Miss Elliot's Girls Part 7

"'How handsome you have grown!' said she; 'your eyes are topaz, your breast and paws are the softest velvet, your coat is spun gold. My dear, you are the belle of cats,'

"'Dear Mrs. Velvetpaw,' said Gold Elsie, 'my beauty and my prosperity I owe in large measure to you. But for your wise counsels I should still be a'--

"'Hus.h.!.+ don't speak the word. My dear, never again allude to your origin. It is a profound secret. You are received in the best society.

Mrs. Silvercoat tells me it is reported that your master sought far and wide to find a worthy successor to King Caesar, and that he esteems himself specially fortunate in that, after great labor and expense, he procured _you_. The ignorance you sometimes exhibit of the customs of genteel society is attributed to your foreign breeding.'

"'Mrs. Tabitha, I feel at times a strong desire to visit my old friends in the barn once more.'

"'Let me entreat you, my dear Miss Elsie, never again to think of it.'

"'But there is poor Mrs. Barebones almost gone with a consumption. I should like to show her some kindness.'

"'Her sufferings are ended. She has pa.s.sed to the land of cats,'

"'Poor Mrs. Barebones! and Robber Grim? Do you happen to have heard any thing of him?'

"Silently Mrs. Tabitha beckoned her to follow, and, leading the way to the orchard, pointed to a sour-apple tree, where Gold Elsie beheld a ghastly sight. By a cord tied tightly about his neck, his jaws distended, his one eye starting from its socket, hung Robber Grim--stiff, motionless, dead.

"They hurried away, and presently Gold Elsie timidly inquired after her former playmate, Tom Skip-an'-jump.

"'Don't, my dear!' said Mrs. Velvetpaw; 'really, I can not submit to be farther _cat_echized. If you are truly grateful to me, Elsie, for the service I have rendered you, and wish to do me credit in the high position to which I have raised you, you must, you certainly must, break every tie that binds you to your former life.'

"'I will, Mrs. Tabitha, I will,' said the little cat; and never again in Mrs. Velvetpaw's presence did she mention Tom Skip-an'-jump's name,"

"And didn't she ever see him again?" Nellie Dimock wanted to know. "I am sure there was no harm in Tom."

"Well, but you know she couldn't go with _that set_ any more after she had got into good society," said Mollie Elliot.

"Mollie has caught Mrs. Velvetpaw's exact tone," said Florence Austin, at which all the girls laughed.

"Well, I don't care," Mollie answered; "she was a nice little cat, and deserved all her good fortune."

CHAPTER VI.

TOMMY TOMPKINS' YELLOW DOG.

"I have a letter to read to you this afternoon, girls," said Miss Ruth; "also the story of a yellow dog. The letter is from a friend of mine who spends her summers in a quiet village in Maine, in a fine old mansion overlooking green fields and a beautiful lake with hills sloping down to it on every side. Here is the letter she wrote me last June:--

"'We have come back again to our summer home--to the old house, the broad piazza, the high-backed chairs, and the blue china. The clump of cinnamon roses across the way is one ma.s.s of spicy bloom, and soon its fragrance will be mingled with that of new-mown hay. There is nothing new about the place but Don Quixote, the great handsome English mastiff.

Do you know the mastiff--his lion-like shape, his smooth, fawn-colored coat, his black nose, and kind, intelligent eyes, their light-hazel contrasting with the black markings around them? If you do, you must pardon this description.

"'I am very fond of Don, and he of me. He belongs to our cousin, whose house is but one field removed from ours; but he is here much of the time. He evidently feels that both houses are under his protection, and pa.s.ses his nights between the two. Often we hear his slow step as he paces the piazza round and round like a sentinel. He is only fifteen months old, and of course feels no older than a little dog, though he weighs one hundred and thirty pounds, and measures six feet from nose to tail.

"'He can't understand why he isn't a lap-dog, and does climb our laps after his fas.h.i.+on, putting up one hind leg and resting his weight upon it with great satisfaction. We have good fun with him out of doors, where his puppyhood quite gets the better of his dignity, and he runs in circles and fetches mad bounds of pure glee.

"'One day, lying in my hammock, with Don on the piazza at my feet, I put his charms and virtues together in verses, and I send them to you as the most succinct account I can give of my new pet. As I conned them over, repeating them half-aloud, at the frequent mention of his name Don raised his head with an intelligent and appreciative look. Here are the verses. I call them

DOG-GEREL.

'Don! Don! beautiful Don!

Graceful and tall, with majestic mien, Fawn-colored coat of the softest sheen, The stateliest dog that the sun s.h.i.+nes on, Beautiful Don!

Don! Don! frolicsome Don!

Chasing your tail at a game of tag, Dancing a jig with a kitchen rag, Rearing and tearing, and all for fun, Frolicsome Don!

Don! Don! affectionate Don!

Looking your love with soft kind eyes, Climbing our laps, quite forgetting your size; With kissing and coaxing you never are done, Affectionate Don!

Don! Don! chivalrous Don!

Stalking all night piazza and yard, Sleepless and watchful, our sentinel guard, Squire of dames is the name you have won, Chivalrous Don!

Don! Don! devotional Don!

When the Bible is opened you climb to your place, And listen with solemn, immovable face, Nor frolic nor coax till the chapter is done, Devotional Don!

Don! Don! wonderful Don!

Devotional, faithful, affectionate one, If owning these virtues when only a pup, What will you be when you are grown up?

Wonderful Don!'

"And now by way of contrast," said Miss Ruth as she folded the letter, "I have a story to tell you of a poor little forlorn, homely, insignificant dog, of low birth and no breeding, which was picked up on the street by a boy I know, and which made for himself friends and a good home by seizing the first opportunity that offered to do his duty and protect the property of those who had taken him in. I have no doubt that Don Quixote, intelligent, faithful, kind, with not a drop of plebeian blood in his n.o.ble body, will fulfill all the expectations of his friends, and we shall hear of many a brave and gallant deed of his performing; but when you have heard what Tommy Tompkins has to tell, I think you will say that not even Don Quixote could have done himself more credit under the circ.u.mstances than

TOMMY TOMPKINS' YELLOW DOG.

"Tommy shall tell the story as he told it to me:--

"'Yes, marm, he's my dog. His name's Grip. My father paid five dollars for that dog. You look as if you thought he wasn't worth it; but I wouldn't take twice the money for him, not if you was to pay it over this minute. I know he ain't a handsome dog. I don't think yellow is a pretty color for a dog, do you? and I wish he had a little more of a tail. Liz says he's cur-tailed (Liz thinks it's smart to make puns), but he'll look a great deal better when his ear gets well and his hair grows out and covers the bare spots--don't you think so? But father says, "Handsome is that handsome does," and n.o.body can say but that our dog did the handsome thing when he saved over two hundred dollars in money and all mother's silver spoons and lots of other things from being stolen--hey, Grip? We call him Grip 'cause he hung on to that fellow so till the policeman got in to take him.

"'What fellow? Why, the burglar, of course. Didn't you read about it in the newspaper? There was a long piece published about it the day after it happened, with headings in big letters: "The house No. 35 Wells Avenue, residence of Thomas Tompkins, the well-known dealer in hardware, cutlery, etc., was entered last night by burglars. Much valuable property saved through the courage and pluck of a small dog belonging to the family." They didn't get that part right, for he didn't belong to us then. You just wait, and I'll read the whole piece to you. I've got it somewhere in my pockets. You see, I cut it out of the paper to read to the boys at school.

"'You'd rather I told you about it? Well. Lie down, Grip! Be quiet!

can't you? He don't mean any thing by sniffing round your ankles in that way; anyhow, he won't catch hold unless I tell him to; but you see, ever since that night he wants to go for every strange man or woman that comes near the place. Liz says "he's got burglars on the brain."

"'I guess I'll begin at the beginning and tell you how I came by him.

One night after school I'd been down to the steamboat landing on an errand for father, and along on River Street there was a crowd of loafers round two dogs in a fight. This dog was one of 'em, and the other was a bulldog twice his size. The bulldog's master was looking on, without so much as trying to part 'em; but n.o.body was looking after the yellow dog: he didn't seem to have any master. Well, I want to see fair play in every thing. It makes me mad to see a fellow thrash a boy half his size, or a big dog chew up a little one. So I steps up and says to the bulldog's master, "Why don't you call off your dog?" but he only swore at me and told me to mind my own business.

"'Well, I know a trick or two about dogs, and I ran into a grocer's shop close by and got two cents' worth of snuff, and I let that bulldog have it all right in his face and eyes. Of course he had to let go to sneeze; and I grabbed the yellow dog and ran. It was great fun. I could hear that dog sneezing and coughing, and his master yelling to me, but I never once held up or looked behind me till I was half-way up Brooks Street.

"'Then I set the yellow dog down on the sidewalk and looked him over.

My! he's a beauty now to what he was then, for he's clean and well-fed and respectable looking; but then he was nothing but skin and bone, and covered all over with mud and dirt, and one ear was torn and one eye swelled shut, and he limped when he walked, and--well, never mind, old Grip! you was all right inside, wasn't you?

"'Well, I never dreaded any thing more in all my life than taking that dog home. Mother hates dogs. She never would have one in the house, though I've always wanted a dog of my own. I knew Liz would call him a horrid little monster, and Fred would poke fun at me--and, oh, dear! I'd rather have gone to the dentist's or taken a Sat.u.r.day-night scrub than go into that dining-room with Grip at my heels.

"'But it had to be done. They were all at supper, and mother took it just as I was afraid she would. If she only would have waited and let me tell how I came by the dog, I thought maybe she would have felt sorry for the poor thing; but she was in such a hurry to get his muddy feet off the dining-room carpet that she wouldn't listen to a single word I said, but kept saying, "Turn him out! turn him out!" till I found it was no use, and I was just going to do as she said when father looked up from his supper, and says he: "Let the boy tell his story, mother. Where did you get the dog, Tommy?" "'We were all surprised, for father hardly ever interfered with mother about us children--he's so taken up with business, you know, he hasn't any time left for the family. But I was glad enough to tell him how I came by the dog; and he laughed, and said he didn't see any objection to my keeping him over night. I might give him some supper and tie him up in the shed-chamber, and in the morning he'd have him taken round to Police-station C, where, if he wasn't claimed in four days, he'd be taken care of.