.

He had always before seemed intensely jealous when Julius or I had noticed children, but with Little Blossom it was different; he seemed to share our feelings, – she was our baby.

At first he showed a disposition to play with her as he had long ago romped with Rebecca's kittens, but after I had once explained to him that she was too little and tender for such frolics, that he must wait till she could run about, he seemed quite satisfied, and constituted himself her guardian, as he had always been mine. While she slept, he would lie beside her crib. When she took an airing, it was his delight to walk proudly beside the carriage. When I held her, he sat at my elbow; and when she laughed and cooed in her romps with Julius, he would make short runs around the room, barking his delight.

Happy hours, all too short!

As spring advanced, our Little Blossom drooped. Her brain had always been in advance of her physical development. She had never the meaningless stare seen in normal babies. Instead, there was a wistful, pensive expression as she gazed into the fire or through the window, with always a quick dimpling smile when either of us spoke to her. There was much sickness in town, especially among young children. We decided to spend the summer months at the seashore. A cottage was leased, and trunks were packed full of summer clothes, draperies, and other joys and comforts.

When the time came to start, the cry arose, —

"Where is Bruno?"

No one knew. None remembered seeing him since breakfast. It was now half-past ten. The train was to go at eleven, and we were three-quarters of a mile from the station! We felt utterly lost. It was impossible to leave Bruno, and yet we must go.

Julius looked in all directions, calling and whistling. No answer. Our baggage had gone, a wagon full of it. The tickets were bought, and everything was arranged.

Julius came in from an unsuccessful search, a look of desperation on his face.

"There's no help for it," he said; "we must start, Bruno or no Bruno."

We locked up the house and set off. As we drove along, I kept looking out, hoping to see the familiar form come dashing after us, but in vain. Julius was to come into town each morning to the office, returning to us at the seashore on the afternoon train. I began to think I could not know Bruno's fate (for I feared something serious must have happened) until the afternoon of the next day. We had been so delayed it was necessary to make all speed.

We hurried into the station, and there, standing beside our heap of luggage, one eye for the packages and the other on the lookout for us, stood Bruno!

He greeted us with such extravagant delight, and we felt so relieved at seeing him, that we found no reproaches ready. Besides, although he had so delayed us, it was quite evident that he had thought we had our hands over-full, and that by keeping his eye on the things he would be helping us. So he had followed the wagon, overlooked the unloading, and evidently had kept tally of every package. Our man who had driven the wagon was to go on with us to help in the transfer at the other end, and to make all ready for comfort in the cottage. He told us that Bruno had mounted guard over him as well as our effects, and while rather overdoing it, had been quite helpful.

It is hard to write of the weeks that followed.

I see Bruno racing up and down the beach and swimming out through the breakers, while Julius and I sit on either side of a little wicker wagon drawn up beyond the reach of the tide, watching him.

I see him chasing crabs and sea-birds, or limping up to show us his foot stung by a stranded jelly-fish.

Then – darkness.

It is night in a long white-draped room.

One end of it is lighted by a lamp having a rose-colored shade.

In the middle of the lighted end stands a crib. A little white-robed form lies within.

The pink light so simulates a glow of health that the mother, sitting beside the crib, bends low, thinking the little breast heaves.

But no. The waxen cheeks chill her lips.

Still she bends and gazes on that loved little form.

Bruno lies at the mother's feet. When she moves he rises, looking mournfully into the crib, then turns to rest his head on her knee.

On a lounge, in the end of the room where shadows lurk, the father lies asleep, exhausted with grief.

The curtains sway in the open windows, as if the room were breathing. All else is still.

I see all this as if it were a scene in a dream or as a picture, – something in which I have no part; and yet I feel that my heart throbbed in that mother's bosom.

I know that after she had sent away all kind friends, to watch alone that last night, it was literally and truly a "white night" to her.

She felt neither sorrow nor grief.

Yesterday her heart was torn with anguish, when those heavenly eyes grew dim with the death-glaze.

To-morrow it will be rent again, when the little form is hidden from her in its white casket; and again – at that bitterest moment Life can give – when the first handful of earth makes hollow echo above it.

But to-night there is the uplifted feeling of perfect peace.

Although it is the third sleepless night, there is no thought of weariness. All through the short hours she sits and feasts her eyes on the angelic face with its look of joy unutterable.

And Bruno watches with her.

The next day Bruno does not ask to join the sad procession leaving the cottage.

He has no thought for self at such a time.

As it turns the corner, his mournful eyes are seen at the window, gazing after his little playmate who is being carried away.

Or does he realize it is only the beautiful body they are taking, which was all too frail for the bright spirit now flown these two days since!

CHAPTER XVIII

Again the mother is in the city home. No crib stands by the fireplace; no tiny garments are spread out to air. All is orderly as in the years that now seem so far away.

She sits with book or needle.

The book falls to her knee, the work slips to the floor; tears steal down her cheeks.

Bruno presses near, his head against her arm. With his uplifted, pleading eyes, he seems to say, —

"Don't cry, Judith, please don't cry."

Oh, matchless comforter!

After a time we notice that Bruno is growing old and feeble.

Do we grieve at this? Far from it. We feel that life is over for us; our only thought is to escape its grasp and join our Little Blossom.

We could never leave Bruno alone; he would grieve himself to death, and meanwhile, perhaps, be abused as a stupid brute for refusing to be comforted.

So it is with a feeling of sad resignation that we realize how his hold on life is weakening. At least he will die in comfort, ministered to by his loved ones.

We sit alone, we three, in the twilight, – Julius and I, with Bruno at our feet, – talking of the future. We speculate on the Beyond, hoping it will not be the conventional Heaven, with harps and crowns.

We long for a sheltered nook, near the River of Life, where we and Little Blossom can resume the life so happily begun here, going over to the Happy Hunting Grounds to get Bruno, and to the Cat Heaven for Rebecca and Catsie.

Then, our family circle complete, we would settle down to an eternity of Home.

Can Heaven itself offer anything sweeter than home, – the wedded home, where love abides!

One morning Bruno seemed not to care for his breakfast. He sniffed daintily at it, and turned away, though I tried to tempt him with everything he liked best.

He rested his head on my knee, looking gratefully into my eyes, while his tail waved his thanks.

Then he went to his bed, and lying down upon it, he fell asleep, – not a short uneasy nap, with ears open for every sound, but a deep, dreamless sleep.

There was a beautiful young fig-tree in our lot. Under this his grave was dug. His bed was laid in, he on it, with his blanket wrapped around him.

"Arise against thy narrow door of earth,And keep the watch for me!"THE END